His attention is now torn between my breasts and what remains hidden below, his breath hot against my nipples, I feel his head turn and know he is gaz...ng at my panties. Another dilemma. I wait to see his next move. "Your panties...?" His words bring me out of my soft, warm world. "What of them?" "May I remove them?" "What does your book tell you to do?" Instead of answering, his lips make contact with the skin between my breasts, and travel downwards, gentle, soft kisses. His right hand moves. The other day, I needed to tell her something and when I called to hear where she was, she called softly and said: "I'm here - in the washing room". Knocking on the door again, I made sure that I do not intrude, as it is also the room in which she changes into her working clothes.Her dress sense is modern and she likes earthy colours. Golden browns and dark greens and tans and soft greys. In trousers and blouses and knitted jerseys. All of which, gently, eludes to her rather busty. More

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