Uncle Albert’s name for his little project was a joke she would definitely not have appreciated, while Connie and Kylie featured only as ‘this gir... I know’ and ‘this other girl’, and I was far too ashamed to admit how I had spent my lunch break, but otherwise I held nothing back. She followed the story carefully, at first with sympathy as I described Albert’s death, then with pleasure (she tried to disguise it but I knew her too well) as I recounted my row with Wendy, but as the tale went on. So I’m already in a foul ass mood. And as every girl, after a dumping, hates men, I am determined to make them suffer tonight. Thus begins my story. I walk out on stage in nothing but my 4-inch, black, knee-high, patent leather boots; a matching black leather G-string with pull-away sides; and a very slim black leather bra. I am about 5'5'', with beautiful long legs that travel up to a perfectly rounded ass, followed by a smooth, toned stomach, and real (not bought) 42C's. My hair is. Now I made it clear to Coach McCarter that I would be staying in Beverly Hills, but would be with the team for breakfast each morning so it was just like I was at the Hotel, my father assured Coach McCarter that he would be chaperoning me closely. The only reason that Coach McCarter went along with it, was when my Dad told him exactly what was going on in Oklahoma, and that most likely I was already a father, but I stayed with the team as our effort was so very important to me. But as I had a. I knew I couldn’t...mmm...touch myself, but that just made me more, uh, excited.’ ‘And so you want me to help you? To touch your pussy for you?’ Isabelle nodded frantically, strands of long hair falling down her face. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, she knew she couldn’t touch herself, so she ran them up her waist, groping her tits, caressing her nipples, running them down to her thighs… ‘I would love to touch your pussy, Isabelle. You’ve been a very good girl today. I think.