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I could feel Greta staring at Tiff and I the whole time we were mingling. Tiff worked her magic charming both the men and women. After an hour of min...ling, drinking our cocktails, and eating appetizers, we all settled down to the table. Tiff was to my right, and Greta to my left. Conversations ranged from golf, weather, Greta’s clothing line, Tiff’s jewelry, and not so subtly, how Doug Wormsmer was an ass. One of the wives, not so nicely, told him to fuck off and quit looking down her. Inside is a welcome sight, your lovely wife and ...Amy. Talk about a pair of pocket aces. Amy was Karen's negative image, streetwise vs naive, daring to her cautious and whereas your wife was your wife was almost painfully shy, Amy bubbly and a bit of a tease. Some of it had to be on purpose, after all, it's not like she didn't know how she looked. That was the main thing they both shared. Both women were build like absolute brick shithouses. Long legs that rounded out to big juicy asses that. She was ashamed at her disappointment that it was not Jeffrey's voice, but her fiancé's.The idea of she and Jeffrey was absurd anyway. She was from a middle-class family and he was born into extreme wealth with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was not only rich but was also handsome and surprisingly engaging. He could be with any beautiful, well-to-do woman out there, a woman like Olivia Thompson. Her skin crawled at the thought of the cold, beauty queen. Olivia was undoubtedly a bitch without a. The fingers of my left hand torment my clit, pinching and rolling it and until my hips buck, and then slip down into me, hooking against my bone, making me squirm. Perhaps three minutes pass and I know I am close to coming, and I know, too, that I cannot come quietly, so I back off. I can still hear your voice droning but I cannot make out the words, as my own pleasure is buzzing too loudly in my ears. I move my fingers out of my pussy and run them along my ass, giving myself gooseflesh. My.
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