She was turned on by the idea and put the shirt on. I watched her go downstairs and watched her hesitate several times. At last she pulled the t shirt...down, forgetting it made her tits stand out even more, and turn into the kitchen.I heard simple conversation for a few minutes before everything went silent. I had to be careful, but I did manage to peak around the corner. Marg was sitting on a stool while the father was behind her. The t shirt was raised just above her pussy and while the father. They were black with elasticized lace at the tops, thigh-high and nearly opaque, and she wore them with a grey mini-skirt, a few inches above the knee, and boots with a considerable heel. She’d thought this out carefully, and she was thinking about it again now, how she’d planned every aspect of her wardrobe and accessories as if she were meeting him for an intimate tryst rather than an introductory luncheon. The contrast of the nervousness in her belly to the intimacy of their correspondence. More

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