Every online meeting was a production for Samantha, always well groomed, beautiful robes or negligees, lace bra's and panties, perfect lighting, the w...rks. And as the heat rose in our chats, there was always a strip tease, she never just ripped her clothes off; always a little bit at a time. I waited each time for her to lift one tit and then the other out of whichever bra she was wearing while her fingers played and teased the areoles and nipples. Each meeting was a heart stopping erotic build. ‘Why, John, why?’ Monica said between sobbing. ‘Just to say thank you for putting up with us for the night.’ ‘But…’ I stroked her hair. It felt lank and greasy but I didn’t stop. ‘I appreciate what you’ve done, John, but you shouldn’t have.’ ‘David helped,’ I said. ‘Then thank him for me. I don’t think I can face him. I’ve been meaning to clean for days, no, for weeks, but the babies are demanding…’ ‘…and Simon’s no help?’ I suggested. ‘He is, and he isn’t. He tries to keep me sane. He looks. More

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