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I stopped to get a coffee and a pastry when I was about an hour or so down the road, and started checking emails. After I checked my work and home e-mails, I decided I'd check my "private" one -- the one my wife doesn't know about.There was nothing new there but some spam, that I quickly deleted without opening. As I scrolled through the inbox, though, I saw the last one from him and a thought hit me. I opened it up and hit "reply", typing "Hey man, I'm gonna be in a hotel an hour or so away from you tonight and tomorrow night, if you're available and interested," before I hit "send".The "him" in question was Len, a guy who'd read one of my sex story submissions on a website and liked it well enough to send me some feedback. From there, we'd e-mailed back and forth a number of times, each one getting more and more graphic as to what we'd like to do with and to each other.Like me, Len was married, and his wife didn't know about his bisexuality. Unlike me, Len was black and tended to. My instructions were simple: obey any command I give, without thinking it strange in any way; don't notice or remember anything unusual involving me; if they saw or heard or in any way learned of anything that might be harmful to my interests, they were to tell me at once. Simple, as I say; but I had to be confident that they would follow them without question, and also intelligently, not like mindless automata. I wanted them to do what I wanted, not to literally execute my every command like a machine. And they should exercise judgment. If I was being crushed under rubble, they should do something to help, not ignore it as something unusual involving me. And when I wasn't around, they should act completely normal. It is more subtle than one might think at first glance, but I hoped that my influence would work as I had planned.One of the students in the class was a very pretty black girl with quite large breasts. I didn't know her, but in the roll call she had responded to the name.
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Gerade so als würde er sich darüber aufregen, das ich nicht sofort die Beine breit machte. Auf seinem T-Shirt war das Logo einer großen Firma für Sportwagen. „Paul“ ??? rief ich suchend. Paul stand hinter dem Mann, er sagte kein Wort und sein lächeln war auch verschwunden. Das Zittern meiner Knie wich und mein Herz fing an wie Wild zu schlagen. Ich zog meine Beine hoch vor meinen Oberkörper und versank noch etwas mehr im Sessel. Dabei streckte ich unweigerlich meinen mit Gel verschmierten Arsch etwas nach vorne. Mit einer Hand bedeckte ich meine Möse und streckte meine Finger so weit, das ich hoffte auch meine Rosette so zu verbergen. Allerdings fing ich so auch wieder an, meine Finger um meine immer noch vor Geilheit glühendes Arschloch kreisen zu lassen.Der Mann griff in eine seiner Hosentaschen und zog zwei Gummihandschuhe heraus. Im Bruchteil einer Sekunde war mir klar, das Paul ihm von mir erzählt hatte und ich nunvon ihm die Hand zu spüren bekomme. Mein Herz pochte wie Wild und.

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