It was a dress. Men, as a rule cannot visualise a dress hanging on a rail with the vision it will be when worn by the woman, yet Marilyn had that happ... knack of seeing a dress and knowing how it would look. There was one. It was a creamy white, quite short with tight waist and a low cut neck. My initial reaction was that it would be quite daring, but Marilyn thought otherwise. She decided to try it on. I have to confess that she was right. She filled the bodice well, the swell of her breasts. I walked up to her to see if she was okay, but I could not stop looking at her thong showing from under her skirt. I tried pulling the skirt down to cover it up, but could not resist of brushing the tip of my fingers against her pussy lips. They were slightly showing. I could feel my cock getting harder, stretching my pants. She saw the joy in my look, where she smiled and ran her fingers across my face, and then my half way cock. I had no clue what to do, with myself !!! She took my nervous. Jean Burgess made the mistake of coming over to their cabin to see whatwas taking so long."Poo! Smells like a brothel in here! How long are you girls gonna be?"he said, poking his head around the door of their cabin.He was met by a hailstorm of high-heels, hairbrushes, compacts andnailfiles and was lucky to escape without losing an eye as he beat ahasty retreat."Fuck em'! How long does it take them to iron a white-front, polishtheir shoes and comb their hair. I've laddered three pairs of. Still she knew better than to complain. Next she felt her nightie being lifted before the hand went back to work. It continued to probe and rub her cunt until it opened up and became moist. Then he held the exploring finger up to her mouth. From experience she knew what was expected and began licking her own juices from his finger. "Play with yourself" he instructed, placing his hand on top of hers. She moved her hand down, inserted her own finger and continued the massage. He kept his.