Very well indeed. Her fingers lightly cover every millimeter of my face. No deep pressure, just feather strokes and tapping. My lips, conditioned to r...spond to touch, want to capture the fingers between them—to return the caress in an equally pleasurable fashion. I remind myself to be still. Accept. Take, for a change. I’m not very good at being passive. Arms are next. As she works, I recall how I once hated my upper arms, how I wouldn’t wear sleeveless tops even on sweltering summer days. She. I was wrong. When I opened the door, there was Sylvie, her legs wide, her mane of golden hair spread across the pillows and a red head bobbing between her thighs. The situation was made worse when I realised her companion was wearing my nightdress – the special one I wore because it made Sylvie so horny. I watched, unable to move as the red head moved and hands went over Sylvie’s, my Sylvie’s breasts and squeezed the nipples I had squeezed. I saw Sylvie’s face and then, damn her, I heard her. More

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