"....take a picture, it'll last longer," she said snickering and shoving his shoulder. He purposely started to drool and slowly started easing his fac... towards her chest. Jane laughed and tried to push him away, but he pushed back even harder. She lost her grip and felt back onto the couch, with him on top of her, face first in her chest. He pulled his face up, still looking at her breasts, now noticing her nipples had gotten hard. He looked at her and saw her eyes were closed. He could feel. You find a woman with muscles that almost rival your own sitting in your windowsill. The curves of the spikey-haired blonde make the tattered black shirt she wears loose over her midriff displaying her solid, scar-touched abs; the sleeves, however, grip tightly to the woman's muscular arms, more scars escape from the fabric's grip. A tattered pink fabric is tied around her waist, tight messy-white pants trail from the fabric to a armored and spiked-kneepads that are attached to her steel lined. More

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