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I'd been shocked when I first felt that hand wandering over to my leg as I was trying to take in the plot of Skyfall, but I'd sat still and let it happen and from that moment on I couldn't get Bruce's naughty behaviour out of my head. By 9 PM I was getting into my onesie for an evening alone in front of the television.
Bruce waylaid me during my birthday afternoon, as I was walking home in my school uniform, pussy still full of the cum Mr. There was only one, and I was a reasonably regular visitor there. Unnerving though this was, I realised I was turned on. But by I was standing in my hallway wearing a red leather mini skirt, glossy black high heels, white blouse and black jacket, under my blouse I had on a Stella Mc Cartney lacy bra and under my mini skirt I was wearing Coco de Mer black silk French knickers.
He stroked my pussy and evidently mistook the oozing cum from Mr. His cock was erect and I put my hand on it and closed my fingers around it. I had cum in front of a complete stranger thousands of miles away with my unsuspecting boyfriend slumbering peacefully on. And even though that night Colin was away, I wore headphones and heard them cheering me on while I gasped and panted and brought myself to the most intense orgasm I could ever remember having. Then I went and did it again the next day just to check if it was really as painful as I remembered" This was true.
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Two months later when it was my own 18th party I asked my friend at whose party I'd met him to invite him, and he turned up mid-way through the evening with a huge bunch of flowers for me. It would be romantic, I guess to say that Colin took my virginity and we'd been faithful to each other ever since, but the truth was I'd already been had by two different men that day - barely hours before Colin walked in with his floral gift. Du Pont, my physics teacher, who deflowered me during a lunchtime tryst at his flat.
The second was Bruce, my best friend's boyfriend, who'd been flirting with me for the previous two weeks since we'd gone to the cinema as a group and he'd ended up sitting next to me and spent half the film stroking the inside of my thigh under my skirt (Carla was on the other side and oblivious to what he was doing). The following day I swung from determined not to go, to determined to go, to determined not to go again with equal fervour on an almost hourly basis. It was stupid and dangerous and I didn't even know what had possessed me to give away the information that had obviously (though god knows how) allowed Ian to trace me to my town of residence.
The story I present here is based entirely on a fantasy of mine.
It is not true, but a dark side of me would like it to be.
I should say right now that I know very little about racing cars.