I asked her once why she just didn't lump six or seven of the offices in a group and then just go from one to another spending a night in a motel alon... the route. I figured she could save herself at least three days of travel time a month if she did it that way. She said that she found it too hard to sleep in a strange bed so she would much rather drive home and sleep with me.Following my confession to her Carol began to change. She began dressing sexier and she wore high heels more often, but. Whatever's in that vile concoction, I can tell you it shouldn't come a mile from a woman's privates. A blowtorch would be merciful compared to that shit. My ?morning witching,? he calls it. The bastard.It was thankfully over quickly. For today, at least. On more leisurely mornings (or those where he's nicked me with the razor) he'll sometimes soak a washcloth in the stuff and press it painfully into my crotch, leaving the stinging astringent to fester as he readies himself for work. Or, if in a. More

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