My hand immediately shot between her legs to find a soaking wet spot awaiting my touch. She moaned slightly as my finger found her clit and began vibrating against it, gently at first but with increasing speed and pressure. Deftly she grabbed my belt undoing it and my pants in a matter of seconds, never taking her mouth from mine, and ran her palm along my shaft through my underwear. I half groaned, half growled at her touch, wanting nothing more than to feel her sliding along my rock hard cock. She pulled away from my lips smiling a Devil's smile, looking so deep into my eyes it was like she stared through me, and I rubbed her clit harder before slipping two fingers inside her. The small gasp and moan that escaped her was intoxicating, but her coy voice spurred the animal in me. "I'm sorry, Daddy.", she purred, "Am I still in trouble?" I couldn't speak, and she knew it as she pulled my throbbing dick out and grasped it, stroking it slowly. My head was swimming in a frenzied. Then I slipped the wig on; used the Velcro straps to tighten it. The mirror told me which minor straightening adjustments to make. I shook my head to make sure nothing slipped.Muster passed, out the door, into my Texas ride.Randolph’s BMW was in its assigned parking space. Which won’t be that hard to stake out - there’s on-street parking for guests and a lot of toing and froing.My first stop, though, was Chez Gunther. I wouldn’t go in to see her, not now anyway. But I wanted a look-see at the joint. Initial pang of mild disappointment. FMC Carswell didn’t loom there as grimly as I had hoped; it looked sort of like a large suburban post office. Probably more unpleasant from the inside looking out. I sincerely hope so.Next I GPS’d myself to the area known among a certain in-crowd as the Chicken Stroll. East of Dallas. Sort of a dreary mashup of decaying urban, unsuccessful industrial / warehouse low-rises, and some faded rural dreams. I got out and blinked in the morning sun. June temp.
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