When they finally gave up, and he told them what it was, Denise threw her hands up in the air and said:"Well no wonder! That's sub atomic! That's not fair!"Dave suddenly had an unobstructed view of Denise's two pouting pussy lips, nestled below a tangled mass of brown hair. When her hands dropped, the shirt dropped too, but hung up on that tuft of hair, leaving her exposed. His eyes bugged out and he rolled onto his back, bringing one hand up to cover his eyes."You don't have to overdo it!" said Denise, unaware of what had happened.Her father, sitting in the chair, didn't have the same view as Dave, but he saw the shirt lying high, and guessed what Dave had seen. He felt his prick tighten in his pants."Baby," he said, a little too loudly. "Your shirt."Denise looked down, and her olive complexion darkened to the point that she looked like a mulatto. Her hands grabbed the shirt tale, and stuffed it down between her legs.Cindy giggled, and Denise turned a wrathful eye on her, only to. It was like loosening a shoelace; the entire top became slack and brought more of her cleavage into view. I'm sure the waiters at the restaurant had seen it all before but were too professional in their manner to stare. We asked for the bill and went for a walk along the harbourside. I was extremely proud to be promenading with her on my arm; her good looks and figure turned a few heads, and with every step, her top seemed to loosen even more. We stopped to admire a beautiful wooden yacht. It had far more quality than most of the plastic Gin Palaces around. Two of the crew were enjoying a beer on the gangplank and saw us admiring the boat; we started chatting to them about the boat and how it was built. They constantly replied with innuendos like "Yes, she's in very good shape," "We love the fine lines," "Moves really well," and that sort of thing. My wife certainly understood their meaning and was blushing when we left, and told me being in their presence had turned her on. We.
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