A low moan broke from her lips. She turned her head, looked right at me. 'I knew this was a good idea. And now,' she turned on to her hip, 'it's your ...urn.' She sat up, wincing as her bottom made contact with the couch, stood up. She walked, a bit stiffly, to the table, picked up the birch rods.'Over here, Laura.'I swallowed hard, moved across the room. My senses were aflame. The table was heavy, solid. My breasts flattened against the dark wood. It felt cool against my skin. My hips braced. I could plainly see both were armed and both looked mean enough to bite a snake's head off if they got mad.This had been a marvel to me since I came to this country, the casual ease in which the people here seemed to love their guns. For the most part, they all seemed to know how to shoot them well too. In France, it wasn't illegal to own a gun, but it took a lot of paperwork and checks before you could even buy a pistol legally. Shotguns were the main weapon of choice by all the farmers there.. More

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