Dahra sat down on a large rock. Lissa on the pebbly ground, rapt in the story her adopted mother was unfolding."Your mother looked much like you do to...ay, Lissa, except that she was a year older than you are now, a little stockier, and had hair a shade darker than yours. Her hair was cut short in the front and left long in the back, as was popular at the time. She was also faldu like you, but had bowed to social pressure and had had her breasts surgically reduced, soon after she graduated from. “That’ll do very well, roll on lunchtime” I replied, rock hard myself now, as she had missed a button, and her blouse was showing a flash of white, lacy bra. I hadn’t been far off, she was a B cup, but maybe a 34. We close early on a Friday; she and I left the workshop guys to lock up, and drove to the hotel. I’d booked a table in the restaurant, and we sat down opposite each other, and ordered food.She had fixed her blouse during the morning, but still looked very desirable indeed. The lace of. More

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