She practically drips onto my hand. And then I’m inside her, matching her rhythm stroke for stroke as we masturbate each other. I hear her moan, or ...aybe I hear myself and I only think it’s her because I’m not supposed to be feeling this good right now. I’m not supposed to be enjoying this. I’m not supposed to rub my tits against hers and whimper at the sensation of our nipples scraping together. I know my resistance has broken, but I can’t remember why I ever wanted to resist something that. She, and her husband,wanted to take their family on a cross country road trip. Of course, Iwas "volunteered" to fill in for her. Roger arranged his work scheduleso that we were both off on Sunday and Monday. Mom and Dad laid theultimate guilt trip on us when we asked about going to Monterey forthe weekend, for Roger's birthday. They said sure, "We trust you tobehave yourselves." We had a wonderful time, slept in the same bedtogether but, nothing happened. A parent's guilt trip has a way. More

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