The thick make up on her face had been removed, showing an attractive spread of freckles. This woman I knew. She was my sister Helen’s friend Anna. Anna’s head on top of the 1950s dress looked odd. Anna usually lived in jeans or dungarees, not in a fitted and flared dress with stockings and a decorative apron. ‘Hello Anna,’ I said. ‘And thank you again for all you did for me last night.’ ‘That’s OK, Mike, but I’m still slightly concerned about having a naked man around. I’ll leave the handcuffs on while I make you some breakfast. You probably don’t feel like eating, but you should. I’ll make some porridge.’ Anna left me. I couldn’t follow. I was still chained. ‘Blast!’ I heard Anna say in the kitchen. ‘What’s up, Anna?’ I asked. ‘Your jeans. They’re wrecked. Whatever you were doing last night, your jeans are badly torn including the waist and fly. They need stitching just to hold them together. You couldn’t wear them until I’ve repaired them. I don’t think I’ve got anything you could. The fact that she never wore a bra or panties at home left him consistently hard whenever this big titted, slim teen was letting her assets bounce every which way. Thankfully, it was a common occurrence. Lance had cum to fantasies of her more times than he could count.Whatever she had come out to his place for was less important than her cellphone, and she was hunched over it busily scrolling through some social media or another. Thank god for the bad posture that left her leaning slightly over her phone, her deep cleavage staring back at him. He watched a drop of sweat roll down from her neck and come to rest on top of her boob. How much would he give to lick it off of her plush breast and ravage her then and there? Despite his seemingly infinite lust for her, he knew she never looked at him the same way. He was fat, lazy, and the fact that he lived with his grandmother and worked a part time job at the age of 25 probably turned off even his 18 year old little cousin. She didn't.
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