The women found the aroma of printer’s ink strangely attractive. It meant words and thoughts and emotions barely held in check by the ink that bound...them to the page.Heathcoate himself was the muscle behind the operation. One glance at the giant press with its central screw and plates and the long rod Master Merle inserted for additional leverage was sufficient to explain his overdeveloped shoulders and arms. Printing was man’s work. Each sheet was impressed separately, but with clever. He tangled his fingers in mine, his hand and mine locked together he curled them to his chest.He then raised his head up and looked me straight in the eye. There was a sly grin on his face when he moved our hands, lowering them over our bodies. He released my fingers and pressed my hand to his groin. His cock was hard, a rock solid bulge contained and controlled only by his jeans. Without a word he was kissing me again. With my fingers I cupped his sex, hard and throbbing in the denim, for this. More

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