Her husband was a wealthy business man, in his late fifties, she was in her early thirties, and he allowed her to enjoy herself, hence the Saturday part-time job, the day she had her liaisons, her weekend dalliances, something her cuckold husband enjoyed listening too as he jacked-off.This of course I found out as my lesbian or bi-sexual education continued over the next year.He was a very soft spoken man, very fatherly but as the evening wore on, their sexuality came to the fore, as their language became more colourful and I drank several glasses of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, then suddenly she said, 'Mariel dear, I think we need to finish what we started in the back of the taxi', and stood up holding her hand out to me, which I took and followed her into the bedroom.I turned to close the door, but she said, 'Leave it, he like to watch, and stroke', using her hand gesture in a wanking motion.'Where is the bathroom, I want to wash', I asked her as she now stood completely naked in front of. I gasped as my pants tightened aroundmy growing hips and derriere. With the sound of rending fabric my pantsparted at the seams on both sides and slid to the floor. Distracted asI was by the sensation from the nipples between my fingers, I took inmy whole image.My hard won abs were gone, replaced by smooth soft skin. My legs lookedlong and athletic, tapering to a waspish waist. There was somethingfamiliar about it but I was beyond the capacity for logical thought,immersed in the depths of the transformation, submerged in a sea ofoverwhelming sensation. Beneath my fingers, the flesh pulsed andswelled outward, overflowing my palms. They grew, soft and warm rose-tipped mounds-- C-cups at least. My face was still changing butawareness now flooded my overloaded brain-I looked like Jessica Alba.The likeness was becoming greater all the time as my face settled intoits final form.My thoughts were jerked abruptly down below. Sharp pains from in mygroin doubled me over. I felt the.
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