But though there were many cars and a lot of noise…none of them were Tommy. Soon sleep overcame her and she fell asleep, naked, on top of her bed... ******* Sandy made her way quietly around the kitchen, and smiled as she passed the mud room. There, in two neat piles was Tommy’s dirty laundry, and conspicuous on top of the pile nearest the doorway was her cum crusted light blue panties. She reached down and pulled them towards her, lifting them near, to smell. It was like an aphrodisiac…and she felt a nervous excitement running through her body. They were damp, sticky, like…they had been very recently used…and Sandy was overwhelmed by a desire to have his scent washed over her. She ran the sticky wetness over her breasts, down her midriff, and buried them between her now aching legs. Vigorously she worked them between her lips…and soon she was jerking to and fro with from an intense climax. She steadied herself on the dryer, and wondered, if maybe Tommy had used them, after seeing. The huge Master of Ceremonies bellows over the din, ‘Perhaps our Lord and king will save this child murderer from the sharp end of the guillotine’. He pauses, gauging the response of the gathered thousands… ‘Perhaps Not’ he laughs. She is one with them, her voice and blood rising with theirs, a sheen upon her skin as bodies press about her. Conscious, as she is shouldered and tussled about, that some hands move over her with intent. Outwardly ignoring the fleeting grasps at her skirts. But privately, growing more and more aware of her body’s reaction to the excitement, as it instinctively moves back or presses forward against open hands and errant fingers. She continues to make her way closer to the platform. A reed caught in the swell of fast rising water, she pushes herself onward. Wanting, needing to be closer. To see the anguish in these men’s eyes, to watch as their look shifts to a brief, yet brilliant flash of hope as the moment looms ever closer, to witness the final, dry,.
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