The tingle had become almost an ache, but such a pleasant ache, spreading from her nipples right through her breasts, down to her tummy and beyond, where her willie would be if she had one.She had to admit, her hastily hatched plan to keep Mr Devonshire company today had succeeded beyond her most far-fetched expectations. So far, she'd touched his willie - okay, through his pants, but still - and there was the huge bonus of a brand new bra, a new bikini, two shirts and a sweater, a pair of stretchy, slinky slacks that hugged her bottom like cling-film, and six pairs of panties that were so disgracefully sexy that she blushed every time she even thought about them. Added to that the fact that she was in a state of almost permanent tingliness and that her nipples seemed to be nearly poking holes in her new sweater the whole time, and that in five minutes Mr Devonshire was going to be measuring her breasts...The ninth England wicket had fallen and the last man was walking out to bat to. Her body was fine though, rounded and firm, with big breasts that had his hands itching to touch. He bet she had brown nipples, big brown nipples.She had been so easy. A drink bought, a few words exchanged. He had walked her out to her car and had made sure she saw his. She had looked him up and down, saw dollar signs and had agreed to go with him to another bar he knew where the band was much better. She climbed into his car turned to grab the seat belt and he had been ready for her. The cloth had been plastered to her face and she was out in seconds.It was so easy to drive at night with a girl slumped in the front seat of your car. People thought she was drunk or tired and had fallen asleep. He had gotten home easily enough, carried her down the steps and into his lab and now she was his.He watched her wake up, saw the confusion when she realized she couldn't move. It was always the same. The confusion and then the dawning horror that she was tied down. And then came the pleading.
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