A room service delivery boy receives a special reward from an appreciative couple for finding the wife’s lost wallet.

Jamie Stairs was rolling back from his 28th room service delivery of the afternoon when he found the wallet. Almost perfectly camouflaged against the dark gray carpet of the softly lit elevator, a woman’s something-skin gray wallet. Jamie picked it up. Creamy leather with a nice, rich smell. He unsnapped the wallet and looked inside. All the right charge cards; some he had never heard of. And a crisp stack of big-head hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least twenty of them. So new you would have to rub them when you paid for something to ensure they weren’t stuck together.

The charge cards were all in the name of Evelyn Summers. It didn’t ring any bells with Jamie. As he stood pondering the insides of his find, the elevator rang and slid to a smooth stop back on the ground floor. Before the doors could open, Jamie hastily slid the wallet under the linen tablecloth of the dinner cart. The door slid open.

No one was there to see the guilty look on the eighteen-year-old’s face. His face flushed with blood and his head throbbing with nervous energy, Jamie rolled his cart out of the elevator and started his journey to the vast kitchens of the Bayhaven Resort Complex. To take another order.

As one of the new boys, he tended to get sent to the furthest reaches of the complex, often having to leave the main building and cross the common areas to the condominiums and guest villas. Try making 28 of those trips for five dollars an hour and whatever tips the Kitchen Manager would admit to.

I better do the right thing, Jamie thought to himself. I better tell Mister Rose. Mr. Rose, the kitchen manager, was a wizened, grubby old man who ran the kitchens at Bayhaven with an iron fist. Domineering, he bullied and intimidated everyone, except for the well-paid chefs, who kept to themselves anyway. Jared Rose took room service orders over phone lines or the touch screen television displays in each room.

Guests did not have to sign or tip personally for their meals. Whatever tip they added to the room service went through Rose. The guests just had to open their door. Some took the cart right from Jamie, and others preferred that he roll it over to their table and serve them. Whatever they wanted, they got for three hundred to two thousand dollars a day.

Jamie rolled into the kitchen and got back in line. Three young men with carts waited ahead of him for assignment. Mr. Rose turned away from his communication station and gave them a general scowl. At eighteen, Jamie was the youngest. Most others had been there at least a year. All of them worked the short summer season, from Memorial to Labor Day at Bayhaven, the plush resort complex on Mackinac Island which sat between Michigan’s beautiful Upper and Lower Peninsulas.

The older boys worked the summers to save money for college; Jamie had gotten into the job because his father, an ebullient masculine good-natured salesman of the First Water, had done the same when he was a kid. He was worried about Jamie’s reticent, shy personality; he believed that a summer away from home and long hours of dealing with people would be just the tonic Jamie needed to come out of his shell.

And so Jamie Stairs had been at the Bayhaven Resort for two weeks now, working six days a week, quartered four to a room in a forgotten corner of the complex, listening to his older roomies boasting or lying about the guests they had scored with. They pretty much ignored the slim eighteen-year-old, except when they needed a small loan until payday.

Jamie was all right with that; he didn’t need much to get by, and the cocksure way they handled themselves confused and awed him. Presumably, at the end of summer, he would return home with a few thousand dollars for his share of the tip money. After Jared Rose skimmed a bunch of money off the top. Everyone hated Rose and most believed that after thirty years of skimming from his room service staff, he was rich himself.

Jamie spent his off day, Tuesday, biking around the island like a tourist. No motor vehicles were allowed on Mackinac Island except for an ambulance, police, and fire vehicles. Horse-drawn carriages were plentiful, although prohibitively expensive for the summer help. So Jamie biked around to see the sights: the majestic cliffs on the north side of the island, the old fort, the strip of both expensive and cheap souvenir stores, the quiet forests, and sandy shores that made the island so beautiful. Guests came to the island on one of the ferry services, which left every eight minutes from the mainland, only five miles away.

Jared Rose surveyed the idle boys disdainfully, then deposited pickup slips to the other boys, leaving Jamie waiting. The boys rolled their carts into Pickup to grab their next deliveries. Mr. Rose glanced doubtfully at Jamie before he turned to walk away.

“Mr. Rose?”

Rose turned and glared hard at Jamie. “What?” he answered irritably.

Jamie held out the lady’s wallet. “I found this in the elevator,” he said shyly.

Mr. Rose almost snatched the wallet out of Jamie’s hands. He opened it and inspected the contents. His eyes lit up when he saw the cash. Remembering himself, he put his mean glare back on and addressed Jamie.

“You found this? On which elevator?” he demanded.

“Main Three,” Jamie answered softly.

“Did you look in it? You looked in it, didn’t you?” Rose accused. “You know how much money is here?”

Jamie tried to hold his head up to Mr. Rose, but he failed miserably. Looking off into space, he answered. “I ... uh ... looked into it--to see if I could find which guest it belonged to.”

Mr. Rose stared at him unblinkingly, like a chameleon. “You are not supposed to look inside a guest’s wallet, Stairs. Your job is to deliver meals. Only meals.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rose grimaced. “You found it. I will take it back to its owner, giving you full credit for finding it, of course,” he added acidly. “Next time, don’t be looking inside people’s wallets when you find them lying around. You just turn it in. Get it? Watch the phones.”

He grabbed his suit coat off a peg in the tiny Order Room and whirled away without waiting for an answer. Jamie watched him stalk off down the corridor to the Main Hotel to return the wallet. Then it hit him. That old man might have stolen the money if Jamie hadn’t told him he knew that there was money inside. And now he was heading up to their room to return it and intercept any gratuity the owner would want to give Jamie.

The boy stood there stunned by Mr. Rose’s gall until the phone rang for yet another room service order. Jamie dutifully took the order and placed it. By the time he finished, an older boy booted him out and took over phone duty as befitted his seniority.

Fifteen minutes later, Jamie saw Mr. Rose return. He was in a foul-tempered mood. He sidled up to Jamie as he was preparing to roll away an order for one of the outbuildings. “Stairs. I returned the wallet to Mr. and Mrs. Summers in Main Building, Suite 228. The gentlemen indicated that you would deliver and wait their dinner and he would speak to you about the wallet there. You are advised that any reward given to you will be split between you and me. You for finding it; me for returning it. Understand Stairs?” Mr. Rose stared at him intently.

“Yes, Sir,” Jamie answered. Good. Those people probably saw what a snake Rose was and didn’t trust him to fork over any money they gave him.

“Good.” Mr. Rose seemed satisfied and relaxed the bony grimace from his features. “Saunders,” he barked to an older boy idling across the room. The boy looked dumbly at him. “Take this cart to Condo 132. Get going.” The boy glumly took Jamie’s cart and slumped away down the long hallway to the exit.

“You get their meal and get up there pronto, Stairs. And remember, we split the reward. Even-Steven and real friendly-like. I’ll be waiting for you.” The old man rubbed his hands together gleefully as he walked away.

While Jamie waited for the kitchen to prepare the meal, he slipped into the small bathroom and checked himself in the mirror. The cheap red sport coats and black pants they wore tended to get stained with gravy and other liquids, and Mr. Rose did not tolerate a sloppy roomie. Jamie used the brushes lying there to generally brush up his appearance. He bent down and peered in the mirror at the slim brown-haired boy peering back at him. “You okay looking,” he told himself sheepishly. “ “Chicks dig me,” he added. From afar.

As Jamie grabbed the cart and started rolling to his destination, he felt Mr. Rose’s eyes on him. “Be on your best behavior, Stairs,” he called out. A few boys grinned at each other. Jamie blushed. He knew he would be hearing that line from the boys for the rest of the summer. He rolled into Main and headed to the elevators. The elevator doors opened to welcome him, and he rolled his cart in. His cart contained two covered entree plates, an appetizer plate, and a bottle of Dom Perignon covered in ice. Two wineglasses. Real crystal here at Bayhaven.

On the second floor, the elevator stopped, and as the doors slid open, Jamie became nervous and shy. It was a fairly easy task to drop off meals to the various rooms, but he was not very good at waiting and serving a meal. Mr. Rose tended to give those assignments to the older, more experienced boys, who presented and served a meal with flourishes Jamie couldn’t imitate.

Nonetheless, Jamie rolled to a stop outside Suite 228 and knocked authoritatively, as he had been taught. He felt tongue-tied and stupid. What do I say, he wondered. Yes, I found your wallet. No, it never occurred to me to take anything. Yes, I’m a fine young man. Reward? No ... well, if you insist ... It sounded fake, and he knew this little interview wouldn’t go well.

The door swung open, and a man’s voice, a deep voice, told him to, “C’mon in.” Jamie rolled his cart into Suite 228.

The Suites at Bayhaven were all expensive. Four hundred dollars a day got you a suite. Eight hundred dollars and up got you a huge suite and all-inclusive resort privileges and meals. These people had the all-inclusive, and their order slip indicated they had been there for one week. The suite, like all others, had a large living area with a dining table, sofas, and lounge chairs and a high boy which hid the television unless it was being viewed. Fresh-cut flowers in leaded crystal vases, a roll-top desk, and a wet bar. Balcony overlooking the gardens at Bayhaven. Nice.

Jamie watched the man walk back to the desk. He was an old guy, around sixty, tall, barrel-chested, and powerful like John Wayne. He had salt-and-pepper hair, cut short with a side part and a small goatee. He wore reading glasses and a short beige terrycloth robe. Too short for Jamie’s comfort, although he did have muscular legs for an old guy. He sat back down at the desk and motioned in Jamie’s general direction. “Just a minute.”

The old guy had a laptop computer on the desk, connected to a phone line. He played with the return button, watching the screen intently. He nodded at some things; grunted disapprovingly at others. Finally, with a sigh, he pulled the phone line from the side of the laptop and closed it. He turned in his chair and peered over the top of his glasses at Jamie.

“Son, you can put the dishes on the table. We’ll eat later. Open the wine so it can breathe.” Jamie carefully laid the covered dishes on the dining table, which was covered in a white damask tablecloth, and then uncorked the Dom without leaving cork particles floating as he had done the first couple of times he had attempted the task. He looked back at the old man, who watched him without expression.

“So you’re the lad who found my wife’s wallet?” Mr. Summers grunted.

“Yes, sir,” Jamie managed. The old guy looked so formidable sitting there.

“What’s your name?”

“Ja-Jamie Stairs.”

“You normally stutter, son?”

“Uh, no, sir,” Jamie answered shyly, his face feeling red.

“The gentleman who came up here--Mister Rose? You gave the wallet to him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s he like? Good man?”

Jamie searched for anything positive he could say about Mister Rose. Finally, he just blurted, “He’s the Kitchen Manager, sir,” and left that obvious statement hanging lamely before Mr. Summers, who was eyeing him curiously.

Mr. Summers sat back in his chair. “Relax, son. I got the distinct impression that Mr. Rose was here simply to collect a reward for my wife’s wallet. I trusted him as far as I could throw him. In short, I didn’t take to the man. Understand?” Jamie nodded dumbly. “I told him I wanted to talk to the boy who found the wallet.” Summers was silent for a few seconds, and Jamie stood in attendance, wishing the old guy had a longer robe as he sat sprawled in the desk chair.

“So the facts of the matter are these: Number one, you found my wife’s wallet, which contained a whole host of money, which would be an inconvenience to replace. Number two, my wife lost the wallet. Number three, we should reward you. But number four, Jamie, is it?”

“Yes, Jamie, sir,” Jamie breathed.

“Yes. Jamie. Well, Jamie, number four is that I don’t consider money to be a suitable reward for your honesty and good service. Money, I have. You’ve done me a service by finding something I don’t place particular value on. Understand?”

Jamie nodded immediately, although he had no fucking idea what this guy was on about. He just wanted to leave the dinner cart there and vanish from this guy’s presence. He didn’t need a reward. Just let me go. He wondered if the guy was queer. That would explain that robe.

“Which brings us to number five, Jamie. What can I reward you with? I believe that I should reward you with something valuable. Something I place value on. That would be the most suitable reward.” Mr. Summers shifted in his chair. Now Jamie could see up the guy’s robe, though he tried so hard not to look. Oh yeah, the guy’s queer, he thought. Married or not, he’s queer. He’s gonna want me. Ah, fuck, how do I get out of this one? he worried. He was tongue-tied.

Jamie stood hunched like a frightened, confused rabbit while the old hawk surveyed him, waiting for his move. Jamie jumped when the doorknob rattled. Someone was coming in. He stood motionless as the door opened. An older lady, presumably Mrs. Summers, came in, hands laden with shopping bags from the Shops at Bayhaven. She noticed him immediately and beamed a kindly smile at him. She nodded to her husband. “I’m back, dear. I’ve bought an outfit I’d like your opinion on later.”

Mr. Summers got up to take the packages, smiling fondly back at her. “You look wonderful in anything, honey. I’d like you to meet Jamie Stairs, the young man who found your wallet in the elevator. I thought you’d like to thank him personally. Jamie, may I introduce my wife, Evelyn?”

“Jamie, I’m pleased to meet you. I appreciate you returning my wallet. It would have been an inconvenience to replace all the charge cards and whatnot. And all my stuff, all the pictures of my children that I could never replace. Those pictures are priceless to me. Thank you,” she smiled dazzlingly at Jamie.

Jamie choked out a “nice to meet you” and a “I was glad to do it” almost as one hurried sentence. Evelyn Summers was dazzling. Between 40 and 45 years old, Jamie reckoned. Maybe older, because she looked in such good condition. Dishwater-straight blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Faded blue eyes, with slight crow’s feet in the corners, a straight aristocratic nose, with a smattering of light freckles on her aging skin, and a set of perfect white teeth. Almost no makeup whatsoever. Untanned, soft-looking female.

She was clothed impeccably in the right Kelly green Bayhaven top and fashionably loose white cloth shorts. A diamond tennis bracelet was on her left wrist. Slim legs not defined by exercise. Little white Filas were on her tennis-socked feet. Everything about her resonated casual elegance and status.

Mrs. Summers was a beautiful woman in her late prime, free of the kids and relaxing at Bayhaven with her husband. She was certainly Cheryl Tiegs beautiful up close and seemed very comfortable and personable as she spoke. Jamie felt himself blush and tore his eyes off the lady. He had spoken last, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say. To this mature goddess.

“Jamie, if you’ll allow me to speak to my wife privately in the other room for a moment, I’d appreciate it,” Bill Summers boomed.

“Certainly, sir,” Jamie returned automatically, one of the responses he had learned from the older roomies. He watched uncomfortably as Bill Summers and his wife entered the bedroom and shut the door quietly behind them. Jamie idled in the middle of the room, casting blankly about for the tokens of personality that guests put in a room to make it theirs for the time that they were there. Some guests were messy, with items of interest strewn all about; others were clean. This room was clean. Other than the laptop on the desk, the room showed no clues about the Summers encamped here. Nothing to study. So Jamie waited in his agony of discomfort, wanting only to leave.

After a minute, the bedroom door opened and Bill Summers strode out, still decked out in his short robe. Upon spotting Jamie still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, he crossed to him and clapped him on the back.

“Lord, son. Don’t just stand there. Have a seat.” He led Jamie over to the sofa and practically pushed him down. He plopped back down into his desk chair, the robe climbing perilously up his thighs. Jamie tried damn hard not to notice. He sat stiffly on the couch. Bill Summers observed his discomfort.

“Relax, Stairs. You look like you could jump through the ceiling.”

“Sir, I’m sorry. I’m not used to sitting down. I just deliver room service. I uh ... prefer to just drop the cart off and pick it up later. That’s what I like,” Jamie finished.

“You a bit of a loner, Jamie? Shy type?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

“Got a girlfriend?”

“No, sir.”

“Ever had one?”

Jamie was ashamed. “No.”

“Well, shy or not, you’re a good-looking lad, Jamie. You’ll get a girl one of these days.”

“I hope so, sir,” Jamie answered meekly.

“You just have to believe in yourself and relax a little bit. You’re pretty uptight aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bill Summers smiled kindly at Jamie. “My wife will rejoin us in a few minutes. I spoke to her in the bedroom, and we are in agreement. I hope you’ll find it was worth your while.” He gazed blithely at Jamie, waiting for an answer.

Jamie looked askance at Mr. Summers, who was only too happy to let Jamie swing in the wind. Finally, he relented.

“Jamie, have you ever messed around with an older woman?” Mr. Summers watched him intently.

Jamie felt his stomach sinking. “An older woman, sir?” he whispered meekly.

“Yes. An older woman, such as Evelyn, for example. Evelyn is fifty-two years old, Jamie. Our youngest child is twenty-two years old.”

Jamie said nothing. He felt that his embarrassing admission that he had never had a girlfriend should be taken as proof that he hadn’t ever had a chance to ‘mess around’. And fifty-two? She didn’t look that old.

“My wife and I are what is commonly called, ‘empty-nesters’. Our children have gone on to marry and have children of their own. We are grandparents now, if you can believe that.” Jamie could picture Bill as a grandpa. But not his wife. She seemed too feminine to be a grandma. Jamie had a momentary vision of an infant suckling at her breast as her perfect features smiled down on the baby. His cock stirred in his trousers. Bill Summers was on a roll.

“We’ve decided how to reward you. My wife will give you something that I hope you’ll appreciate. I will do most of the talking, if you don’t mind. It’s something we’ve been exploring a little bit for a few months now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bill Summers got up and poured two glasses of wine and brought one to Jamie, who accepted it with two hands. He stared up at Mr. Summers who stood beaming down at him. “Evelyn, we’re ready, dear,” he boomed, his face smiling like they were two men of the world sharing a good joke. Jamie put his best manly grin on, though for the life of him he couldn’t understand what the joke was about. He took a big gulp of his wine--just for something to do-- and it burned going down.

Their eyes turned toward the bedroom door as it opened. And the impossibly fifty-two-year-old Evelyn Summers came into the room. Shyly now, because she was clad in a short beige terrycloth robe, exactly like that of her husband. Jamie tore his eyes away lest he be caught gawking at her. He side-glanced up towards Mr. Summers to check his reaction. Shit. Bill Summers was looking directly down at him with the same manly grin. Jamie quailed inside and studiously averted his eyes towards the far wall away from this imposing man and his short-robed wife. Bill Summers laughed aloud.

“Damn, boy. You really are shy. Look at my little lady. She’s come out to thank you. The least you can do is look,” he said with a jolly laugh.

Jamie pulled his eyes back. His face felt hot, and he knew he was blushing looking at this guy’s wife. She was blushing too. She stopped uncertainly in front of him, her face colored as she stared timidly at his eyes, looking for signs of approval. Jamie stared at her legs. The short robe ended high above her knees, and Jamie just knew that if she turned around and bent over slightly, her butt would peek out from under that robe. That might be nice.

She wouldn’t be able to see him staring if that happened. He’d be able to stare at leisure instead of having to look at her with her and her husband watching him. Nice legs though. Long and slim, pale and smooth. This lady didn’t have an athletic tone to her legs at all. But they were fantastic to look at so close up like this, and he did, all the way up to where they disappeared under her robe. She was barefoot, pretty and feminine with red painted toenails. She stood with her legs slightly parted, and Jamie wondered fervently what her privates looked like.

The boy realized with a jolt what the old guy wanted. He knew this Bill Summers wanted him to consort with this lady--his wife--while he watched. Or worse, participate. Like a double-team or something. And somehow, that was more scary than fending off an old homo’s advances. Jamie’s performance anxieties started up even though his cock was straining in his trousers and sending frenzied signals to his brain to have Jamie rearrange himself down there so it could stand straight up.

“Well, Jamie? What do you think? How does this old gal look?” Bill Summers collapsed into the easy chair across from Jamie’s sofa.

“Dear, please,” Evelyn remonstrated.

“Sorry, dear. Jamie, how does the little lady look to you?” he asked.

“Fine, sir,” Jamie croaked out. His throat was dry. He could tell these people expected more. He took another big gulp of his Dom Perignon and set the glass shakily on the end table. “She--I mean you--look really hot, ma’am,” he managed. He was rewarded with a gentle smile from Evelyn and he realized that she had been worried about what he would say. She was beautiful. She still looked tense though, and Jamie could sure relate to that.

“Honey, how about you drop the robe and show Jamie here the rest of yourself?” Bill suggested gently. And the two males waited and watched the slender woman make a decision, and then she slowly untied the robe belted around her waist.

The robe front faced Jamie as she opened her robe and dropped it down her shoulders. She shrugged her arms out of the sleeves and suddenly a woman clad in silky black low-cut panties stood in front of Jamie. She tossed the robe lightly onto the couch next to Jamie and stood posed, her hands held stiffly at her sides for his inspection.

The robe had landed next to Jamie, and a whiff of perfume flowed up to his senses as he drank her in. She had a slender form with small breasts that nevertheless seemed to sag the tiniest bit downward. Like they were tired. Such soft, comforting little Mother breasts. Small, dusky pink nipples that seemed to point directly at Jamie’s waist. Her absolutely white stomach had the gentlest swell and a horizontal scar on the abdomen. Her hips widened slightly as they met her thighs.

Jamie glanced down at her covered groin. The black panties clung just below her hipbones. The first panties Jamie had ever seen on a live woman. On his way back up, Jamie noticed the tiny little stretch marks that marred the perfect Goth whiteness of Evelyn’s tummy. From being pregnant, he realized. Jamie found that Evelyn was waiting on him again. He went with his feelings.

“Wow,” he breathed, huskily. And Evelyn smiled self-consciously at him.

“Wow is right, Jamie,” Bill Summers boomed approvingly. “Take your panties off, honey. Give him the full show.”

Evelyn kind of turned away from Jamie and bent slightly. Jamie watched her breasts as they dangled in mid-air. He watched her slide her thumbs under the waistband of those magic black panties and tug them down her hips and down her thighs. All the way to her feet. And then she stepped her left foot out of her panties. Turning back towards Jamie, she gave a little kick with her right foot and sent those panties flying up and at Jamie. They hit him right in the face.

Jamie was mortified and sat frozen while the panties slid down his face with a soft whoosh and landed in his lap. His cock gave a major surge in his pants.

Bill Summers rose to his feet.

“Giving away souvenirs, honey?” He chuckled as he came around behind his little wife and put his hands around her waist. They turned slightly until they were facing Jamie. “I’ll introduce you to Evelyn’s parts. This will be a little embarrassing to her, the exhibition and all, but it’s part of our game. She tends to feed off the embarrassment. Good wife and mother turned “bad” type of thing.”

Bill Summers ran his hands slowly up his wife’s torso until he cupped and lifted her small tits. Her breasts did not fill his big hands. Jamie watched transfixed, his eyes straying from Bill’s hands to Evelyn’s face as she peeked at him with undecipherable emotions on her face. Every so often, she shut her eyes so that she could not see Jamie looking at her. Interesting.

“These two little beauties nursed our three children. The last time they were called to duty was twenty-two years ago, Jamie. That was when Robbie was born. He’s twenty-two now. Our children suckled on these boobs. Evelyn always thought they were too small, and then after the babies, she thought they sagged too much. Right, honey?”

“Yes, dear,” his wife answered in a low voice, her eyes closed. Jamie watched Bill thrumming her nipples with his thumbs. Her nips were up. Her breasts looked so soft and feminine that Jamie longed to touch them.

“What do you think of them, Jamie?” Bill Summers asked.

“I, uh ... think they’re really nice. Wonderful,” Jamie added truthfully. Evelyn Summers at fifty-two was awfully nice to look at.

“They have always been favorites of mine,” Bill murmured, bending his head down to kiss his wife on the nape of her neck. She shuddered. Bill moved his hands down onto her white tummy, straying over the small scars and slight little pooch of her belly. “Evelyn gave birth three times, Jamie. Two vaginally, the last one by cesarean. See these little stretch marks? Those are from carrying our babies.” He traced the long, thin bikini scar. “Here is Evelyn’s cesarean scar from the last child.” Jamie sat quietly watching the old guy play with his wife’s body. Sensing that neither was watching, he quickly adjusted his crotch so that his cock could get some breathing room. The old guy stroked her stomach, his index finger delving inside her belly button. “When she was pregnant, her belly button would pooch out-- that’s how big she would get. A beautiful time, Jamie. She always looked so fresh and rosy when she was pregnant. So sexy. Didn’t you, dear?”

“Yes, dear,” Evelyn murmured, her eyes still closed while her husband stood behind her and stroked her. His hands moved down to her closely shorn groin. Evelyn had a pubic triangle all right. But the blonde hair was very short and Jamie was seeing his first real live pussy. The lips, a dusky deep pink hanging low. With two fingers on either side of her pubis, Bill spread her cleft, watching Jamie as he did. “This is my wife’s vagina, Jamie. Or “pussy” when we’re feeling randy--like now. Are you a little wet, honey?”

“Yes,” Evelyn whispered, her eyes open now, looking off at a point over Jamie’s head.

“Does Evelyn look wet down there, Jamie?” Bill questioned.

Jamie leaned slightly forward, directing his gaze down to the split between Bill’s hands. The lady’s pussy glistened with something, that was for sure. It shined in dark pinks on the outside and lighter ones where her hole was open. Very erotic and mysterious. Jamie watched as Bill’s index finger rubbed lightly at the top of the valley and Evelyn squirmed in response. That had to be the clit Jamie had heard so much about.