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The image made me laugh a bit to myself. She lay in the middle of the bed, knees bent, and legs spread wide which caused her labia to open, revealing her swollen clit and an open vagina. Damn, she was ready to fuck, but that wasn’t going to happen for a long time tonight. I crawled onto the bed from the foot and knelt before her crotch. I could smell her passion; the musky scent was filling the room. Her labia glistened with her moisture, causing me to recall how her breasts and belly glistened with water that day at the park. Watching her pussy, I placed a hand on each thigh, just above her knees and began massaging slowly up toward her womanhood. Very slowly. Her breathing became ragged. I glanced up and saw her breasts were heaving, nipples more erect than I’d seen before. As big around as the end of my little finger and about a half-inch long. Her areolae were all goose-bumpy, too. She was looking at me through lust-glazed eyes. And I’d not even touched her pussy. Was she just expressing her sorrow, had he misjudged her intent? He had never thought of Heather MacDonald as being anyone other than Brooke’s mother, but now that he had aged a little himself he looked at her as she walked across the infinite gulf that separated the two houses and he was surprised at what he saw. Side-by-side in the evening glow, Brooke and Heather MacDonald looked more like sisters. The passage of time had been brutal for Brooke, while fair winds had played at Heather’s back. They both had her Scots red hair, pale skin, and the lightly freckled nose that had always captivated him. Heather had longer, more shapely legs, a more ample bosom, a daring cleavage, and dressed with care, preserving her rather elegant form with classic attire. Brook , Paul thought as he looked her, now looked more like a Generican mall rat in her jeans and Reeboks. He could see Brooke’s shoulders hunched from the burdens she carried, the sorrow she exuded howled along side her like a.
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