The Plumber’s Daughter-Chapter 4
By Beagle9690
October 2015

Author’s Note: as with the previous Chapters I continue to delve in detail into Marie and Patrick’s past and hint of their future to put their Romance and deep feeling for each other into perspective. Some won’t like the story for its lack of constant vicarious sex. While others will like it for the balance of both in keeping with the Romance that it is.

MARIE:

IT’S A SMALL MIRACLE; despite the telephone call in the kitchen when Patrick had Dad banging his telephone on the table; my blue knight received from my father what my ex husband couldn’t in our 16 years of marriage……Dad’s respect.

Actually three small miracles occurred; two on the first day of our visit and the 3rd during lunch the next. My father hugged him and thanked him for bringing me home to them. Dad kissed Patrick’s cheek catching Patrick completely by surprise. My love’s eyes got big like when I kissed him in Macy’s in front of the clerk and I stuck my tongue in his mouth. My blue knight glanced in my direction and I smiled and nodded to assure him it’s my father’s way so get used to it from now on.

Dad stepped back with his hands on Patrick’s shoulders looking him directly in the eyes. This is Dad’s way of apologizing, a rare occurrence under any circumstances and asked “Do you still demand an accounting from me, Son?”

“No, Sir, that field is plowed under,” and he hugged Dad briefly slapping his back….minus kissing Dad on the cheek of course………that first happened on the day our twins were born and that was the first time I saw Patrick cry…..and Dad was crying along with him as they hugged Sam who was standing between them twisting his ball cap in his hands “happier than a Blue Jay in a field of sunflowers” one of his many quaint expressions and just as thrilled, Sam barely managing not to cry now that he was a grandfather; the dear sweet man that he is.
I mentioned a third small miracle…..an astonishing sharing of tradition with an outsider to the family; the men in the Bernardino family, especially my Dad’s two brothers now living in Connecticut, cling tightly to the tradition of who receives a heel from the bread. It is a serious matter with them. At family gathering there are enough loaves of crusty Italian bread for each to have their accorded heel. Nonetheless, regardless of who is hosting the get together; the first heel from the first loaf cut always goes to Dad; it’s our Tradition that goes way back in our family.

My Nonno Aldo, Dad’s father took both heels from the bread when he was alive. Bread is sliced by the oldest male at the table and the basket is passed around after we say grace. Dad is the eldest son and after Nonno died, Dad sliced the bread and had his choice of heels.

He dropped out of school at 17 and worked two jobs to take care of his mother and his younger brothers; Vincent 13 and Rico 15. They found part-time jobs after school to help out. There was no way the Bernardino brothers will allow their mother to clean houses for other people to support the family. Dad wisely gave Uncle Rico a heel to keep peace and harmony among his brothers and in turn Rico gave Vincent half of his.

Dad and Patrick were sitting next to each other at the kitchen table. There was a large antipasto platter and fruit on the table. Mom and I were sitting beside our men. Dad sliced off the heels from the bread and put them on Patrick’s plate…..the first seed of the plowed field and Patrick gave one back to Dad, nodding in acknowledgement. My father’s gesture of respect was solemnly accepted and returned and both Mom and I wiped a tear from our eyes.

I first shared the story of the tradition of bread with my Blue Knight while we were sitting at the farm on the porch swing wrapped in a quilt. It was a wonderful starlit night and we were listening to the crickets. Over our antipasto salad, Patrick told my parents how his father always received the liver, gizzard, heart and neck from the turkey or chicken served at a meal regardless of the bounty before them.

His Dad did it to remember the hard times. Patrick’s father joked that he was so poor while growing up when the Great Depression came he thought it was an improvement. Patrick described how during the Depression his grandfather and father raised chickens to be canned for their own consumption and nothing went to waste; including the feet from which his mother made a flavorful broth for chicken soup and they were thankful to get it. He joked it took 24 chicken feet to make a cup of broth, however, that one cup kept him on his feet all day long.

Patrick described when he was growing up how they rarely purchased beef being Dairy Farmers. Eventually a cow aged to the point where it stopped producing enough milk to become a source of beef, however tough, to be canned by his mother or traded off for a spring lamb or a hog to be butchered.

Granted, both Patrick and his Dad had a roof over their heads and enough to eat while growing up. It is the little things and luxuries that I’ve always taken for granted while growing up such as a new this or that. At times Patrick had to settle for used or hand-me-downs. I went regularly to a beauty parlor with my Mom and my Dad to a barber.

Patrick’s Mom cut his hair and his father’s hair and she used her skills as a seamstress to put aside a small portion the money she earned to go to a beautician; her one luxury in life. I’ve seen photos of his mother and she was a strikingly beautiful woman. They had so much; and they had so little; and they had what money can’t buy: it put into perspective the first time I brought him a cup of coffee, something that pleased him so much; and after, we sat on the front porch swing wrapped in a quilt listening to the crickets and watching the fireflies.

My Dad needled Patrick about not having indoor plumbing on the farm and they didn’t until 1965. Electricity in the farm house came a mere 10 years earlier and only after they did the barns first.

Patrick’s father was also a staunch optimist and great admirer of Will Rogers. He quoted him in part saying “We farmers have to be optimists or we wouldn’t still be farmers.” After lunch, Dad and Patrick went to Dad’s social club to play Bocce.

DOMANIC BERNARDINO:

IF MARY HADN”T INTERCEEDED I would’ve cried uncle or received a sore or sprained hand for my stubbornness. While I was in the bathroom washing my face and changing my shirt, I was contemplating ‘Here is a man who possibly might be good enough for my daughter despite the motorcycle. Patrick was holding back out of respect for an older man.’ He has a sense of humor and apparently he can dish it out as well as take it but who ever heard of a Marine with a Purple Heart who doesn’t curse or swear at all. Joe did some checking on him. He assured me Patrick is a good and decent man. He assured me Marie is in safe hands and given my daughter’s temper and sometimes saucy mouth, Patrick will be a good match for her.

I can accept Patrick marrying her if that’s what Marie wants. I’ve noticed the way he looks at my daughter and she him. I’ll ride on a motorcycle to hell and back if they give me grandchildren and not care where they live.

It’s six blocks to my Social Club and we decided to walk. We stopped at a small Market owned by a friend of mine. I wanted to get a fresh can of talcum powder to get a good grip on the ball. As we were leaving two young men entered who I will refer to as rabbits as you shall soon understand why. They were wearing ridiculously expensive sneakers, hoodies and baggy carpenter jeans and the fools underpants were showing.

One went to the back of the store and the other to the checkout counter. It is said New Yorkers are cold and unfriendly and never get involved and that is a load of crap; not this New Yorker; although crappers are an integral part of my livelihood…..a little plumber humor here……I digress; this is my neighborhood and they have no business here causing trouble or worse.

I looked at Patrick and we were thinking the same thing; that confident half smile he returned was all I needed to know…..game on….they cast the pallino and we went back into the store to finish their game.

The black rabbit at the counter pulled out a large Gurkha Kukri knife, almost a short sword that was hidden under his sweatshirt and began violently slashing and chopping the items on the counter near the cash register demanding all the money. I knew Patrick had a large bowie knife concealed under his jacket and wondered if there was going to be knife play. Joe told me Patrick was an amateur fencer.

I glanced to my future son-in-law and he was nowhere to be seen………mere seconds later a heavy metal display rack full of snack pastries came screeching across the floor like a speeding freight train full of Twinkies, Zingers and Ding-Dongs with Patrick as the caboose…..talk about a sugar rush.

Not to be left out I jumped aboard too ride the rails and pushing together we slammed the “fruit of the loom” underpants showing against the counter and pushed the rack over the top of him as he slashed ineffectually with the Kukri knife before we pinned him to the floor.

So much for his big knife when I stomped on his hand to make him let go of it and I kicked it away. Sal came from around the counter and sat on the rack to weigh it down….good idea! Yes, he struggled to escape; cursing and threatening to kill us if we didn’t let him up….easily solved….I banged the black rabbits head on the floor until he stopped squealing and lay still and behaved.

With him out of the game it was three good guys to one bad guy. Patrick went to the back to flush the other one out….how did he describe it to my friends at the St. Nicolas Social Club over drinks? Oh yes, “like a beagle flushing a coney out of a thorn patch”. The mangy rabbit came running down the dry goods isle holding onto his baggy pants to keep from tripping on them with Patrick close behind snapping at his heels.

Oh well, flushing rabbits is a young man’s sport, while Bocce is mine so I stepped to one side as Patrick’s 6’ tall plus white rabbit tried to run past me; he didn’t make it. I tripped him and sent him wildly flailing his arms and legs as he slid stomach down across the floor; halfway out the door and partway on the sidewalk. He hit his head on the door frame on the way out leaving him momentarily stunned. Confused, he crawled all the way out with his pants half off. He sat up and leaned against a fire hydrant as a small crowd started to gather.

Patrick picked up my canvas bag full of bocce balls as he walked outside and stopped, taking one out and dropping the bag to the sidewalk. He rolled it between his finger and palm; tossing it up in the air twice to gauge its weight and density. He ordered the white rabbit to stay put and wait for the Police to arrive.

Getting his second wind the rabbit pulled his pants up. He ran about 50 feet before Patrick wound up like a pitcher on the mound and threw it like a fast ball, hitting him between the shoulder blades and knocking him off his feet again while New York’s Finest arrived to answer the stores silent alarm…….

PATRICK:

THE LOOK IN HIS EYES assured me he had my back and Marie is right; her Dad is not one to mess with. It’s fortunate the handshake didn’t escalate because I surmise my future father-in-law is a lot like Sam; he will go all out in a fight with no holds barred. He didn’t hesitate a second to help me and banged that mangy flea-bit rabbit’s head on the floor to subdue him; smart move.

Mr. Bernardino knew both those Patrolman by their first names. They took our statements and advised us they’d contact us if something further came up. Most likely those two mangy flea bitten rabbits will plea out at armament saving me to return for a trial.

What a great bunch of guys at the Saint Nicks Club; they made me feel right at home when Mr. Bernardino introduced me around. I took a great deal of good natured kidding about my Bocce technique of throwing overhand instead of underhand and the drinks flowed like an artesian spring. I played baseball at a young age and built up my pitching arm, starting by throwing rocks. If they fit in my hand I threw it and as I grew larger and stronger so did the size of the rocks.

I never had the time after school to use the fancy equipment in the weight room; the hard manual farm work had the same effect and there was plenty of lifting, pulling, bending and squatting there. I’ve picked enough rocks out of the fields and especially as a teenager until I joined the Marines. Sam hired me out to do his fields to earn spending money. He gave his two champion prize winning stud draft horses, Caster and Pollux a workout. One or the other pulled the oversize wood sledge and I’d fill it with rocks. Sometimes Anne would help out to lead the horses for him. She was a tomboy in those days; all rough and tumble.

It was a bit awkward after I turned her down for the dance though. She was all business then, although she did see to it I had plenty of cold water and sandwiches because of the agreement I made with her Dad. I was obtuse to the fact that she really liked me; more than liked me. We did play together as small children; our Dad’s being best friends.

I’ve never played Bocce before so the guys took me outside to the clay courts to demonstrate the finer techniques of the game. This is the real New York City and the many good people who live here; they’re the people the media seldom talks about because it’s the bad news that sells. Mr. Bernardino actually called people at home to come and join us and in all the drinking and eating and celebrating, we forgot completely about Marie and Mary.

DOMANIC BERNARDINO:

WHEN WE ARRIVED AT THE CLUB, I took Patrick right to the bar and introduced him around. I left him alone for a while to make some telephone calls and then we celebrated with everyone there and anyone who came later. We watched the news report about us on the TV in between going to the courts to teach him the game. Patrick was very at ease there and I’ll say another thing for him; the man doesn’t have short arms. They reach into his pockets to put his money on the bar to buy round after round of drinks when his turn came up and apparently he can hold his liqueur. It will be a challenge to drink him under the table. I haven’t had a good toot like this in years.

MARY BERNARDINO:

IT WAS ALMOST 10:00 PM and the boys weren’t home yet. Patrick wasn’t answering his cell phone. Just before we left to go to St. Nicks we received a telephone call from Mrs. Goldstein who was excited that there was a hero living in the brownstone next door. Rachel went on to describe the 10:00 PM news story she saw about them.

We went online to the local station’s website and found a brief earlier interview of one of the thug’s mother. She went on and on to describe what a good boy he is; everybody likes him at her church and how he sings in the choir. He was enrolled at city college and all the other blah, blah; the etcetera, etcetera, plus the usual explanations, accusations and excuses why he is the real victim here.

Marie and I drove to the club see exactly what they were up to and it was a good thing we did. The men were in no condition to walk home and had a snoot full.

MARIE:

THEY WERE SITTING AT A CORNER TABLE talking quietly with a half empty bottle of Jim Beam Black and two shot glasses. They both were disheveled and relaxed and they had smiles on their faces. They were obviously having a great time. When we walked to their table, Dad stood up and teetered in place for a second or two before sitting back down to finish his shot and boy was he plastered.

Patrick finished his shot, stood up and bowed to us announcing “Ladies, my Queen” he kissed my hand “please forgive us for not calling. We lost all track of…..of ……of what we were doing. Isn’t that right Dominic?

My Dad nodded and slurring his words slightly said “We’re running a tab so please sit down and have a drink with us. I’ve about had enough or not; what about you Patrick? Are you ready to admit I’ll be the last man standing? “There’s half a bottle of fine Bourbon whiskey left” Patrick replied.

“Good point Son” and Dad filled both their glasses and they drank them down before he asked us “Do you know what happened?”

“Yes, Dom” my Mom teased “One of the sweet little darlings mother claims you and Patrick brutalized those innocent and misunderstood youth who walked into Sal’s store to buy milk and cupcakes and the knife was for self-protection. Thank you but we’ll pass on the drinks.”

“Wait that’s not” Patrick started to say so I put my finger on his lips and whispered “Mom’s teasing.” “Oh….oh, I get it” he whispered “Marie, I really like your father.” “I can tell, sweetheart, but don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” “Nag, nag, nag, and we aren’t even….even hitched yet.” I realized he was teasing me “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty mellow and your Dad is trying to drink me under the table. Can you get me out of this?” he whispered kissing my cheek.

“What are you too whispering about?” my Dad asked. “Patrick says he’s really likes you Daddy and is proud to have met you.” “Did he now” my Dad said standing suddenly with the help of Mom holding on to steady him as Patrick nodded in agreement. “I like him too, Princess; he has guts. Your mother and I are coming to visit you on his homestead. I want to see where my grandbabies are going to be living.”

“What grandbabies? Do you know something I don’t know and when were you going to tell me about the trip, Dom?” My Mom asked. “What babies, Patrick?” I asked “Shouldn’t I be part of that equation or are you and Dad planning for the stork to deliver them? I imagine you and Dad have already picked out their names.” I just had to tease him about it. “Oh, boy” he said grinning “thanks for all the help.”

“I believe I just did, Mary” Dad answered her “A change of scenery can do us both good.” “But Dom, you hate to leave the City. I practically have to use dynamite to get you to Connecticut to visit your brothers.” “Patrick says he can fix Dad’s old Barlow knife and he wants my advice about updating his plumbing; it’s over 50 years since it was put in.”

“Do you mean that old pocket knife in your sock drawer with the broken blade and bone handles? I asked “Yes that’s the one” Dad replied. “And you sweetheart” I said hugging Patrick and kissing his cheek “What’s all this talk about babies? We’re not even engaged yet, let alone hitched, Mr. Buchanan!”

“I um, I ah” he started to say when Dad piped in “How about we discuss everything over coffee and pie?” thinking he was coming to Patrick’s defense and getting out of the drinking situation gracefully “we’ve both had enough to drink and don’t need to prove anything, right son?” “Yup nothing at all” Patrick answered going along “sure, coffee and pie sounds great!”

The excitement at the store and following celebration really took their toll on my Dad who fought to stay awake on the short ride home. Dad fell asleep in his chair before the coffee finished brewing so Mom quietly ushered him off to bed and joined him leaving Patrick and me alone together for the first time since we got here. After I finished putting the pie away and the coffee to cool for iced coffee tomorrow, I changed into the long pale yellow flannel night gown I found in the bottom drawer of the dresser in my old room. I found him Patrick sitting the long way on the couch in his tee shirt and boxers and he was partially covered with a cotton blanket. I kicked off my fuzzy yellow slippers, another thing Mom saved for me like the nightgown and snuggled up between his legs before putting my head on his chest. Patrick kissed the top of my head and put his arms around me. He sighed contentedly saying “I think I overdid the drinking a bit. You’re not angry or annoyed at me are you?”

“Of course not; whatever gave you that idea? Mom and I talked while you and Dad were out. It was a long overdue heart to heart talk that can’t be done over the telephone. Everything is good and I have some things to tell you.” “You can tell me anything my Queen.” “I knew you’d say that, sweetheart. Mom told me how shabbily her parents, my Grandma Joyce and Grandpa Tom treated my Dad and the contempt they had for him until I was born. I realize now why I wasn’t allowed to call them Nonno or Nana or speak in Italian around them.

Mom said a few weeks after they announced their engagement, Dad was working double shifts at construction site in Manhattan near the docks. Mom said two men dressed like longshoremen and carrying clubs jumped him one night in the subway station men’s room. Mom said he beat them both unconscious and left them there pummeled and bleeding on the floor.

Dad said these impostors fought like sissies and their soft hands gave them away. He also said a homeless man; a vagrant who witnessed the whole thing went through their pockets looking for money. The bum asked Dad if he could have one of those men’s new Carhartt work coat and Dad let him.” “Really” Patrick commented “this sounds like something I’d do.”

“Mom’s parents refused to attend the wedding until the very last minute and after tried to have the marriage annulled. Dad knows people to and that was quickly squashed. They didn’t talk with Mom’s parents for two years. Things changed for the better after I was born; there was a neutral polite truce with my father. Mom missed her parents and the close relationship she once had with her mother. Daddy was the bigger person when he allowed Mom and me to spend two weeks with them twice a year at their summer house on Cape Cod.” “Did he go with them?” he asked kissing my head again. “No, Dad stayed home.
My parents kept this from me so I wouldn’t think badly about them and my grandparents never spoke badly about Dad in front of me.”

“This speaks well of your parents and put much in perspective of what happened between us; your Dad and me, and especially how he reacted during the robbery; it speaks well of his character. He told me your mother is a wealthy woman in her own right from her parent’s inheritance and that’s why they have this big spacious brownstone. It’s a matter of pride with him rather than envy.

What’s the second thing you have to tell me?” he asked “I told Mom how we first met at the Sex Club…… and, well, almost everything after up until now”

“I see” he replied “almost everything… what do you mean when you say almost everything and will she tell your father?”

“I explained you were there on business and about the sword you made for the owner. Mom already knows about your business from Father Joe and you said I can tell you anything; don’t worry sweetheart, she won’t tell Dad.”

“Your mother is very gracious and understanding woman, Marie. That explains why she hugged me so hard before she went to bed. Is there anything else you’d like to share?”

“Yes” I said squeezing his hands “You deserve a reward. I’m going to suck on your big cock!”

“For goodness sake lower you voice” he whispered “do you want to wake them?” and I took a deep breath to say it louder “OK, OK” he whispered “you win my Queen. If we get caught it’s on your head…..wow, did I just say that” he chuckled quietly “your head on my head? I’m drunk and you’re taking advantage of me.”

“Well I hardly think you’re that drunk. I can feel your hard cock pressing against me” I said teasingly squeezing his hands “Although if you are that drunk, I’m might get a buzz just by sucking on it” I added sitting up and pulling boxers completely off to see his big hard cock standing at attention.

I started by kissing the tip of Patrick’s hard cock. His cock was pulsating and twitching in anticipation with a mind of its own as I licked; I love teasing him this way. I continued to lick and suck on his hard pulsating cock… probing and teasing him with my tongue and lips….occasionally to look up into his eyes as I did so…..looking up into the eyes of my wonderful Blue Knight who I love with every atom of my being. I had half of his cock in my mouth as I licked and sucked; the deep-throating soon to follow while he played with my hair.

I stopped sucking and licking his cock to lick and suck on his balls making him gasp with pleasure. He is putty in my hands when I lick and suck on his balls and he admits it. I playfully teased him as I nibbled, licked and kissed them feeling him shudder with pleasure.

Patrick’s hands were buried in my hair as he pushed his cock deeper into my mouth; as I licked and sucked ravenously; savoring every inch of it, all wet and sloppy. I was fantasizing his big cock buried up to his balls in my cunt.

While my love isn’t classically movie star handsome…..while God may have scrimped a little with handsome; nonetheless he more than blessed Patrick with being well endowed and unbelievably virile. I always wanted more erotic sex play and love making from than the ex would give me. My Blue Knight more than satisfies my natural healthy sexual needs. Surprisingly, I found out during the face to face, heart to heart talk, my Mom’s and I are much alike in this; having a healthy sexual appetite….and wow…you go, Mom.

Handsome is as handsome does and Patrick is delightfully rugged looking.
He has kind expressive eyes and a quiet gentle patience when we’re alone……unless he’s angry or lusty. Then his eyes become smoldering hot and ready to burst into flame. Even then it is a controlled burn. He’s very fit and strong; incredibly strong as my Dad can attest too.

Patrick’s orgasm was an onslaught of testosterone laden energy as his hard male member assaulted my mouth and tongue, followed by a torrent of his thick rich semen flooding my mouth for me to swallow greedily as he moaned softly and whispered “I love you Marie.” I tease him by saying sucking on his cock is an aphrodisiac and I adore the taste of semen so the fact that I love him makes it so.

PATRICK:

After my sensual and sexy blowjob Marie covered my face all over with her sweet hot kisses. I admit I’m not much to look at……I’m just Ok in the looks department while my Queen is strikingly beautiful as is her mother. They possess the same voluptuous figures. It is said look to a girl’s mother to see what your wife will look like 25 or more years in the future. In the short time I’ve known her; I’ve observed Mary to be a sexy and sensual woman in her subtle quiet way.

Although in her late fifties or early sixties Mary’s thick hair is the same rich brown as Marie’s, although Mary’s is much longer. I can very well understand a stranger mistaking them for sisters; something that annoyed Marie when she was a teenager; although not at all now. If Mary dyes her hair so what; who am I to judge? Dominic is a lucky man and he admitted as much to me, or should I say he stated so outright while in his cups.

Marie was really horny; she’s always like this after she grants me nirvana and swallows my seed. Marie says sucking on my cock is intoxicating and my semen and aphrodisiac while just hugging and kissing her is mine. I reached back and tapped the floor lamp near the end of the couch to dim it. She started licking and sucking on my cock again and soon got me hard again….she’s so amazing; I love her and she’s mine. Without further fanfare she pulled up her nightgown and being panty-less straddled me lowering herself carefully onto my hard cock.

Soon, Marie was bouncing up and down and rocking from side to side. I reached up with one hand to caress and stroke her firm round breasts as she rode me, her eyes closed in ecstasy. I moved along with her, matching her rhythm, thrusting upward while helping her balance. My beautiful Marie is as light as a feather, or so it seemed at the time. I’m certain I felt the tremors of her marvelous orgasm as I held mine back to let her finish. When I could not hold mine any longer I held her waist as I let mine overtake me. Marie’s hands were in her hair and she smiling and watching me as I came a second time in her sweet little cunt.

“Wow, thank you, beautiful” I said as she got off and pulled her nightgown down and covered me again with blanket and I slid my boxers on “Do you want to cuddle?”
“No, I have a breakfast date with my Dad tomorrow morning; just him and me. If you want, you may sleep in my bedroom while I sleep here.”

“Are you sure?” I asked “Of course I’m sure and you can get better acquainted with Mom. This way Dad and I won’t disturb you when we leave early tomorrow morning……”

I didn’t argue and my dreams were pleasant. I was brushing my future wife’s hair; Marie’s very long hair, like her mother’s is now. I sat in the edge of the bed and did this for Anne; often times braiding it for her or pinning it up. I felt some weight on the edge of the bed and a small hand on my shoulder; this is how Marie wakes me. I was a bit groggy and disoriented from celebrating the night before and thinking I was home. I rolled over and reached and touched her face smiling.

I let my hand linger before putting my fingers in her hair…..my eyes were half open and with a sudden epiphany I realized the hair was far too long to be…..it was Mary. I quickly pulled my hand back and sat up to adjust the sheets and open my eyes to really look at her.

Mary’s long hair was loose and unbound falling almost to her waist. I’ve only seen it worn up since I’ve been here and now my curiosity of how long it is was satisfied despite the awkward situation. It was blunt cut straight across the bottom as I prefer it on most women. Mary’s blunt cut straight, full bangs accentuated her brown eyes now shining with amusement.

“Did you think I was Marie?” she asked laughing softly but not getting off the bed “You did think I was Marie, how sweet.” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bernardino” I started to apologize “It’s Mary, Patrick and no harm done, and I won’t tell anybody……if you know what I mean” she suggested licking her lips suggestively and pulling on the sheets and the blankets……….

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