He talked about the cottage, the moor, and where they would walk tomorrow, if the rain let up. Beth felt that was unlikely, since every now and then t...e howl of the wind and the sound of the rain as it pelted against the bedroom window, halted his words. Nevertheless, Beth was not really listening either to the storm or to what he was saying; rather she was enjoying the sound of his voice, the buzz from the liqueur, and the feel of his touch as he rubbed her knee and calf through the terry. Do as you're told!"SLAP!She nodded once, the whole of her upper body in agreement. Mr. Williams went back to running his hand over each buttock, making figure-of-eight patterns across her firm expanses. He began to run his fingers to the tops of her thighs, sliding a little between them to dabble his fingers in her juices. He never quite touched her hand, still two fingers knuckle-deep inside herself, nor did he run his fingers up her crack. But she wanted it. She wriggled.SLAP! SLAP!"Do not. More

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