I noticed that the baked potatoes had turned to gorgeous pan-browned chunks. My mother had carved the game hens in the kitchen and served the meat on ... platter. There were a few other last-minute changes, too. I knew there were originally three baked potatoes and three Cornish game hens, one for each of us. My mother had turned it into a meal for four, as if that had been the plan all along. We passed serving dishes around while my father opened the champagne. He poured for my mother and. ’ ‘Yeah, well, she’s probably in cahoots with him. I’d be very careful if I were you.’ Marianne gave him a sharp look, but said nothing. After the meal was over and they’d ridden the bus home, she turned to him and asked, ‘Don’t you think I’m pretty enough to be a model?’ ‘Of course you are!’ he replied, then bit his lip. Jealousy and fear warred with honesty and his innate sense of fair play. Honesty won. ‘I think you’d be a really good model, actually, Marianne. Perhaps you should look into. " "I know you like to do it," he said, "I have seen you doing it before." "You have? Did you like to watch me as I did it?" I asked, "Does it turn you on to see me playing with myself?" "Yes, I have seen you doing it several times and it does turn me on. I love to see you doing it. You have such a pretty thing." He said. "Thing? You mean my little pussy?" I asked as I watched him start to squirm. "Yes, your pretty pussy." He answered, "It is so pretty." "Would you like to see me doing it up. His hand moved up my thigh and felt the strap of my garter belt. Smiling at me he then smoothed his hand down my thigh, resting just above my knee. His hand began to softly massage the flesh just above my knee.He began conversations with persons assigned to the table, all the while rubbing my thighs through the material of my dress.Wickedly I decided to move things along a little. I moved my right hand under the table and dragged my evening dress up my shins and over my knees, exposing my legs.
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