You drop my top to the floor, not waiting to remove any other clothing, You run your fingertips over each nipple. teasing them, kneading them, I feel ...he material touching my skin and it only heightens the sensations. I bring my breast closer together, you slide your tongue down the centre, tasting every inch of them, savouring the flavours of me. Reaching around , you unhook my bra, sliding it off you add it to the pile of clothes we've made on the floor. In one motion, you shove your work. He grabbed the corners of the bottom, and let the final bits and pieces drip onto the black island of a quickly expanding lake, and walked off. Tiffany entered the kitchen set, cross-armed (hiding her breasts) from the adjoining “hallway”, and looked at the foul pile with the most sour look on her face. She approached the pile, stepping gingerly into the slimy blackness, and dragged out the heavy, sodden clothing pinched in thumb and forefinger. Her face looked nauseated as (behind her) the. More

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