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"I can't control anything here," Ty said. "And how can you help? I don't even know you." You're not a very trusting soul," the voice said."Comes with the territory," Ty said."What territory is that?" the voice asked.Ty didn't answer. The voice tried again. "What territory, Tyler?"Ty sighed. "I can't discuss it." You can," the voice said. "I guarantee it. I won't let your secret leave this room." What kind of guarantee?" The best kind," the voice said. "As soon as you 'wake up,' I'll cease to exist. You can discuss anything with me and it won't last longer than the time you're here." I guess I can live with that," Ty said."So, what territory are you talking about here? Why can't you trust anyone?" The territory is the Central Intelligence Agency," Ty said. "My real name isn't Beauchamps. It's Norman. I work for the government." And why are you here?" Think about it," Ty said. "These two guys write security software for a living, and they're accounted some of the best in the nation at. So our emails continued through the year, getting increasingly naughty, exchanging fantasies about masturbation, flashing and Elizabeth’s other secret fetish of tossing men off. Receiving an email from Elizabeth always led to me unzipping, taking out my cock and stroking it as I fantasised about what our next meeting might lead to. Would our next encounter lead to more than a glimpse of Elizabeth’s pretty knickers? Might I actually see her lovely cunt?I dropped quite a few hints to Elizabeth that I would love to see what was under the panties. Did she shave her hair or did it grow wild, or perhaps trimmed into a ‘landing strip.’, or what ever other names the ladies had for their intimate hair styles.Elizabeth did not respond immediately, but you may imagine my delight when, a few weeks later I opened an email which showed Elizabeth wearing a pair of French knickers under her dress. She had allowed the leg to pull to one side showing a glimpse of her hairy slit. Her hand was tucked.
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’ Phyre saw them too. Three men coming up their path that was little more than a series of stones in the ground. One was a Solar, his yellow-blond hair, gleaned with her voice, was shadowed beneath the hood of a dark cloak. The other two were Skytouched who didn’t stand out quite so much against the greens and browns of the forest. She didn’t recognise any of them. ‘Who are they?’ she asked. ‘Just some folk I’ve had business with, my dear,’ said her father. That was nothing unusual. He was the only glassmaker for miles around. Just about everyone in town could be labeled as ‘folk he’d had business with’. Samples of his craft could be found on shelves and in drawers all throughout their home. Even before that, her father had worked as a healer, using his magic to mend wounds and his knowledge to cure ills. That had been a while ago now. So long that Phyre scarcely had any memories of the time left. Now she was learning to work with glass too, so that someday she would join him in the.

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