I just couldn't answer. It felt so good how they stroked me so deep. He used two fingers that went in fast and went out slow, while thumbing my clit. ... tried to move his hands, so that I could regain control. “Don't touch my hands,” he said in a domineering tone. I hesitated, but then I tried to move them again. “What did I say? You just don't listen,” he slid three fingers in, knowing that that was too much for me. “Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me. Take it,” he said as he made his. The rhododendrons and I may have come to an amicable agreement but the same could not be said of the brambles which would invade the garden and take it over with absolutely no compunction unless I maintained constant vigilance. There was no entente cordiale between the brambles and me; it was all out war. Any bramble that showed its face in my garden received no mercy. Consequently I quailed slightly at the idea of taking the war to their own territory, so to speak. But my curiosity was roused. More

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