I find it, a tattered shirt with bits of straw sticking out. She smiles her wicked little smile, and I can’t help but smile back. She smiles her wicked little smile, and I can’t help but smile back. I push my bag of the bench, onto the floor, to make way for my little lovely. “Well…” she says looking at her bag, “I’m dressing as a witch.”
“Like what kind?” I ask, not looking up. “Like… While I sit trying to catch my breath she lays on the bench, trying to do the same. “I guess not.” I say, looking around for my scarecrow shirt. I know that, all the while, I’m bringing her closer and closer to her climax, I can feel her tensing and loosening, moving closer and closer to orgasm with each thrust. I fall back on the bench, breathless.
