"Now I'm all wet." "So, take off your pants and throw them in the dryer over there," she said with a shrug. "It's no big deal." "What, you want me to ...ake my pants off in front of you?" She looked at him and grinned. "I dare you." "Fine," he said, unsnapping his button and letting his pants fall to the floor, kicking his shoes off in the process. "Gee, your underwear looks wet too," Marybeth teased. "I'm not taking those off," he said. "Chicken," she laughed. "Oh yeah?" He squinted, not one to. That is until a few days later when I got home from work and his pick up truck was parked on the drive way again. I opened the front door, expecting to hear my mother in the throws of ecstasy again, and to see discarded clothing on the hall way floor. Nothing. “I am home!” I shouted upstairs. There was movement from the spare room for some reason that I could not quite fathom. “Hello dear. We will be right down,” my mother shouted back. I went into the kitchen and took off my coat. I heard them. I looked at her tattoos; I kissed them and even bit them lightly. My tongue knows their shape and texture. Do I want a tattoo, is that what you mean?” “You could pick something for me on one side and Greg on the other; do you think a thin cock and a fat one would work?” “How about a circle around fat cock, and a circle with a line across over the thin cock? That would mean no access for my man with the thin cock, wouldn’t it?” “I guess the bar means NO; that is what it always means on public. She felt so bare and exposed. The cool night brushed against the wetness between her legs, and seemed to intensify the heat of those tentative, invading fingers. They pinched at her labia, grabbed handfuls of her ass. Stroked at her thighs and rubbed vigorously at her clit. One gave her a firm slap on the ass, but not hard enough to sting. She relaxed her hips, opened herself out a little to the feel of the fingers between her legs. She wanted to rub at her clit, to show them where to touch,.