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My words no longer had any meaning, for my actions contradicted them. My hips were moving synchronously with his hand. I was so wet that I felt my sexual juices running down my inner thighs. I was dimly aware that he had allowed my skirt to drop down and conceal his hand on my pussy.He pulled insistently on the waistband of my thong till it slid down and pooled around my ankles. With adeptness I could barely discern, he reached down and got me to step out of them. When he straightened, two of his fingers sank into my bare wet pussy, and his thumb manipulated my swollen clit. His other hand caught me by the throat just above my pearl choker.He knew my body better than I did myself. I began to cum and would have cried out. However, at exactly the right moment, his other hand closed on my mouth, stifling me. My orgasmic cries were smothered and all that came out were low mews.“I love your bra,” he whispered, as I sagged against him. “Suits your breasts perfectly.”I became aware that his. We did a couple of sets, filling an otherwise nonmusical weekday night event with our songs, and then we got down and started packing so we could get back to town at a decent hour for school the next day.Immediately we had people gathered around us talking mile-a-minute. Before we knew it, we were booked for Beltane at a gathering in the central part of the state, and somebody was pressing us hard on the idea, "Ever thought about recording?" We took their card and promised that we'd think about putting a few songs on the Internet in mp3 format to see if anybody was interested.Packed at last, we were getting ready to leave, and almost missed it on the way out: Herne and Marla at a table, sitting by themselves with a defeated air, shunned by the people around them.Once again there was that automatic urge to help. We knew these people, after all, especially after linking to them in order to do the working of healing Marla, and we didn't wish them harm. We resented how they'd tried to.
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