He smiles and slowly runs a finger down her face, under her chin, down over her breast and stomach. He pauses at the hem of her dress before pressing ...between her legs.She is warm.Her breathing increases again, his fingers tease at the mound of flesh beneath the fabric.She is wet.His hand resumes it's journey, squatting down he brings his other hand to bear and togetherthey trace the contours of her legs.Holding one ankle firmly he slips off the high heel on that foot. Without the shoe to stand. "And certain parts of you are definitely not dull. These, for instance," he added as he cupped her breasts.She began to move, aided by his clever little thrusts. She could see people through the window. Even from six floors up their colorful clothing caught the eye. It was the evening, the sessions were over, and now it was time for a little fun.She glanced down at Bob, and then leaned over and kissed him. "Let's have a little of that 'play, '" she said, and began thrusting herself back on him. "Okay Mother Cotton," said Kenneth as he continued to stroke Paula Chapman's tit, "can I assume then that last Christmas wasn't the only time you enjoyed the company of Marc and his family?" Oh I think it's safe to assume that Kenneth." In that case then, I think it's probably safe to assume a number of other things." He gently squeezed a nipple."Maybe, maybe not Kenneth. But I'm no tittle-tattle, as you well know, and if Marc and his family decide that you should know any more that's up to. But they were not titties. Not that I wanted titties. Couldn't have them either. No "juicing" allowed in compfem. No hormones. No implants. Rules were rules. [Sigh] Titties on someone like me would be incredibly terrific. The investors who are said to be putting together a pro leaguefor compfem have been talking about allowing all sorts of things --hormones -- implants -- all kinds of surgery, except for the "bigoperation." Not sure if I thought that was a good idea. Still, I would look.