What she did was curse yet again under her breath. What she did was walk into the vast open space, ignoring the pimpled nerd at the reception desk. But what she also did, was stop right in front of the revolving doors that led to the street. Beyond the reflection of her body she saw the deep dark wetness of a Quebecois night. Streets gleamed with dripping lights. There was the heavy drone of traffic. She heard a far away police siren.And she knew.She knew that if she would step into the well of those revolving doors now and walk out into the rain, she would kill herself. Not in the spectacular sense of heroic suicide. Just in the smothering, anonymous sense of giving up the last remnants of a life that ought to be hers. She would kill herself in the cowardly sense of letting her life slide slowly and definitely out of her hands.The pale woman waiting for her upstairs might ridicule her, even humiliate her. She and the perfect African model friends that were with her at the restaurant. In the last 20 years since she was eighteen herself, Emma had popped the cherry of no less then 19 different men. The youngest being a tender eighteen years old (and a full 15 years younger then herself) and the oldest twenty-six.“Relax,” she said as her hand rubbed the hard flesh of Brian’s cock inside the confines of his underwear. Brian nodded and tried. Emma grinned and sped up her rhythm a little, stroking the hard cock faster and working more on the tip, squeezing it lightly.Brian gasped and Emma let go of his cock and removed her hand from his underwear. It was time for him to have his first feel of a real woman she thought. That thought made her pussy tingle and become very wet.“Lay down Brian” she said pushing him backwards onto the bed. The springs creaked as he landed, his hard cock making a large tent in his underwear. Other then those he was naked.Emma peeled off her clothing slowly as Brian watched. She was thirty-eight years old now but still had a firm body, which she.
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