My son goes to pre-school.A few months earlier, we shifted to Goa due to my husband’s transfer and we settled down in a very posh building within th... city. The people here were very welcoming and friendly, in particular, our next-door neighbor, the Desai’s.Mrs. Desai had become my best friend and their elder son Rakesh who helped us a lot in moving stuff when we moved in, had become a good buddy of my hubby. They also go to play cricket on weekends.Our families had gotten quite close, bonding. Their hips widened, making them the ultimate symbols of fertility with perfect hourglass figures. The downy tufts of hair above their slits abruptly fell away, revealing the words “Insert Here” and an arrow pointing down. They turned around and I saw that the same tattoo was now on the small of their backs. True tramp staps. “Fine, you’ve had your fun, now let them go!” I yelled, face turning red as I grew increasingly aware that I was very aroused by the scene before me. “Shut up cunt,” he. His only son, the Viscount Oxenhome, was some thirty years younger, married but with no children. Priscilla had no illusions about her status, but reasoned that if she played her cards right she could be promoted to parlour maid where she might meet some rich visitor who could be persuaded to take her into his bed, and then blackmailed into taking her up the aisle to a life of luxury.To give her credit, Priscilla worked hard, as well as conniving and plotting and by 1937 she was under-parlour. She looked more like an actress I had seen once onan award show who had worn a similar outfit. I looked on thebed, and saw the underwear she had selected for me. I groaned alittle when I saw a red waist cincher, knowing how tight it wasgoing to be. I was right, in fact it was even tighter than theblack one. It took a few minutes for me to be able to get usedto breathing again. There were sheer red stockings there, and Isat down to attach them to the garters. A pair of red satinpanties slid.