He made a detour down Primrose Ave and visited the electrical store. Then he hurried back to the flophouse to explain to his wife.*"Darlin'?" he called as he walked through the bar, leaving the package on the counter and heading up the stairs. He paused for a moment when he saw his wife ahead of him, on the landing, dramatically lit by a window of low, eastern sun. It was 1935, eleven years since he'd married the eighteen-year-old Ava. As far as he was concerned, she looked better than ever. Tight hips, long legs and full breasts in a newfangled French brassiere. Her black hair was up in a stylish bun. She kept it that way until it fell from a brutal plowing or some drunk asshole pulled too hard while face-fucking her. Her eyes were devastatingly dark too, but he recognised the playful spark there that had first drawn him to her. And her lips. Her lips were a blistering red. That was her trademark. Charles lamented silently that that red would never be recorded on his black and white. Our tongues danced together. She caressed my shoulder and twined my hair with her fingers. She massaged my body with her breasts and legs. I never had a more passionate or exotic kiss in my life.I caressed her. I moved a hand to her shoulder. I could feel the softness of her body beneath the fabric. I played with her bra strap. I lowered my other hand and slide it down to her butt. I cupped her ass cheek and stroked it. I pressed on her ass pulling her closer to my bulge.Jennifer moaned lightly into my throat. She moved back a bit. I was wondering if I did something wrong. She looked at me, her hands still around my neck. "The buttons are on the front."I wasn't an idiot, not at that moment. I moved my hands to her front and started to unbutton her dress. I had some problem doing it as my hands were trembling. Jennifer was wearing a black seamless deep-V bra with a front closure. One-third of her breasts were exposed by the bra coverage making a strong and intriguing contrast between.
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