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I lifted myself up to him, wanting him more and more. I could feel an orgasm building as he fucked me hard with his fingers while licking and sucking my clit. My moans became louder as I gripped onto the side of the seat in complete ecstasy. I begged him not to stop as my orgasm reached its peak. It went through me wave after wave, heightened by the feel of his tongue on my clit. He held onto my waist kissing my pussy as my orgasm subsided. I lay on the seat still feeling the sensation coursing through my body. He pushed my dress up my body and worked his way up my tummy with his lips and tongue tickling my sides. I pushed his jeans down with my feet and as he reached my mouth to kiss me and share my sweet juices, I felt his dick press against my pussy. I lifted myself up and pulled him into me. I watched his face as his dick went into me so deep. He looked me into my eyes as he slowly started moving in me. I ran my hands through his hair and down his back, my nails leaving red. “Do you know what this is, Aunt Margie?”At first, she looked a little startled, but then she relaxed and said, “Yes, that’s Dagmar’s diary. Why do you have it? You didn’t read it, did you?”“Yes, I did. Pretty interesting stuff, wouldn’t you say?”She put her nose in the air and turned away, saying, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not the kind of person who reads other people’s diaries. That really is rather rude, Marty. I should think you would know better.”I ignored the rebuke. “So, you do know this Dagmar?”She looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Not really. It would be kind of hard to explain.”I took her hand and urged her on. “Please try, Aunt Margie. When we go back to court in two weeks, whether you go to trial or not on these charges is going to depend a lot on what you know about Dagmar and this diary. You’re saying you don’t know what’s in it, but old Bullock is going to ask you how that can be when it’s in your handwriting and it was found in your underwear drawer. You knew it was.
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I never saw another white bottom in any of the tearooms. Over at the peepshows, that was a little more prevalent. I guess most of the white locals were afraid of the men’s rooms where I hung out. More for me. The pale Chinese man in his twenties took one look at me, turned around and walked out. That was weird. But apparently, he had been looking for me. He came back into the men’s room two minutes later, followed by six other Chinese office workers, all dressed identically. They stared me straight in the eyes one by one, and took their places at the six urinals, unzipping. They could have been clones; they were so identical in appearance. I happen to have bright green eyes, and I sometimes wonder if the seven Chinese men thought it was lucky being blown by someone with green eyes. Or perhaps they just wanted to get back at the white man. Either reason was fine with me. But they had this orchestrated. I had been identified and their lunchtime plan was apparently in place. With the.

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