She wore a long-sleeve white silk blouse, the buttons hidden behind a placard front. One by one, I undid them, spending just a moment too long on the ...wo that were between her breasts. I ran my hands through her short brown hair, down the sides of her neck and then slid the blouse off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet, the white accenting the bl00d-red Louboutin’s she was wearing.Her breasts, pushed up by a lacey black bra, drew my eye. I lusted for her. My cock grew thicker, longer, a. She saw my expression of pain but did not comment, saving my dignity. Her tenderness reminded me of my birth mother. She was dead but I remembered her red hair and full bosom, which was another reason I had a weakness for this woman. Anne had a plain face that was rich with freckles, green eyes and breasts that could smother a child. I tried to conjure up my birth mother’s face but failed.I stood up. Modesty was not an issue with Anne. She looked over my nakedness the same way I judge horse. More

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