”“That's sweet. Thanks,” I smiled naughtily. I pulled my hand lower, exposing my little peach. Feeling a bit on the daring side, I pushed my mid...le finger deep into my sex. “Just don't tell Mrs. Bozeman. Right?”He nodded in agreement, watching my finger slide into my depths. His eyes were fixed on my pussy. “Do you want to see me open it?”“Yes.”I turned around and sat, legs spread wide, facing him. I placed the fingers of both hands on either side of my pussy. My husband was still listening. Time at the beach was turning into an orgy of masturbation. They had become obsessive-compulsive about it. Amy got anxious if she went one day without masturbating. And if Rachel didn’t feel like it, she would watch, sometimes joining in if watching aroused her. They indulged daily, getting off singly or together, fingering themselves or each other, experimenting with any object they found in the house that could be inserted, including the wooden handle of an antique potato masher discovered in. More

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