Any ill-will I feel evaporates. ‘Sure,’ I move the wasabi from the fridge to the counter, then offer the glass bottle of dark soy sauce out to him. He takes the bottle but only to discard it on the counter and wrap my face in his strong, soft hand. ‘Y’know,’ he grins, a familiar grin that I love for what it foreshadows, ‘There is still an hour before Lilly gets here…’, his other hand traces the outline of my waist, fingers prying at the waistband of my jeans, brushing softly against the newly exposed flesh. ‘Hmm?’ I murmur, happy as ever for him to spell it out for me. ‘So,’ there’s a note of laughter in his voice, ‘What I think would be an apt use of our time, would be if you were to take off all of these pesky clothes and sit on the counter here,’ he paused in his exposition to give me a light kiss, a tease. ‘And touch yourself, until you’re desperate to be fucked, and then finger fuck yourself until you’re desperate to cum.’ Another kiss, a little more lingering, ‘And then, maybe,. We ran the bikes hard and were there in time to see our guests start to approach the airport. David said, "Okay, Myra and Tom, Bobbi and I will be in the Humvee. We can man the near guns of Duck. Do it. The rest of you spread out away from the line of fire." Heads nodded. We donned vests and climbed into the Humvee and rolled out to meet the visitors.When they were a hundred feet away, Myra turned us sideways and stopped. Tom had the machine gun tracking. The people were approaching us on horseback followed by wagons. We could tell it was a mixed sex group though none of the women were armed. David and I stepped out of the Humvee and walked forward. David held up his hand for them to stop.They reined in and two men dismounted and walked forward. One of them said, "G'day. I'm Rob Goodall and this is my mate, Steve Jones. We live here."David said, "I am David Lewis and this is my wife, Roberta. We are from North America exploring." Crikey. You're a pretty bird, Roberta. We'll save you.
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