It had all got too much. I started to weaken. I loved Tom’s cock. It was thick and throbbing and begging to be sat on. I walked into Tom’s fitting...room in a sexual daze. I wasn’t thinking about where I was, who was there or getting caught. All I wanted to do was slowly lower myself onto Tom’s raging stiffy. I lifted my dress revealing my tight wet pussy. Tom’s hand was clamped firmly around his dick. I teased him by slipping my fingers over my glistening pussy. I could tell that he was about to. If a story didn't include the possibility of violence and death, it seemed a little meek and boring to me.An hour flashed by and the story was as good as it was getting. An e-mail was zipped off to my editor and then the shower beckoned. It seemed as if the water washed away my London self, leaving the girl who grew up in Aurora and got her first taste of the life of a war correspondent by covering 9/11 for the Columbia University Daily Spectator. It was startling to realize that while that. More

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