Desi Bhabhi Seducing Her Boyfriend On Video Call Part 4
The library is closing intime for us to catch the late buses to our homes. I rise and walk away,leaving my bag, then return as if I have forgotten it, as she standsand reaches for her own.She brushes against me as she passes and I guide her waist-length maneso that some of the hairs pass close by the metal buttons on my jacket,sifting through their spaces like a thread passes through the tension-adjuster of one of the sewing machines in the Home-Ec class.She starts and looks back at my jacket. "I really don't like kiss ass very much, so can we just get on to it."She looked hurt but she led the way to the tack room door, which actually concealed the elevator. The elevator took us down to a basement, which was filled with very clean rooms. Rooms where they did things no one talked about. Things which people with good sense didn't ask about. So the ass kissing chick dropped me in a small office.I sat alone where I assume I was supposed to contemplate my sins. I really didn't consider. My chance to escape. The ferry. (thinking) I'm getting on that boat! It's the only way off this island! I don't stand a chance in a direct confrontation. I don't know a thing about navigation, so it'd be impossible to cross the ocean by myself. Even if I snuck on as a stowaway, on that little ship I'd be discovered long before we reached Tokyo. After I secure my own safety, I'll make them maneuver into Tokyo. To do that--(She pulls the handle off a broom, forming a makeshift bokutou.)(Gein. " One o'clock she thought ... so why did we fly up so early ... we could have flown up tomorrow morning, made the meeting and flown home the following day. Things didn't come together in her mind and perhaps it was the wine but she decided it didn't really make any difference ... she had enjoyed flying First Class, the elegance of the Marriott and now a $700 dinner ... it just didn't seem to get better than that! She started to push back her chair and the back caught on the rug, tilted a little.
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