The click of needles is incessant. The constant muttering, “knit one, purl one.”
I slink off my seat and slide across the floor, my fingers walking a military two-step up your inner thigh. Your legs part subconsciously as the click click click continues. Fingers burrow under your knickers as the ball of wool rolls between my knees.
As you knit one, purl one, I curl a finger inside you.
“Kiss one, curl one” my tongue flickers on your clit, finger pressing on your g-spot.
You throw your head back and scream,
“For fucks sake you’ve made me drop a stitch.”
