'God that thought makes me fucking wet'.'Why do you have so many pairs', he asks me as I watch him toying through a dozen or so, 'Hannah only has a fe...'?He stops short as I cock my eyebrow, 'You have seen my daughter's panties', I ask sternly but teasingly, desperate not to frighten him off?'Only on the beach', he stammers, 'when we go in for a dip without our costumes', he continues, digging a deeper hole for himself, his voice tapers off, his fingers probe my panties where my cunt sits, along. I could feel my cock stiffening as I brought the whippy lashes down again. What an intriguing implement I thought, and so quintessentially French! Henri was now mewing, perhaps with pleasure but certainly with discomfort. I threw the martinet down and picked up the riding crop. Now, the crop was a real old favourite implement. I scythed it through the air."Time for the crop, Henri. I'm going to beat you like an animal!" No Jim, please. Fuck me instead. Please!"Well, that was certainly. More

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