“Good girl,” she whispered and put the jar back in her purse, then pulled off the glove. She pulled up my panties herself this time and even smoot...ed down my skirt. I hated that she could make me do practically everything! * * The party was just a few blocks down the road from campus, so we walked. Each step rubbed my swollen pussy lips together, and my twat boiled and burned painfully. I shuffled awkwardly behind, trying to keep up with Em’s determined strides and trying not to worry about. There was plenty of alcohol and weed going around. Led Zeppelin, Motely Crue and whatever band dejure at the time, jamming on my stereo. The two settled in with the crowd and partied with the rest of us. Over a period of time, I noticed the blonde and her boyfriend really weren’t acting like a couple. She did not seem really interested in being with him. After a while, I asked her what the deal was. She said the boyfriend/girlfriend thing was more a he thing and that she really wasn’t all that. I had one of those moments of clarity I occasionally am lucky enough to experience. It was partly my fault, too. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’d been neglecting her, but it was closer than I was comfortable with. I’d been as busy as she was of late and intensely focused on my job and my training, throwing myself into both areas until my time fell into cycles of work, train, recover, and repeat. Communication was as open between us as it ever was, and I still spent as much of my free time as. The bed was a dark wood with a canopy in lace, a flowery duvet, creamy soft pillows. A graceful, elegantly simple love seat was near a window. There was one drawing of her, framed, on the wall over the divan. Even in pencil, you could see the flush of her skin, the taut breasts, the immediate post-orgasm breathing, the sweat glistening on her, the light dew on her pale pubes that meant someone had been kissing her there just moments before. "Did Marie do that?" She smiled enigmatically. "The.
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