Margie had already determined my feelings and didn't need me to agree. She took my wrists again and slid my hands downward, over her breasts so that ...hey filled my palms. She slid her hands off my wrists and pressed her hands on top my mine, pressing my hands against her breasts. "Mmmmm," she moaned. She slid her hands off of mine and let her shirt slip off her shoulders and fall onto our living room floor. She stood in front of me in broad daylight. Her skin was milky white, and seeing. She doubts she’s been seen, but she can’t help wondering if she’s ever had an admirer. She runs her hand down across her shorts at the idea of being observed thinking, 'If he is there, I may as well make it worth his while.' She massages herself a few more times, then hooks her thumbs in the waistband and removes her shorts. The open air feels good against her lips and hair, and she drags her hands along the insides of her thighs, massaging her muscles and stretching her skin. She moves upwards. More

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