Below her, nose inches from her shrine, Bernard Lambert was in a similar situation – and powerless to refuse his own demands anything.
He was, he thought –with what reasoning and logic remained to him- in as great a state of rut as he thought it possible to be.
The sight and the smell of that p***y, as he stared and sniffed -swearing he could smell her homeland in the exotic mustiness assailing his nostrils- drove all thoughts of his humiliation and the consequences arising from it out of his head. At that moment, it seemed to him as if he was indeed at the: “Centre of his universe”.
Still spellbound, he watched as she slipped a finger into herself and rotated it teasingly before easing it out; glistening and aromatic.
“You may remember,” she said, retaking her seat and removing a shoe
