“That tickles,” she said.“Sorry.”“Don’t be sorry, I like it,” she smiled. I ran my fingers down her ‘shin’ and to the tip of her tai.... Thin, translucent flesh webbed between stiffer protrusions that gave the forked fins structure. She flexed the fins wider as my fingers touched them, and I was as mystified as I was weirded out. “Pretty cool, huh?”“Fascinating,” I replied. I felt the texture of her scales back up her shin, and her tail curled to thwap me.“Don’t get any ideas!” she scolded. I. Since he was on one of the committees he had to go and as soon as his car was out of the driveway I ran upstairs and got out the second costume I had made for myself. It was a carbon copy of the one I had made for Jim except mine had see through mesh where my tits would be. My outfit also had the cleverly designed flap, except that mine opened quite a bit further - it gave access to both my pussy and my butt (Jim loves to butt fuck me). I waited for the party to be in full swing before I. As for the poem, easily smeared, it crawled and crawled up the valley. It conquered the plains open under her throat. Then, the offensive! A quick cavalcade around made it a collar of words, a black river that matched any a jeweller.It kept climbing. The best poem I had ever written. In laces swirling around her neck, reaching and conquering her chin and cheeks. Reading only of lust and passion. I called her “ma douce” by her breasts, “mon hétaïre” by her throat. And I will swear, by the way. .
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