"No they can’t, can they?" Mark agreed as though grateful for the reminder. He remained standing. She flushed under his scrutiny."Couldn’t I be d*...**d in at least something?" She pleaded with deliberate coyness."No." He disposed of the request as though surprised she had made it."I think I could talk better if I wasn’t so ... so exposed."He dismissed the subject with an impatient wave of the hand. But his smile was again that of the boy she had met upon the road. "Young Terry’s a chatterbox,". She presses her lips together to feel the cream slip and slide between her tightly pressed thighs. As she takes her panties to throw in for the wash she starts to feel a tingling between her legs. Her whole mound is starting to itch from the action of the cream as her hair starts to die. She falls onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling, contemplating the inevitable changes she has wrought upon herself, unable to determine her actions. Her hand creeps down her skirt and finds the hem, pulls. More

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