I feel your hands slide under my shirt, my skin tingling as your fingers slide softly over my waist. Your fingertips barely graze my skin as they move...up, your thumbs rub against the side of swell of my breasts. Without a single touch from you, my nipples strain against the lace of my bra. Your hands slide up to my arms, unwrapping them from your neck, sliding my shirt over them and letting it fall to the floor. You take the backs of your hands and brush them against my breasts, making the. The lips were moving but nothing came out for several seconds, and when it did, it was but a whisper, "... please stop... !"So I did.Mother's eyes snapped open and her head returned to the upright position, her surprise at my retreat obvious. Was she disappointed as well?My hands trailed slowly southward, across the small soft roll of flesh marked with the lines of childbirth and age. She did not look at me, but at my hands - her nervousness quickly returning.But the hands slide to the sides. More

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