I wore a pair of black heels, eight inch killers. Next the dress, silver again, and again not much of it, the neckline plunged deep, deep to my belly ...utton. My belly button was pierced, and in it I wore a string of faux diamonds. They matched my earrings. The dress didn’t cover my tits. Mark re-arranged both the dress and my errant breasts. I needed some tit tape, but this wasn’t a cocktail party, it was a fuck-fest, and I was the main course. A bracelet on both wrists. I was ready. I was. Her breasts were tiny in comparison to Mommy’s, but the handful they presented was more than enough for me. Her waist was thin, flaring out to a pair of hips that seemed inadequate for birthing a c***d or two. In many ways she seemed fragile enough to break in half if I was too rough, which only served to excite me more.When she noticed me staring at her, not seeming to realize my look was one of predatory desire, I commented in my best little girl voice that she was very pretty, which drew a. More

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