The straps slipped off her neck and dropped limply onto her cleavage. With a shudder, I realized that the only thing keeping those triangles of fabric...from falling off Tracy’s tits was the pressure of her chest against me. Slowly, torturously, she leaned back—bit by bit—until that skimpy bikini top finally fell into my lap. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. Tracy was a living, breathing, wet dream. A buxom goddess, straight out of a centerfold. The reality of her tits put my imagination. Tuesday night, as the week before, my husband asked me if it was ok for him to go and have a few beers with his pals, John and Peter, I told him it was ok, that I'd call over to my friend and have a glass of wine or two, he had a shower and dolled himself up, he smelled like a fucking perfume factory when he came out of the shower, this was no few beers with the boys I thought to myself, but said nothing, off he went, and I phoned my friend to come collect me in her car, we were like to private. More

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