" The feeling of her painting waspast desperation to, I don't know, disconsolation. I told her I loved it, andI did, but it was kind of intimidating h...w personal the painting was.Most paintings, like most forms of artistic expression, are at least somewhataccessible, but hers was absolutely not. I admired her for that, but I alsoworried about her for it.In any event, from then on I honestly praised her painting skill, even thoughit made me feel scared about and for her.I think I was the first. ‘Oh God, Michael…God…yes…yes…’ Marlene agressively humped her pussy onto my hand as a second orgasm ripped through her, dropping her to the bed, leaving her gasping heavily for air. her emotions overcame her as tears trickled down her face. She rolled into me and buried her face into my chest. ‘Why are you so nice to me? Why do you treat me like I’m something special? Why, Michael?’ ‘Because you are special, Marlene. I would never think of treating you any other way. The bigger question that. More

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