I moan softly into his mouth, loving the feel of his hands, those strong, hard-working, loyal hands, caressing the skin of my back. I kiss him all the...harder and deeper as he pushes my shirt higher and higher until it rests just below my bra line. His hands play along my skin, making me moan. I slide my hands under his shirt as he begins to lay me back onto the couch, placing my hands on the strong muscles of his stomach. I lay back against the blankets as he sets me down, then takes his shirt. "Does that feel good, Cole?"I attempted a yessing of the plate, but it was firmly fixed."That's good, Cole. You're getting better. You're being cured."Then there were rows of paint and polish, and naked wicks needing fierried, and sock grips needing reddened, soft mask wings needing browning, sighters needing bordered, furries needing shaped, lids in dire need of color, and I could see how it all pieced. There were shelves full of stilts, and draping hose, and drawers full of frillies, and I. More

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