"Read this, Des, and then tell me you didn't feel any anger."The sheet was one of the last pages of my transcripted monologue; I had forgotten I had told Mortimer of that particular visit to Wootton Bassett.March 18th, 2009: Wootton Bassett, Wiltshire.I took up my usual place with members of the local British Legion branch when I arrived at Wootton Bassett. Their standard was proudly carried by an old fellow who had stormed ashore at Normandy on Sword Beach, and I usually stood behind him. He would lower the flag in salute as the cortege paused for the friends and family of the dead, and anyone else who wished, to lay wreaths and flowers on the coffins. Alongside me was a tall thin fellow, ramrod stiff, showing him to be ex-military, former RAF Regiment as it happened, but I've not got any prejudices towards Rock Apes. After the cortege had passed we stood watching the TV and newspapers people buttonholing some of the families of the deceased."Bloody vultures," the tall bloke standing. A low moan escaped her lips as one finger, and then two disappeared from sight. Click! Click! They shortly reappeared wet with her juices. She offered them to me. "Smell," she commanded. I brought them to my nose and rubbed the wetness on my upper lip. I could feel my precum leaking as my head swooned from her scent.She returned her hand to her cunt, this time parting her hair until she found the swollen clit. Holding her pussy lips apart with her left hand Angela stroked the nub with her right. Her breath was coming in gasps as her hips responded to the clitoral assault. Click! Click! Click! I couldn't take pictures fast enough. Her pussy was leaking so fast that the hair surrounding that magnificent hole glistened in the white office lights. I no longer needed her fingers under my nose to smell her intoxicating aroma. The room was filled with her vaginal perfume. I prayed that the 1500 pictures on the disk would be enough. In my wildest dreams I never imagined that anyone could be.
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