. the joy it brought him just to be near her. Missed her laughter and her squeals of pleasure when she came. Missed her. Ached for her.The statuette ended up on the pillow next to him that night when he drifted off to sleep. Somehow, it felt like it belonged there. And he had such vivid dreams. He was making love to Brenda. She was stretched full length on top of him, and he relished the feel of her 260 pounds enveloping him in her yielding, fleshy warmth, grinding him deeply into the mattress. (Damn, that was a sensation none of his later girlfriends had been able to give him!) He awakened gasping for breath as his body let loose its built-up tensions in a prolonged, throbbing gush. The bedsheet reeked of sex... his sperm and something else. What? It smelled of Brenda. He remembered her particular odor, that body smell that meant she was horny, that she wanted him inside her. The smell hung heavily in the air. There were tears in his eyes.The statuette. Where was it? There! That lump. The plan was simple, and they talked, as co-conspirators, of the possible variations which chance might bring. But they both knew that a small misstep, a chance false step, or simple bad luck threatened the whole enterprise. Still, they shared a sense of needing this final inning, to climb to a clean slate, no matter the new ghost that might haunt them."You will be sure the boy isn't aboard, darling?" He would. "You shouldn't take too much of a chance at Roper, blasting him to small bits is just as sweet." He wouldn't. "You feel you can manage the rifle, even with a bit of a sea?" She could.But tonight she had vowed she would show him her love by debasing her body for him in a new way. He had acquired a taste for the dildo, the buzzing and the nastiness of it piercing his restraint. She fed him a meal while he steered, keeping to what he called a bowline, and rubbed against him as he ate. Then she strutted with her most hip swinging walk to the door of the hatch, loosening the string.
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