Thunder? Or just a passing jet?Marcia cubed the apple she'd been cutting and threw the pieces into astew pot. She mixed in the brown sugar, butter, fl...ur, and chopped nuts.Then she stirred in the spices: clove, nutmeg, and cinnamon. She waitedfor the contents of the pot to boil and turned down the flame. Addedsome water. In a matter of minutes, the little kitchen was filled withan aroma almost as delicious and satisfying as a wedge of the finishedpie itself.While she waited for the compote to. She could imagine herself as an actress and the studio would be her stage. If it were like that, she could feel professional, as much an artist as the aspirational artists that would be putting down her image on their canvases. Now she felt herself relaxing, yes that was it, she was an artist and this was her first performance. It was only natural that she should feel tense and nervous at such a time. That afternoon, she had bathed and taken the time to trim her hair. Trimming her body hair. Her pussy rubbed against her friend’s ass as her soft boobs massaged C’s back. The three of us were closely bundled together. We began breathing with similar rhythms, undulating a little with the flow that we felt together. Craig eventually moved in, trying to find a spot he could attach to on C’s body.C was in no hurry. We remained standing, locked together for what felt like hours. My cock grew larger, while C’s juices flowed onto me. Kris licked the back of C’s neck, while Craig. You glide past discarded clothes, your footsteps loud on the floor and you hear a sharp intake of breath from the bedroom. You move to the bedroom doorway swiftly and stop, drinking in the sight.The room is dark, save for the soft glow coming from the city lights outside. The bedsheets are scrunched at the foot of the bed, along with whatever dress she was wearing when she came home. She lies there, legs open, one knee raised and bent, naked and beautiful. Her breasts rise and fall slowly,.