Be that as it may, Bubba and I have been having a running dispute over his operating procedures for years: I shout at Bubba, shoot the bird at Bubba, ... slam my poor old sailboat’s transmission into reverse and throw the tiller over and just miss the closing bridge by inches and look up in time to see Bubba pointing at me and laughing his ass off. It’s a tiring ritual primarily because I always lose. On the day in question — and it was a nice clear December day, by the way — it was nearing. She didn’t even ease onto it this morning; it slipped easily into her slit. While holding on with her left hand she moved her right down to the sweet nub between her thighs. Instead of circles she got straight to business and began flicking like there was no tomorrow. The faster she flicked, the harder her tight pussy slammed down onto her toy all the while making a smacking noise on the wet shower wall. Then the warm feeling of her high point started. Within minutes she felt her insides. (Oftentimes, she also wore knee length skirts). In her saris, especially those that weren't meant to be draped tightly, you couldn't see those great knees and strong thighs that went up to her rounded buttocks. The sudden dip at her tiny waist (tiny by her otherwise big standards) had once made my teenaged daughter blurt out that she had a great figure.Great, hell, her figure was every man's dream and I am human. And what really got to me were those amazing breasts that she could only hide by. She had a serious case of cuntal-vision, where she could focus only on the sexual act playing out between her wide-spread legs.As Sherri thrust her fingers in and out, she was mesmerized by the dancing rings in Janet's pussy lips. Sometimes, they would drag on her fingers, pulling the lip along inside, other times they just wiggled along with the fucking rhythm, occasionally clinking together. Sherri delighted in how they behaved like tiny wind chimes, tossed around by her breezing.