[Porsche-poor]

He grasped me firmly but gently just above my elbow and guided me
into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone. He
approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice
close to my ear. "Just relax." Without warning, he reached down and I felt
his strong, calloused hands start at my ankles, gently probing, and moving
upward along my calves slowly but steadily. My breath caught in my throat. I
knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn't care. His touch was so
experienced, so sure. When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a
slight shudder, and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his
knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my
firm, full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply. Probing, searching,
knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid them down
my tingling spine and into my panties. Although I knew nothing about this
man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant.
This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not
used to taking `no' for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A
man who would look into my soul and say ...





"Okay, ma'am," said a voice. "All done." "You can board your flight
now."