And sure enough, he darted out from his house like a nervous squirrel and made a straight line to my pantyhose sock, barely looking left and right as he crossed the street in long, exaggerated strides. We watched from our bedroom window, behind the white curtains, and giggled quietly in delight.
He too was wearing sweatpants, but he was barefoot and had a white t-shirt on that simply said, "Atlantic City." His face was even redder than the one that greeted me whenever I came across him. His eyes were determined, his lips closed tightly (the way Bill Clinton does it) and he was sweating.
"Look at the big little tiger," Harry clapped his hands, cheering the young man on, almost proudly. "Well done, well done," he added in English, "take it home, tiger, you have earned it."
The young man did not make any attempts to conceal what he was doing. He needed to scoop up that sock and make it his, and nothing was going to come in his way. So, he simply bent down and plainly reached out for it with an outstretched arm and a steady hand and plucked it up. He looked at it for a few seconds and then stuffed it in his pocket, then, without looking around to see if anyone had seen him, he calmly walked back home, this time in regular steps. He didn't care if we had seen him or if his wife had seen him, or if anyone else had seen him. He had suffered enough, had longed and pined enough, had yearned enough, and he was not going to let something precious like a sock that belonged to the woman he deeply lusted for just escape his possession.
"He is heading straight for the bathroom," Harry nodded, after the young man went into his house. "He is going to celebrate with shampoo."
Harry turned away from the window and said gravely, "We have completed our first mission. Congratulations, my dear. You have done well. Our challenge from this point forward -- now that we have planted the amber of coal in the hearth -- is to make sure we fan that amber of his passion to a nice flame and that we keep that flame dancing for our and his pleasure."
It was early in the morning and we hadn't had our coffee yet, so I went downstairs and made us two strong mugs of coffee.
It was going to be a kinky day, I knew, like the olden days, and we had better start it right. My heart was tickled at the thought of a dirty day with Harry.
On kinky days, Harry was calm and collected, and in command, a man who was at peace with himself and the world around him. But he was also full of energy and sometimes I found it challenging to keep up with him and his cock. I could never fully guess what his dirty imagination would conjure up for us.
"Isn't it wonderful knowing that we have just created a little more joy in a man's life?" Harry said in his low voice, sipping his coffee pensively.
"Or maybe we have made his yearning a little more unbearable," I answered. I was in the kitchen, adding milk to my coffee. I was not wearing my panties and was walking around naked from the waist down.
Harry turned his head and smiled.
"If only he could see you like this," he said. "Your thick ass in plain sight, your pussy hair all messy, and your big, sweaty feet."
I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. When I came around to sit down, he beckoned to me and had me bend beside him. He took his thick glasses off and then expertly turned me around and gently parted the cheeks of my ass, leaning his flat nose forward and touching my asshole with it. He then took several long deep breaths, as if he were on top of a mountain and was clearing up his lungs.
"What would he give for this? What would he do to be able to smell the asshole of a Chinese woman like you?"
