She had gone to considerable expense and effort to create this sanctuary for herself in the otherwise male dominated house.Smiling happily, she got up...and stretched again. She could feel her big, heavy breasts wiggle sensuously as she lowered her arms. Cupping the soft cones of wriggling flesh, she padded across the thick, pink carpet to the window.Looking out, she could barely see more than ten feet through the snow as it drove itself against the house. Like ghostly apparitions, the snow and. Nothing is more tedious than having to listen to a voice mail that rambles on for five minutes without ever getting to a point. It's a surprising trend, considering the fact that our generation gets its news in ten-second factoids, and most kids have developed attention spans that are shorter than those of fruit flies on meth. Most office workers don't really like to write, so they keep their email messages to a bare minimum. Voice mail messages tend to be rambling, since VM is easy to use and. But he is looking at my braless cleavage.I smile at his playfulness and lean forward a bit, giving him a glimpse down the front of my dress.“They are Italian,” I whisper, moving closer to him. “Thank you for noticing,” I say impishly.“I’m an artist, and I appreciate all kinds of beautiful things,” his eyes sparkle in response.“Indeed, you do, as you’ve made a beautiful and strong statement with your work here,” I say.I continue, smiling playfully, “And thank you for turning me on today with. “So there’s nothing the matter?” Betsy asked casually.“No.”Betsy looked around the little area before looking over at Sally. She said, “Usually when I feel like crying, is when there’s something the matter. Sometimes I’ve cried tears of happiness, but you don’t look particularly happy. I don’t remember ever having a time when I cried when there was nothing the matter.”“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sally said evasively.“So there is something the matter.”“I didn’t say that.”Betsy snorted. She.