“What do you think,” he asked. “It’s nice,” I said, not knowing what else to say and then blurted out: “Your hand feels nice on my back ...r. Emerson.” and he rubbed up and down my spine. My legs were getting weak and I moved into him. “Are you okay?” he asked and I could only nod and hope he wouldn’t stop rubbing me. “I need a good grade,” I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said: “I know” and now his hand was on my bare leg, more rubbing. I parted my legs…I was telling him something…that he. To her amazement she found that there was a certain wicked satisfaction in watching this pagan scene. Her mother was beautiful, she thought as she gazed in intoxicated rapture at the nakedly enchanting figure spread in sacrifice on the bed before her. She was only thirty-five years old, and her voluptuous breasts were still as firm as a high school girl's. Her waist was slender and swelled out into the beautifully rounded hips and thighs of a mature woman. Her hair was blonde, like Patty's, and. More

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