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But she made it so terribly difficult for me not to look. There were days when, for reasons known only to herself, she wore a bra, panties, and a garter belt with stockings. Those days were always the worst, for they had the most profound effect on me; I tried to avoid her, but at the same time I wanted to see her, to abandon the charade and make my feelings for her known.Today, however, she wore a fetching matched brassiere and briefs, pale blue and embroidered with flowers, roses twining across the material that contained her decolletage. The panties were masterpieces, with sheer panels that displayed her soft, supple skin and opaque panels that concealed the parts of her I most desperately wanted to see. She sashayed about the place, and as we ate dinner she leaned forward, threatening to spill out of her bra. I had worked so hard to draw laughter from her, mesmerised as her breasts shook. It was all too much for me. I had to have her.A shocking admission, I know. But you cannot. Then there was John and Caroline. He was probably six foot tall with curly salt and pepper hair, a hint of a stomach roll evident, he wore light khaki shorts and a white polo. She was a petite blond with her hair fastened up in a bun. Everything about her was just plain and simply gorgeous – perfect skin, perfect smile, perfectly manicured, perfect little ass in a pair of white shorts and smallish breasts filling out a scoop necked heathered grey T that was cropped just short enough to show off a firm flat abdomen. Caroline and John carried on a casual banter between themselves indicating they’d been together for a long time. At the same time she seemed a little flirtatious, glancing at me from time to time as though looking for approval. Hell, I had no idea what I was doing either. She seemed to take any and every opportunity to stick that sweet little ass of hers up or out as she positioned herself club in hand. John was constantly egging her on and peppering things with.
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