“Umf, What is this salad dressing?” He asks grimacing. “It’s an Italian blend. I made it from scratch.” His wife says. It feels like she’s...floating. Like she’s detached from her body. ‘Cum. It’s cum, you sad little man. You are eating our son’s jizz.’ The thought runs through her like madness. “I know you don’t always like my cooking. If you don’t like this we won’t have it again.” She says. “I like it mom.” Reed pipes in. “It’s different.” “No, no.” Henley insists. Not wanting to anger his. I push the bottom of her fancy white sweater up, revealing a simple tight, light gray tank top. Lifting that too, I touch more and more of her bare belly, then her bra. It's some sort of white designer sports bra, or a "bralette" I think they're called, just loosely holding everything in place, comfy and light, no cups or wires or snaps, an elastic band running around the bottom of it. Somehow it's sexier than a fancy bra, a girl wearing such simple comfort, "roughing it" a bit on a train. I. More

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