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"We're almost out of time," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry to rush you."Marissa felt like she was 17 again and going to the prom.Without letting Marissa see herself, Patty and Kyra led Marissa to another room. On a stand was a flowing ballroom dress. It was an elegant deep blue, low-cut but not too much. There was a pair of white, elbow-length gloves that went with it and some matching heels.Thinking back to the day she and Alan met, Marissa realised this is what he had her measured for. Is it hers?The two girls dressed Marissa quickly."Do you think this is the night?" Kyra asked conversationally."For what?" Marissa was puzzled.The other girl smiled. "That he's going to ask you to marry him?"Marissa's jaw dropped."Oh," Kyra blushed furiously when she saw the blank expression. "I'm sorry. I just assumed ... big date ... gorgeous gown ... Ohmygod..." You two just look like you're so in love," Patty said, trying to come to her friend's rescue.Me? A hooker in love? Marissa's pulse. “I think what I am doing feels good to you.” Her voice was husky now and it sounded very sexy. “Am I doing it right? Do you like it? I need to know.” “Oh god, yes. It feels marvellous,” I groaned. “Ann, I’m going to come soon. Please don’t stop what you’re doing.” Her breathing was getting faster and when she started to say, “Yes, please come for me. I need to see you come. Come for me,” I released. I came harder than I think I’ve ever come. She wasn’t prepared for the jet of cum that spurted from me and sprayed down along her leg. It was followed by a second spurt, a string which was less fluid, that snaked, rather than splattered, across her thigh. With a grunt I collapsed back on the soft gravel, breathing hard. “Oh!” she gasped as she looked at her leg. And then very quietly, “Oh, Martin. How beautiful.” After that she was quiet for a minute and continued to slowly stroke my cock with her cum-covered hand. The only sound was our breathing. She finally stopped stroking me and,.
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She was a little nervous, wondering if I’d see through this bullshit. I liked that she was nervous, and a little inexperienced in picking up men. I hate bimbos. ‘You know’ I said, ‘I’ve got some fliers on the wall in the back room. Let me get you one.’ ‘I’ll come with you.’ she says brightly, though guardedly, wondering if I’m picking up on her at all. So we pushed through the crowd of sweaty twenty-somethings to the back room, her hand on my shoulder so she wouldn’t lose me. Ooo, that felt nice. Definitely a charge there. ‘I could probably get this girl to come home with me’, I thought. As we passed Jazzy Girl’s table I noticed her looking my way with a sort of interested, but withering stare, like she was sizing up my worth. My loins stirred a bit. That always happens when I get eye-balled. Plus I’ve got this glistening young thing behind me, and you’re always better looking when someone hot is hanging onto you. (Thank you Moon God). So, we got to the storage closet, which was a.

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