"I'm so tired of today," thought Amisha. "I just want to get home and go to sleep. Is that too much to ask?"
She had just finished an arduous day of work at her office and was on the way back from the restroom to her desk to pack up her things when her phone buzzed. As she checked it, she assumed it was her boyfriend, once again telling her that he was going out with his guy friends that night.
The bedroom was filled with the constant yet broken sounds of bed springs squeaking under the rhythmic thrusts of a man into his woman. But it wasn't the bed making the noise; it was Cindy who groaned intermittently with sharp, feminine 'coos' and 'ahhs' that were neither exaggerated nor too quiet to discern. Matching her steady pattern of moans and no doubt causing them was the driving of Carl's rigid seven inches into that sweet spot between Cindy's thighs.
It was a beautiful fall day in Niagara-on-the-lake, in southern Ontario. It is the time of year for the grapes to be harvested in the wine region of Eastern Canada. Matthew's schedule was tight and he had been watching the vineyards closely since returning from Chile on the World Winemaker's Conference in Santiago. His Assistant, Richard de Grosse, had been invaluable to him during the summer lead up to this.