She had the appearance of a normal twenty-something. It stood in stark contrast to her red carpet events, he thought, where she always appeared to Peter like an untouchable diva. Some of his colleagues had talked about her appearing normal, but he shouldn't be fooled. Ben, Peter's boss and now head of Britain's biggest paparazzi photo agency, had his own opinion of her. For a long time, he had managed to find her wherever she was hiding. He had pictured her walking through Oxford, London, Manchester, Glasgow, and Brighton – to name just a few. He even bragged about getting shots of her kissing a bloke somewhere in Sandbanks. But the agency never sold such pictures. In fact, no one ever found such files on the agency's cloud. His friends all joked behind his back, claiming that Ben had only dreamed about getting his hands on such material – which would have given him, a 41-year-old man living in Stoke-on-Trent, a very nice paycheck. Getting any shots of Emma had become much more. “I frigged myself until I came,” you say. “My fingers were covered in cum when I was finished, I was so turned on, and it was all because of you." During your admission I feel you grind your labia, hard against my hand. "You say that, Rebecca, but we both know it was Susie's fingers and tongue you really wanted between your legs, wasn’t it?" My voice is cold and hard like a true interrogator, still disbelieving his suspects answers. Unconsciously I tighten my grip on your body and my hand presses harder into your flesh. You groan again and then there’s a brief silence followed by a long deep sigh before you start telling me what I want to hear. "Yes, Drea, I wanted Susie to...” Your voice sounds dreamy now. “I hoped she would follow me to the ladies, where we could be alone. I was prepared to open my legs for her, hoping she would get down on her knees and lick me with her delicious sexy mouth. I wanted to cum all over her beautiful brown face." I listen to you hesitate, wondering.
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