Braless In Bristol


Sunday afternoon in Marks and Spencer,idly fingering lingerie,my attention suddenly caughtby a tall and pretty redhead.Seen from behind,her low-cut, backless, drop-armhole topdraws my eyes.No annoying bra strap cuts acrossthe taut muscles of her back,and as she turns to face Keçiören Escort meher unsupported breastsswing freely back and forth.So daring, in that top.From the side, if she leans forward,you’ll be able to Etimesgut Escort see them,her bare breasts.Pretending to browse,I stalk her to the shoe section.She pouts,considers,then crouches and leans forwardto Demetevler Escort inspect strappy sandals.My heart misses a beat.I can see them perfectly,her pale breasts,loose and swinging slightly.I’m transfixedby the way they move,hanging from her chest.Nipples pink and perky,surrounded by puffy areolas.I press my legs together;tense my thigh muscles;so aroused I almost come.Casually,I raise my phoneas if texting,but take a picture,perfectly framingher exposed tits.My heartis beating wildlyas she stands,turns,walks past me.Stops.Speaks.“Show me the picture,” she whispers,“Then I’ll let you seewhat’s under my skirt too.”

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