I mean measuring tape, across your breasts. Damn. I wish I could have seen the tape across the equator of your nipples as she pulled it tightly-diggin... into your breasts. Then I invisioned her pumping you as if she were wearing a strap-on. She quickly got me out of my daze as she told us both: “Yeah-we’d have to have the dress custom made. Could do it though.” “What dress? What is she talking about?” you asked looking at us both. Cynthia pointed to where she and I had been looking, I. Her legs had been up on the table where she balanced on her ass, feet and shoulders to give her leverage to fuck my tongue. The harder she jerked, the more the table rocked and then her feet lost purchase on the table and I thought we were both going off onto the floor, me first. I got my arms around each leg, clamping my hands onto her inner thighs, keeping her clinching legs apart. That steadied us. I pushed my tongue into her again and she made some weird sound that I cannot spell and then. More

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