A table for twelve


posted by sooyup on

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It was our Lodge annual dinner on Saturday - a small gathering (getting smaller every year) of friends and their wives in a local hotel. The small basement dining-room is cosy, even though it was once the village dungeon. I have read an historical novel, based on fact, which describes the conditions suffered by an unfortunate prisoner awaiting execution there. I’m glad to say that the venue, and indeed the food, has improved almost beyond recognition since then. I enjoyed the occasion tremendously. How could I not, with Emma beside me looking gorgeous. There was no cleavage to speak of, the weather being bitterly cold. But I could admire the swell of her breasts beneath the short woollen dress. I even managed to lay a casual hand upon her thigh between courses. Sharp intake of breath! But if she’d tried to remove it Emma would had drawn attention to it. It must have kept her gently simmering, however, because we had a great session when we finally got to bed in the early hours of Sunday.

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