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The slut comment was probably more normal than not. Of course, the way Steph talked, he may have been a big enough jerk to sneak peeks or something and was perving on her beauty that way. Probably could have been worse, come to think of it and what Steph said on the way over after I picked her up.As all these thoughts were going through my head, and the news was droning on with me not paying attention to a word of it, I felt my bed move and a little body move toward mine.“Hold me for a bit, Charlie? Please?”I held my arms out for her, pulling her in to my chest for a hug, then letting her settle on my side with my arm holding her and patting her hip. “Are you going to be OK, Steph, baby?” I felt a little shiver.“Yeah. If you’ll let me love you, I’ll be fine. If I can be yours, I’ll be perfect and have everything I want, need, and desire.”“Everything?”“If you’ll give me rides to school, or show me where the bus stops, I’ll be fine. What else could I want, or need, that you haven’t. I’ve been looking forward to sharing my milk with you and Zinaida since my husband proposed we ... entertain you.”I couldn’t think. I could only lick my lips as I moved around her to sink on the couch beside her sister-in-law. My blonde curls, lighter hue of gold than Zinaida’s, brushed the president’s sister as I nuzzled into that fat, proffered nub.I latched on, suckled.Creamy milk flooded my mouth. I shuddered in delight. My eyes widened at the taste of her sweet breast milk. It splashed warm across the roof of my mouth and tongue. It coated everywhere. I suckled again, letting it fill my mouth before I swallowed.It left an aftertaste of cantaloupe in my mouth.I nursed again.“Mmm, yes, yes, Becky,” moaned Katerina, “and Zinaida. Just drink my mother’s milk. Mmm, you’re both so naughty.”My futa-cock throbbed as I nursed from the president’s wife. I squeezed her heavy tit hard, her milk squirting with more force into my mount. I shuddered, realizing I was milking her teat like an.
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Or perhaps it's a throw rug. She attempts to d**** it over my shoulders but I protest that she should keep it. It's raining out and she'll catch a chill. She insists, however, and it's only at this point I realize she's attempting to cover my embarrassment.I'm "wearing" the blanket now. I touch my head. I realize I've also come downstairs wearing one of my wigs. As well as red lipstick. I wonder if the points of my bra cups show underneath the bulky blanket, which is coarse and itchy. A woman runs from the building covered in soot. She's waving her hands; appears to be screaming though I can't hear her from where I stand. It's no longer our apartment building she's running from but an office building of some sort.I feel guilty. I should be helping out the firefighters. Instead I'm standing across the street dressed as a woman. I suddenly feel very self-conscious; quite vain in fact. I wonder how I look standing there in my heels, hose, panties, bra, makeup and wig. I sense contempt.

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