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and that prick has. You arch your back slightly, pressing yourself into the edge. God that feels sooo good. You back away and hike your skirt to adjust your thigh high stockings. You can see yourself in the mirror, the sexy underwear having as much of an effect on you as a man it seems. Unable to resist, your hand moves to your pussy. You begin to rub yourself through the fabric. Closing your eyes you imagine Mr. James rubbing you there. Your hand quickens. Your cunt is soaking. Your clit is rock hard as you slide the thong to one side. You bite down on your bottom lip feeling the orgasm build. You hear the outer door to the bathroom open. You gasp and stumble backwards into the handicap stall, quickly closing the door. Your heart is racing in your chest. You rest your flushed face aganst the cold steel of the door. Your heart starts to calm. Turning around with your back on the door, you breathe deeply. Your hand moves to slide the lock when there is a sudden pressure against the stall door separating the door from the hinge, making it impossible for you to lock the stall. "Heeeyyyy, this is taken!" you blurt out. The door is pushed harder. "This isnt funny!" You push back, your heels sliding on the floor. The door is about a third of the way open. You open your mouth getting ready to scream. "HE...!" You go mute. A masculine hand covers your mouth. Your heart jumps. His other hand wraps around your waist and pulls you tight to him, the deep low toned, assertive voice of Mr. James says, "Dont turn around." Scared...mind racing, you bite him on the palm. He relinquishes his grip on your mouth but quickly counteracts by grasping a handful of hair. You gasp as he jerks your head back. His lips against your ear, "Dont do that again, bitch!". Your legs grow weak. "You gonna behave yourself?" You whimper and nod your head. "Not a sound!" he commands. Butterflies in your stomach. He releases his grip and you can hear the latch slide on the door. You start to turn around. "DONT turnaround" he barks. You turn back and lower your head. His hand firmly in your back guiding you towards the sink."What is happening to me?" you think to yourself. A distinctive tingle begins pulsing through your body. He pushes you forward, your hands grip the edge of the sink as he pulls your skirt up. "Nice ass," he says and gives you a firm slap on your left cheek. "Thank your , Mr. James," you reply without thinking. "Alright, this is about...". You feel your thong split your swollen lips as he jerks it up. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you feel your wetness as the fabric cinches your clit. You gasp aloud as the pain sears your aching cunt. The fabric tears sending a pre orgasmic wave through


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your body as the pain releases your engourged nub. Goose bumps dance across your skin as you hear his pants and belt hit the floor. Looking up you can see him in the mirror. He takes the head of his cock and begins to run it up and down the length of your sodden slit. Teasing you. Revelling in the silky wetness of your lips. You push back trying to take his thickness inside you. He smacks you hard on the ass. You retreat. He slowly moves the head of his cock against your clit. You feel the opening of his penis tease you. Your body tenses. Half whimpering and half moaning you cum as the sweet fluids release from your body. Your fingers gripped tightly on the sides of the sink. To be continued
CHAPTER ONE Dare I stand before you, In the harsh light of reality? I think not! For within me beats the heart of a coward, Despite the fact that each beat is yours. Please know, as you make your journey through this life, There exists a woman, Who is glad you share with her, The rising sun of each new day! Please forgive me my cowardice! I do not have the courage to stand before you - yet. But I do have the courage to love you! It is your touch I crave. Your heart I cherish. Feel the whisper of my caress! And know I give it only to you! Christina Rhodes knew she would send this poem. The desire to have this man know her feelings was too strong to ignore. She needed him to understand what he meant to her despite the fact that she knew he would probably interpret her words as a schoolgirl infatuation - considering the anonymous source. She had written the poem in English and then spent most of the night translating it into French. Her thoughts would speak to him in his own language. She liked that. As long as her spirit walked this earth she would never forget the warmth of his twinkling green eyes as he smiled at her from his table at 1621 tonight. The connection she felt was undeniable. The poem spoke for her when she could not. It would keep her secret but also convey her feelings. She knew the truth of these words but could not escape the clumsiness of their delivery. "Christ!" she whispered to herself. "Im 28, not bloody 14. Why dont I just go up to him and ask him out? He has said Bonjour to me at the boulangerie every morning for the last two months. Its not like I havent already got an in." When she looked at her reflection in the mirror across the room she didnt feel like she had an in at all. Staring back at her were the eyes of an 80kg woman. Dead eyes. Eyes that lacked the passion to write such eloquent and heart-felt words. How she despised that woman! She cupped her face in her open palms. The tears of frustration followed because she knew she was both the