.and to my best friend in the whole world, and I began to feelvery ashamed of myself. This was something I'd have to make right, formyself and for everyone else concerned. I also made a solemn vow thatmorning. Whatever happened from this point on, I'd make it work. I'ddeal with all this weird shit and I'd find a way out of this damnedsuit. I owed it to my friends, my family, and to myself.Now I won't bore you with all the details of the shopping trip thatMom, Dad and I went on that morning. I'll only say that it wasenlightening for all of us, particularly for me. Watching Mom deal withsales people, now knowing that it was all a front on her part, was aneducation. Mom, for all her seeming ditsiness, was an absolute masterat getting people to do what she wanted them to do. I don't know whyI'd never noticed it before, but I DID notice that it didn't seem to benews to my Dad.Mom would get off on one of her 'bent on finding something' searchesand she wouldn't rest or be deterred until she. A slight sheen of sweat clings to your breasts and your belly. A few full drops pool in your cleavage. Perhaps you may have been tempted to wipe them away, were your wrists not bound together, stretched above your head, and then secured to the headboard. The effect gave your body a long, graceful and sinuous look, a woman caught in her first morning stretch as she wakes, rather than a woman bound. Ravishing in her exposure, most seductive in her vulnerability. I let the mink glove on my left hand wipe gently over your breasts, and linger long enough to further tease your nipples, keeping them taut and erect. As I slide by, the last moisture evaporates, letting the AC further cool and tingle them, straining them further. How long has it been, little girl? An hour? Perhaps less. During that time I'd forced your arousal to ebb and flow how many times? Closer each time to a crescendo, but never quite reaching it. The mink glove roams your upper body with soft teasing strokes, paying.
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