. . body. I asked her what she did, and she told me that she was a stripper. I tried to counsel her on how sinful her life was. She just told me th...t I didn't understand . . . she didn't have anything else that she could do. She said that she was trapped by her body, her face, and her stupidity. She mentioned something about choices that she had made in her life. I didn't find out about those until after the switch." What happened next. Did this switch occur by . . . mutual consent?". What's that?" She was smiling.Busted. I held it behind my back. "Nothing. A bathing suit," I saidplayfully."What kind of bathing suit?" A blue one," I said coyly.She got up and started tickling me. It was no fair. I was ticklish andnaked. If she kept doing this, I was going to be in that bed. Igiggled, "Stop," and dropped it.She smiled. "Well, look, what we have here," she said, holding up theblue bathing suit. I forgot to mention that it was a bikini, a classicstring bikini. "When. His hand slipped under my skirt and pleasure trailed from the fingers roaming my bottom, fondling the tightly encased roundness and the silky panties. He fondled the nylon covered buns, pressing me tightly against that firm cock, that warm, familiar friend. My sleek nylon thighs fondled and explored his thigh pulling my dress up.We stood pressing sensual, sliding, touching, slow-fucking motions against each other, letting ourselves enjoy our bodies and our exploring hands."It's been so long." I. This had become almost a ritual for her after her first foray into stuffing herself a week earlier. As she continued to stroke her stomach she carelessly tossed chocolates into her gaping maw from a large box resting on her bosom. She burped softly and moaned, clutching her stomach. The weight of her immense globe was pushing down on her so she turned onto the side, her distended tummy precariously hanging over the edge. As lazy as she was, she hadn't changed her clothes in a week, still.
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