| Neighbors, Friends and Lovers, Chapter 4 The next morning, as usual, Sharon taught each of her daughters a lesson and then sent them off with an assignment to work on their own while she tended to household chores. The first order of business was to start the laundry. She was pleased to find each of the girls in their room working hard at their desks. Putting the contents of the hampers into a basket she made her way to the laundry room. Sharon noticed the stain on the back of Melissa's dress right away. 'What did she sit in... I wonder if I should pre-treat it.' Raising the dress to her face she inhaled the odor from the mark deeply. Her reaction to the smell was swift and powerful. What she inhaled from the dress made her head spin and her knees go weak. She didn't make the connection immediately because she was too dizzy, but amazingly, her fogged brain registered a clenching between her legs. Taking the soiled dress away from her face she gulped down several lungs full of the detergent and fabric softener scented air. The connection her mind made to identify where she'd encountered the aroma before came as a vision. She and Rosemarie were on the couch dressed only in the silk dressing gowns that the older woman prescribed for full relaxation during their counseling sessions. Sharon envisioned Rosie encouraging her to lie on the couch with her head in the older woman's lap. The smell she'd gotten off the stain was quite similar to the fragrance she'd detected then. If she'd been willing to think about it she'd have realized that her face was inches from her babysitter's vulva (although she would have said vagina) covered only by a thin layer of porous silk. Melissa's mother knew what the source of the stain was even if her brain wouldn't fully acknowledge it. Sharon applied the stain remover to the mark and continued assembling the first load. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed a nearly identical discoloration on the back of Sandra's skirt. She didn't need to sniff it to know it was the same thing, but she did anyway. The effect was similar but seemed even more powerful the second time. Her breasts tingled and it felt as though someone or some thing had grabbed her crotch. Her head became so light that she had to grasp the washing machine to keep from crumpling to the floor. More suppressed memories swirled in her addled brain. The prudish mother did not want the thoughts to enter her conscious mind but in her intoxication was powerless to stop them. The realization of how grown up her daughters had become took her back to when they were infants. First of course was Sandra. Sharon had managed to get pregnant the second month after she and Phillip were married. Intercourse ceased as soon as Sharon had the pregnancy confirmed. She never even gave a thought to how her inexperienced husband dealt with his biological urges. It was her turn—her time. Carrying the baby wasn't all that pleasant, especially toward the end, but when their bundle of joy, little Sandra, arrived it was worth every second. Sharon fully grasped—or at least she thought she did—the truth of her mother's oft repeated conviction that women didn't, and were never intended to, enjoy the sex act itself. 'A woman's joy and fulfillment comes from bearing and nurturing the child that comes from her performing her obligatory wifely duties.' The young mother now had personal experience that verified everything that she'd been told. The intensity of the feelings and sensations that went through her the first time she nursed her new daughter with the assistance of the maternity ward nurse came as surprise. Sharon soon came to accept that the warm blissful feeling that radiated from her nipple up to her head and down between her legs was a woman's version of the gratification men received from intercourse. The fact that her breasts were sensitive was not a new discovery. Sharon had been aware of it ever since the mounds began to emerge when she was about twelve. She'd resisted the temptation to stroke them and raise those feelings because she was very conscious, thanks to her mom, of their ordained purpose. Phil had never shown much interest in her chest. Sex generally consisted of her hiking up her nightgown and him climbing on top to deposit his seed. She knew the activity was very pleasurable for him from her husband's breathing and the sounds that he made. Sharon wasn't completely immune to the excitement. She knew at least on a clinical level that the secretions from her vagina were essential to their goal. She even thought she might experience some gratification from it if it lasted a little longer—it never did. That was OK because according to her mother this wasn't her time to get satisfaction. It seemed that each time she nursed Sandra the sensations grew stronger. During a typical nursing session she'd be overcome by waves of euphoria at least once or twice. At the peak moment she was aware of the clench hot gushy feeling between her legs. Later she would discover the secretions that were deposited in her panties. That was the other time she'd encountered the same aroma that she'd just discovered emanating from the stain on the back of the girls' dresses. The dresses, along with a few of her things, were sloshing around in the washing machine as she sorted the next load. The unusual crustiness of the girls' panties generated another mild jolt in her womanhood and once again prevented her from getting her mind off the uncomfortable topic. The girls' underpants were in the same state hers had been after nursing. She was trying to deny it but she knew what it meant. It wasn't as though she hadn't counseled them—warned them—about the dangers and evils. Removing them from the corrupting environment of the public school system, and sheltering them from the debauchery of the current society was supposed to prevent this kind of experimentation. The chagrined mother now had indisputable evidence that it hadn't worked. In a way she could almost accept that Sandy had arrived at this point. In just a few months they would be filing-in college applications for her first born. Her mother's intuition always told her that Melissa would turn out to be the greater challenge when it came to restraining the hormone explosion of puberty. Sharon recalled vividly the mixed feelings she'd had in deciding to wean Sandy quite early. Giving up the physical pleasure and closeness that breast feeding provided was hard but she wouldn't start menstruating until she stopped lactating. She knew from the support group at her church that some of the other mothers were still nursing when their child was nearly ready to attend school. For Sharon that seemed too long but two years was too short. Phil was unusually persistent and persuasive on the matter so she finally made the sacrifice. She prayed that their goal would be reached as quickly as the first time. After her first period, which her husband seemed to take an abnormal interest in, they had sex for the first time in over two years. Sharon couldn't be sure why he'd done it, but during their first coitus Phil showed interest in her breasts for the first time. Sharon discouraged the attention and made it clear to him that her breasts were for feeding their baby and not for his prurient amusement. It wasn't that she didn't like his attention to her chest—she did—maybe too much. She actually believed what she was saying. Her prayers were answered and Melissa was born just less than three years after her older sister. The breast feeding this time was even more glorious than with Sandra, in part because she knew what to expect and had been longing for it. Expect was the wrong word though; crave would have been more appropriate. Missy, as well as her mother, got an extra year of the intense bonding experience. Once again it was not without some affirmative action by Phillip that Sharon decided to go back to work, back to teaching, after Melissa's third birthday. His case rested on their financial situation. On his salary alone they were sinking into debt. Sharon never gave the slightest consideration to her long term withdrawal of wifely services or how her hubby coped with it. This was her time to enjoy and she intended to make it last and make the most of it in spite of the fact that he seemed content to take his pleasure in one or two minute bursts. Getting a teaching job was the easy part. It took hours of looking and networking and interviewing to find Rosemarie Chaplin to look after the girls. Phillip and Sharon were extraordinarily fussy. They went to the home of prospective sitters and the slightest hint of impropriety was a deal breaker. Rosie was a widow and trying to supplement the income she received from the insurance annuity and a small pension. It struck a sympathetic chord with the up-tight couple. The fact that there were no men in the household was a bonus. It wasn't long, only two years later that the car accident took his life. The catastrophic event brought two new things into Phillip's widow's life. The first was the comfort and counseling sessions with her babysitter who had a similar life experience. The other was her youngest's sudden need for physical comfort and attention. Melissa had taken to crawling into bed with her at every opportunity. 'How could I say no... How could I turn her away when I was craving the same sort of comfort... and getting it from Rosie?' The six year old had a habit of nuzzling into her boobs sort of like when she was an infant. The grieving mother's breasts had shrunk from their milk filled 'D' cups back into the non-nursing 'C' cup but her nipples seemed no less sensitive than when Missy was suckling. Her youngest daughter's hot breath even through her nightgown started those pleasurable feelings. Half of her demanded that it stop; the other half said it was OK there was nothing wrong with it. 'It's part of the nurturing... it's part of my reward... my satisfaction, ' she rationalized. Sometimes it worked and sometimes she felt very guilty about her physiological responses. To add to the conundrum her squirmy daughter managed to bump or press on her womanhood with astounding regularity. The face snuggling into her breasts sent a steady stream of pleasure signals down below. When those signals were enhanced by direct contact the effect was gut wrenching. Sharon was invariably the one to call an end to the cuddling and more often than not took a very cool shower to calm herself down afterward. In some ways it was torture. She couldn't turn her daughter away and she couldn't do what was necessary to provide completion for the way her body was responding. The cold shower helped and after an hour or so her nerves and physiology returned to normal—almost. The panties she threw in the hamper after allowing Missy into her bed were much like the underpants she'd collected from the girls' hampers that morning. It had gone on for two years. Only when she finally married the insurance salesman did she cut Melissa off. "It's not appropriate for you to be in OUR bed," she explained to her now eight year old daughter. She sometimes wondered if the same scenario had played out and the man beside her was Missy biological father, would she have been as firm about the youngster not joining them. She thought that she would. 'My responses would be the same... I think... and that's the real problem.' The first load of laundry was in the dryer and the second load had begun to slosh around in the washing machine when Sharon departed the little clothes cleaning room and headed for the kitchen. 'What to make for dinner?' she scanned the contents of the fridge. She decided on shredding last night's pot roast and making beef burritos. They'd had pot roast last night because it was one of Victor's favorites. Sharon wanted the previous evening's dinner to be something special since it would be their last dinner as a family for a week. This morning Victor had flown to Chicago for the semi-annual sales meetings at his company's head office. She shredded the beef and then cut peppers and onion that she could grill later. By the time all the food was prepared and ready to be rolled in the tortillas she'd all but forgotten about her brief melt down in the laundry room. Lurking in the back of her mind was the nagging thought that she'd have to do something about her daughter's recent activities but she didn't want to think about it—not today. The rice would only take ten minutes so dinner would be a snap. The efficient homemaker set about putting together sandwiches for lunch. 'Where did the morning go, ' she mused, pulling the container with cold cuts and cheeses from the fridge. Carolyn was wondering the same thing. After the stunning teenager from next door left she'd repaired to her bedroom and stripped. On her satin sheets, naked, every toy in her toy box got a work-out as she relieved the sexual tension that had built up over the course of the day. She was up late and consequently slept in. Last evening she'd tried to make it about Vanessa. At the start it was the swarthy professional stripping off her panties and seductively exposing herself that fueled the first orgasm. After that she tried to keep the image of the twenty-something in her mind but Sandy's nubile teenaged body kept intruding. When she'd finally fallen asleep, exhausted, it was Sandra's visage that floated in the twilight moments. Worse; the dreams included fuzzy under developed images of her younger sister. 'I've never been into teenagers, ' she reminded herself even while she was preparing to expand her repertoire. Sandy had asked if she could bring her little sister over. For reasons the photographer couldn't quite grasp the idea was thrilling her to the bone. Carolyn didn't know when or even if the young women from next door would pay a visit but she resolved to be ready—equipped as it were—to take advantage of the opportunity if it presented. It took a while to get Jacqueline on the phone because she was with a customer. Carolyn told the woman who answered the phone at the exclusive clothing boutique that she'd hold. The young sounding member of Jacqui's staff sounded perturbed and pointed out that it might take a while. The photographer felt urgency in the purpose of her call so she accepted the caution but told the boutique owner's assistant that she didn't mind waiting. Carolyn hit the speaker phone function so she could set the hand-set back in its cradle. Soft classical music played from the telephone's tiny speaker signifying that she was still connected. Sitting in the office portion of her studio her mind wandered back to when she'd met the woman she was calling. Jacqui had arrived with an entourage at the downtown studio she used to rent. It was a month or so after the sexual orientation confusing episode with Ginger and it was her first lingerie shoot since she'd gone independent. Like Ginger, Jacqui's natural red hair was a major reason for her success. That and her flawless alabaster white skin. Natural redheads and people with such fair complexions usually had skin pigmentation issues—freckles—not so miz Jacqueline Bleu. Years later Jacqui would tell Carolyn that she'd discovered as a very young child that she could sunburn in the time it took to walk across the street. The model attributed her unblemished skin to avoiding sunlight on her skin like a vampire. The results were spectacular and had quickly catapulted her to stardom in the modeling world. Carolyn had seen many an entourage but what fascinated her about Jacqui's was their age. The hair stylist and the make-up artist didn't look old enough to vote. There was another girl with them whose job was not immediately evident, and she looked even younger. Carolyn recalled her first guess was about twelve. She'd later find out the estimate was somewhat low. The only one of the model's staff who did appear to have finished high school was her business manager. The senior member of the group approached immediately and the rest went over to the model prep area without acknowledgement. The older woman introduced herself as Marie Sinclair and asked to see the merchandise, so Carolyn directed her to the clothing rack while she watched Jacqui's team go to work. The make-up girl and the young woman responsible for the model's hair began to unpack their respective bags while the youngest looking member of the group began undressing the model. She did it with such efficient ease that Carolyn had concluded that she'd done it dozens of times before. She'd rather expected the girl to stop at the bra and panties, but she didn't. In less than two minutes Jacqui was totally naked with the pre-teen kneeling in front of her. The models high firm breasts weren't large but they were exceptionally round and had the largest palest pink areolas Carolyn had ever seen. The small tuft of red hair above her very demure crease attested to the fact that her hair color was natural; as if her skin coloration weren't enough. Carolyn recalled how her pussy had tightened up and her breasts had stated to tingle when the model sat down in the make-up chair and the kneeling girl buried her face between the redhead's legs. Up until that moment having sex with young girls had never really entered her mind but she found herself wishing it was her in the chair as the youngster went to work. Carolyn knew she was staring at the intimate activity and something was telling her to look away but she couldn't. The lack of reaction from the seated model when the girl raised Jacqui's legs and began to perform anilingus amazed her. Some tightening of facial muscles and evidence from the redhead's forearms that she was gripping the arms of the chair pretty hard were the only indications she gave of the pleasurable sensations the very young looking girl with her tongue in her ass had to be creating. Carolyn had never experienced this particular kind of stimulation but watching the act being performed was giving her an intense desire to try it. "Miz Bleu needs some inspiration to do her best work," Marie had said from directly behind her. She recalled being shocked at how close the model's manager was without her even realizing that she was there. "Brittany is so good at that," Marie whispered; "trust me... I know." Carolyn remembered the jolt that hit her kitty when the older woman implied that the pre-teen performed the erotic service for other than her boss. The pressure building up in her belly convinced the photographer that she better not continue the reminiscence lest she wind up back in bed. When Jacqui's modeling days had come to an end, she'd opened a clothing boutique. It was no surprise that it catered to young women—very young women—girls. She was the Fredrick's of Hollywood for the up and coming generation. "Hello... how can I help you?" the sweet voice with just a hint of a French accent interrupted the musical interlude. "Hi Jacqui, how are you?" the photographer responded picking up the receiver. "Carolyn!" the ex-model exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell Brittany that it was you... I wouldn't have kept you waiting so long... how have you been?" "I'm doing very well thanks... how about you?" "Sweetie I'm in heaven. I opened a store selling candy wrappers and the candy comes to me. How perfect is that!" "Lecherous as ever is what you're telling me," Carolyn confirmed with a chuckle. "You know me it's gotta be fresh... but you didn't call to catch up on my sex life... or did you?" "No, I called to ask a favor," the photographer confessed with just a little hesitation. "Anything for you doll, you know that." "I have a novice model coming over and I want to take some test shots. I was wondering if I could borrow a couple of outfits." "Oooo! How old is she?" Jacqui queried. "Uh, I think she's about fourteen, she's got a sister a couple of years older too." "Sisters! Honey you're making my mouth water. When do you need the stuff?" "I'm not even sure I do need it. I haven't pitched the idea yet but I have to have it here because if she goes for it I don't want to give her time to have second thoughts." "Good plan," the red haired boutique owner agreed. "Unfortunately I can't get away 'cause you know I'd love to be there—" "Oh I'd never ask you to go to that trouble... I was thinking if you have something available I'd swing by and pick it up." "Sure honey, give me an hour or so. I know I can get something together that your sisters will be dying to try on. The rest is up to you." "Thanks Jacqui you're a darling." "It's not free though... you've gotta e-mail me some of the pics," the ex-model imposed a condition. "No problem there," Carolyn assured her friend. "I'll stop by around one?" "I'll have it ready." They both hung up. Carolyn hustled to shower and dress. Sharon called her girls for lunch about the time her neighbor was getting in her car. Half way through the sandwiches and carrot sticks Sandra dropped the question. "Mommy, can I take Missy over to see Missus Rousseau's studio later?" "Studio?" "Yeah, she's a professional photographer didn't you know? She showed me yesterday when I returned her dishes and... and it's really neat. She said I could bring Missy over to see it too," Sandra explained and then held her breath. Sharon thought about her answer for several seconds. She knew what her husband thought of the woman next door. Victor had rendered his opinion the moment their neighbor left after delivering the casseroles yesterday. 'Keep the girls away from her, ' he'd said in his usual commanding tone. 'She's a slut and a bad influence.' Sharon recalled being disappointed at the swift and harsh judgment but not surprised. When she'd seen their neighbor for the first time she was hopeful that she'd finally have another woman to become friends with. Ever since they were married she'd been isolated out in the sticks. Her only adult companion was her husband. She missed the relationship she'd had with Rosie but in rural Nebraska there'd hadn't really been any opportunities. Now she had a potential friend who was pleasant and nice—nice enough to make them a welcome to the neighborhood dinner—not to mention nearby. Unfortunately, her husband had taken an instant dislike. Even after his admonition to keep the girls away, Sharon had thought she would try to develop a friendship with Missus Rousseau. She just wouldn't tell him. She was not in the habit of keeping secrets from the man she'd married but Sharon had already decided that this was one occasion where it would be justified. What her husband seemed to have no appreciation of was that while he was out working all day meeting and interacting with a variety of people, his wife and daughters were cooped up in the house. It had taken a year for her to convince him that they needed a second car. In their previous rural home she had to do her grocery shopping in the evenings or more usually on weekends when the man of the house could drive her. After that he knew whenever she went out, and even how far she'd gone. Using the excuse of wanting to stay on top of the maintenance of the ten year old sedan, Victor kept a close eye on the odometer. She understood that he wanted to keep track so he'd know when an oil change or brake job was due but it didn't explain checking it every day. She'd been used to a bit of a social network with other teachers at school. Even though she and Phillip had kept pretty much to themselves, and had few lasting friendships, still she'd had interaction with other adults. She missed that. The relationship she'd developed with Rosemarie was unique—different than any she'd ever had before. Though it had started out as business and grown as a consequence of the tragedy, Sharon had always felt there was a potential for something much, much more to develop. Rosie's sudden unexpected departure from her life was among her greatest disappointments. Having decided that she would cultivate a friendship with their neighbor behind her husband's back—as it were—was one thing, but allowing their daughters to fraternize in contravention of a direct order was quite another. "You have to finish your assignments and hand them in before you can go," Sandra's mother finally replied. "Yeah... uh, sure Mom," Sandy acknowledged the condition and looked at her sister who was smiling from ear to ear. The girls were finished and waited impatiently for their mother to signify that she was also done by dabbing her mouth with her napkin and standing up. They each put their dishes in the dishwasher and then Sandy went to the counter to start putting away the cold cuts while Missy went to wipe the table. "I'll look after that, girls... you can go and get back to work." The teenagers didn't need to be relieved of the duty twice and virtually ran up the stairs to their respective bedrooms and assignments. 'Photographer—' Sharon mused as she cleared the counter. Images of beautiful women in beautiful clothes came to mind. Inspiring photos from magazines and billboards she'd seen over the years floated through her head in a surreal fuzzy way. Maybe her neighbor had taken some of those pictures. Frequently when she saw the glamorous magazine covers in the grocery store or at the doctor or dentist's office she wondered how she stacked up against the gorgeous models. She knew that it was vanity so she tried hard to push those thoughts from her mind but she couldn't always do it. And the clothes! They were so spectacular and showed off the models' bodies to perfection. It wasn't unusual for her to feel a mild stirring in her belly. Sharon interpreted it as jealousy. She couldn't deny that she'd had desires to dress like that but knew that was never going to happen. The dresses she and the girls wore were made to Victor's specifications. She didn't consider herself a seamstress but at the same time Sharon was quite sure that she could cut and sew much more attractive clothes than her husband would permit. Her mother had been plain and unequivocal about what she considered proper attire. There was no margin for negotiation. Sharon had gone directly from those ultra conservative standards to Phillip's. Her first husband wasn't overbearing, at least not to the degree that her current mate could be, but he too had very strong opinions about how a proper lady dressed. Occasionally, in the early days of their marriage, Sharon had been slightly adventurous in her clothing selections. Phillip was not impressed and made his feelings clear. She was disappointed that her husband didn't appreciate a little cleavage or an extra inch or two of leg showing but his disapproval made it all seem moot—in a way. In another way it wasn't because she felt good when she dressed like that and she got compliments from other people which served to support her taste. Still in the interest of marital harmony she abandoned the practice. After Phil's death there was no money for her wardrobe. The girls were growing so fast that she could barely keep up with their needs. That's when she'd started making dresses for her daughters. They were conservative, keeping with the teachings of her mother and anyway sexuality wasn't appropriate for pre-teens. Even so they weren't concealing enough for Victor. Even before they'd wed he had commented on the fact that Sandy's bust was quite noticeable. It wasn't a compliment about her development but a criticism of her apparel. He oversaw the manufacture of the next batch of dresses and wasn't satisfied until they achieved their current shapeless form. Sharon was aware that her girls were unhappy with their dresses but they were smart enough to say little on the subject; especially around their step-father. She finished tidying the kitchen and returned to the laundry room where she expected the first load would be dry and the second load ready to come out of the washer. The laundry room had its normal detergent and fabric softener smell, so why did her nose detect the scent of female arousal? It simply wasn't there; a figment of her imagination, a memory at best. She pushed the aberration aside in her mind but her physiological response was outside of her control. The tingling in her breasts and the slightly tight feeling between her legs was shameful. She hung the clothes from the dryer on the rack. Putting the second load in, she inspected the crotch of each pair of panties. She noticed the tear in Sandra's underwear and it puzzled her. 'They're not that old, ' she fumed. It was another thing to address on another day. There was no need to do a sniff test and no value in it whatsoever but the phantom odor wafted anyway. She had to get out of that room—get away from the too fresh and too disturbing memory—so she abandoned plans for a third load and went on to the next task. They found their mother and teacher dusting in the living room. Each of the adorable Madsen teenagers held out a stack of paper. "We're done Mommy," Sandra announced for both of them. "Can we go see if Missus Rousseau is home?" "Not so fast there sweetie... let me have a look," the teacher replied skeptically. Taking the proffered assignments she sat down on the couch and scanned them one after the other. They were surprisingly good. She'd feared that her daughters might be inclined to be less thorough, anxious to escape the hum-drum of their average day. She was wrong. There was just a tiny twinge of conscience when she said, "OK... you can go." It was like a jail-break! The girls were out the door as if the house was on fire. Sharon took the school work to the kitchen, put on some coffee and her professional hat; then sat at the table to do a thorough review of the assignments. As soon as she'd arrive home from Jacqueline's Carolyn got completely undressed and put on her much loved satin robe. The slippery material caressed her sensuously as usual. She was still arranging the cornucopia of outfits when the doorbell rang. It could have been anybody, so why did her pussy jump for joy—wishful thinking. Now that she was prepared, she couldn't wait for her new neighbors to visit. She hurried to the door trying to curb her excitement, be prepared for disappointment, it proved unnecessary. Carolyn had the sensation of being in a time warp. She looked from Sandra to Melissa and it was like jumping forward and backward in time by two and a half years. Both of her neighbors were smiling broadly. The photographer was smiling with both of her sets of lips. "Hi Missus... uh, Carolyn... this is my sister Melissa," Sandy said by way of introduction. "Would it be OK if we took a look at your studio?" "Of course ladies come on in," the older woman invited stepping aside to make way. Once inside Sandy took her sister's hand and the littler one nearly got whiplash, unprepared for the acceleration, as the older girl ran toward the back of the house virtually dragging her sister. Carolyn followed at a more relaxed pace. Just as she'd done the day before the photographer propped herself against the door post and watched. The look of fascination on the little one's face was a faithful replay of the expression the older girl had worn the day before. "Isn't it cool?" Sandy enthused. "Yeah!" Melissa replied; wonderment evident in her voice. Just as she'd hoped Sandra's attention was drawn to the model prep area. That's where Carolyn had carefully hung the outfits on loan from her friend's boutique. She deliberately hadn't used the garment rail, but instead used the hooks on the wall. Those hooks were actually intended for the models to hang their street clothes on. The advantage of using them was that the outfits were displayed in such a way that they couldn't be missed. When Melissa followed her sister's gaze she gasped. Missy would have been hard pressed to say what she'd expected but whatever she imagined hadn't prepared her for the real thing. As if drawn by a magnet she approached the preparation area with her eyes glued to the sexiest of teenaged fashions. Sandy was no less impressed. Yesterday there had been a rack with four dresses on it, and only one of those had really appealed to her. The one she'd tried on. Today there were ten or more dresses and top and skirt ensembles that were straight from her dreams. They moved forward together as though approaching a sacred alter. Carolyn was thinking that she could have drugged them and not gotten them any more intoxicated. Sandy turned toward her, "Could we... would it be OK if we tried some of them on?" she seemed to not have quite enough air to make her vocal chords work normally. "Sure why not," the photographer replied trying to sound nonchalant but the growing pressure in her belly and tits made feigning detachment difficult. She picked up one of her cameras and moved to a position where she could capture the sisters staring reverently at the display. 'Before and after—' she thought as the beautiful young women in the God awful dresses filled her view finder. Depressing the shutter release the camera auto fired a half a dozen times. The younger girl noticed their host pointing the digital SLR at them. "Are you going to take our picture too?" Missy asked excitedly. "Would you like me to?" Carolyn answered with a question of her own. She depressed the shutter again and captured the huge smiles on the neighbor girls' faces as they nodded emphatically. |