"I wouldn't say that," she giggled again. "After all, I am 17." Sweet 17," I said, "Isn't there a Beatle song about being 17." Is there?" she said."Yeah," I said.I was close enough now to put my arm around her trim waist and lean forward to kiss her neck."Stop that," she said with a giggle."Beautiful, just beautiful," I murmured."You won't tell any one about this, will you?" she said, her voice just a tad breathless."No, no," I said off hand for my hands was now moving over her near naked back."And you promise not to tell dad about me smoking?" she said."We'll see," I said."No, please, brother, you won't will you?" she said.I moved my other hand up between us and cupped her 34C."Depends," I said as I gently squeezed her."No, please," she said, "Look, I'm being all nice to you." Mmm, so far," I said moving my hand to squeeze the other one.One handed, I unclipped her bra strap and now it was loose I could get my hand under it and feel naked flesh."We shouldn't be doing this," she said. Panting. Aching.She crawled forward. Inches at a time. Her left cheek rubbed thecarpet. It felt so good. So solid. Her hips started pumping down. Up.Down. Up. Humping the air. Wishing her pussy could touch something.Someone. Anything. Scooting forward on the floor, pushing with herknees.Her face encountered something hard. Pointed. She could smell theleather. Scooting forward, she began to nuzzle it. Rub her cheekagainst it. Mind empty, yet she felt compelled to move to the left.Carpet rubbing her face. Tongue trailing drool over the rug. Anotherboot. Further left. Face between two boots. She began to pant. Rubbedher face in little figure-eights, feeling the boots against her cheeks.Smelling the leather. Something... beyond thought. Still, she feltcompelled to scoot to the left. Face over the boot. Across the rug. Shemoaned. She did not realize it, but the deep, aching moan escaped herlips -- and all the women in the room, standing around her, suddenlyfelt their knees go weak with.
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