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She just caught me masturbating! My inner voice screamed inside my head.Allison’s face betrayed no shock, surprise, judgment, or even the barest hint that she’d seen me. However, she’d walked from her house down the street to mine, and there was almost no chance that she hadn’t glanced toward the house and seen me standing in the bay window, fingering myself over Bobby Crenshaw. I knew better than to ask.However, her strategic, deliberate entrance was admirable and required acknowledgment. Allison and I barely knew each other. We’d run into each other at a few stores and chatted briefly a few times. I’d only met her husband once, I think, in passing, when we’d first moved in. No face emerged in my mind to connect his name with the actual person. She and I felt that we could become good friends, hence the reason for a quiet, get-to-know-you dinner.Everything about her arrival, down to the smallest of details, was designed to cut through the usual, hidden subtext that women utilize to gauge, judge, and communicate with each other. She presented her true self for me to either accept or reject. I mentally bowed before her foresight. Allison’s outfit, body language, casual airs, and even the offering of marijuana candy in lieu of the traditional wine were manufactured, “here I am; this is me,” statements. That took courage, vulnerability, and a keen understanding of the silent messages we convey to each other.Ginger, as she prefers to be called, had meticulously done her makeup to impart her personality. It was sultry, sexy, and playful—all smoke and glittery shine. Her rouge was dark, and those arousing, plump lips were a deep crimson outlined in dark purple. Her eye shadow faded from a deep forest green to charcoal, which enhanced the allure of her pale eyes. She easily pulled off the sexy and wild-in-bed look while retaining a ladylike dignity.Allison’s clothing was also sexy and suggestive without being trashy. A long, muted purple tunic top with a rounded hem showed off her slightly large and perfectly formed breasts without descending into sluttiness by revealing volumes of cleavage. However, the tunic clung to the contours of her body, hinted at an hourglass figure, and revealed shadowy hints of her full, round breasts. The sexy outlines of her stiff nipples poked out through the fabric. Even though her breasts sat high and firm on her chest, I wondered whether she was wearing a bra. Emerging from beneath the curved hem of her top, black, skin-tight leggings molded themselves to her shapely legs. Simple, worn tennis shoes finished off her ensemble.Her entire look was custom-tailored to illustrate that she was completely herself—no pretenses about not being incredibly sexy, but also that she didn’t have that inflated ego that typically accompanies stunningly good looks. Every word she’d uttered, as well as her body language, intoned, “Here I am, all of me, exactly how I appear. If you like it, then fine. If not, then kiss my very shapely ass.” Her early, solo arrival was orchestrated to give us two girls time to bond, or not before the men came in and spewed testosterone all over the place.The THC-laced gummies were an ingenious statement about her lifestyle and personality. By opting for something a bit taboo, she was announcing that she was unconventional and didn’t care if you knew it. I appreciated her efforts, as they saved us a lot of time. Typically, when women are getting to know each other, a non-verbal evaluation is going on just beneath the surface of polite conversation. By her choices and actions, she’d laid it all out there and left it up Malatya Escort to me. “Don’t mind if I do,” I smiled out to her. My unspoken subtext, as we looked each other over, was that I understood the intent behind everything she’d done, and I both accepted and appreciated her efforts. She nodded in comprehension and smiled broadly, showing perfect teeth.“It’s been years since I was stoned,” I continued as I grabbed two of the sugar-coated, earthy bundles of joy and popped them into my mouth.“Years?” she laughed out. “Oh, sweetheart, maybe just one or less will do you. How’s your tolerance?”I could taste the herbal essence; it was quite pungent despite the sugary sweetness. “Let me put it this way, but don’t tell Mike. In college, they didn’t call me Mary Anne; they called me Mary Jane!”“Oh,” Ginger guffawed. “Then have three.”I complied, then asked. “These taste more like weed than candy. What are they, fifty milligrams?”“No, sweetie, two hundred.”“Oh fuck,” I said in a very ladylike fashion. “I’m going to be so stoned, I’ll probably ruin dinner.”“If you cook one-tenth as well as you keep your home, dinner will be amazing. I must say, I’m embarrassed. My house is a shit-hole compared to yours.”“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll pour you a drink, and, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, go change. I was running a bit behind and was just tidying up a little before I got dressed.” I pointed to the idle vacuum cleaner. “Um, how do you like your drinks?”“Like my men,” she giggled. “Strong, stiff, and another one on the way.”Men wouldn’t understand, but we’d passed each other’s tests. In those few moments, we’d bonded, finding common ground. That meant that we could now cultivate a friendship without putting on false airs. I poured her a strong whiskey on the rocks, adding some sweetening syrup and fruit garnishes, and then ran into the bedroom to hastily change into my dress.The wise words, “Haste makes waste,” were echoed in my mad dash to dress myself. Ginger had been polite or politic enough to not mention the facts that I was clad in only a T-shirt, my fingers glistened with my pussy juice, and that I hadn’t been properly prepared to receive her company. Not wanting to add rudeness to my growing list of faux pas, I tried to dress myself at light speed. The hurried frenzy impeded me to the point of frustration.My initial plan was to wear a matching bra, panties, and garter belt, but my hectic rushing made the straps of the bra all twisty and uneven; my nail caught on my panties and ripped the frilly lace. As a final cruel irony of fate, I tugged at the garter straps too hard and tore one off! With Allison waiting, I had no recourse but to simply pull on the thigh-highs and shimmy into the dress. Nobody will notice or even care, I thought to myself. I ignored the obvious bouncing of my unrestrained boobs and nude ass beneath my dress.“All dressed,” I announced as I came back into the living room. Ginger had meandered around a bit, and she’d stopped at the bay window, at the exact spot I’d just fingered myself to orgasm at.“He’s quite a good-looking young man,” she observed. She pointed to Bobby across the street. He was still tinkering with the mower, struggling to start it. His arm muscles bulged as he frenetically tugged on the pull cord. “Does he always strut around like that?”“All the time.””I’ll need to visit more often. How can I help with dinner?”Although our wayward husbands were due to arrive within thirty or so minutes, Allison and I spent the next forty-five finishing up dinner. Despite all of my housewife mistakes throughout Malatya Escort Bayan the day, dinner was almost perfect. My glazed vegetables were a bit on the dark side, and my bread was just barely undercooked and still a touch doughy. Everything else, especially the sirloin tips, was pure perfection. There wasn’t a single lump in my from-scratch mashed potatoes.During that time, a couple of things happened. Ginger and I got along famously. We also skipped all the small talk, agreeing that the men would bring it all up over dinner because men lack imagination. We got to know each other as people, not defined by what we do. Another thing that happened was that the edibles kicked in and came on strong. By the time we were setting the table, we were both laughing uncontrollably, and tears were welling up in our eyes. We were on a shared journey of bonding giddiness.While I’d initially planned to seat the four of us as two couples across from each other, we decided to switch things up. Ben would be seated on my right, across from Mike, which left Ginger and me face-to-face. That required some slight table setting alterations, but we managed it with ease. According to some recent magazine articles, this would foster group conversation better than if we were seated beside our spouses.Just as we were tending the dessert preparations, laughing over the latest celebrity scandal in the news, the door burst open and Mike waltzed in, his briefcase in one hand and a mostly-drained beer bottle in the other. Beside him was a man I assumed to be Ben. Some faint specters of recognition haunted my mind, and, given the withering stare Allison shot him, I assumed myself to be correct.“Sorry, we’re late, honey,” my husband shouted out. “Look who I ran into when I pulled in.”“Are you drinking already?” Allison scolded her husband with a smile.“It’s only our second!”“Men! Okay, boys, wash up for dinner. Mary’s slaved all day over a hot stove, so act like an adult for once.”I kept quiet, but that didn’t stop my eyes from running all over Ben’s sexy body and ruggedly handsome face. Mike, my husband, is handsome and muscular in a clean-cut way, but Ben was roguishly handsome. His shoulder-length hair was a deep black and framed his angular, chiseled features with gentle, cascading waves. Ben’s muscular torso was clad in a linen shirt with the top two buttons undone, and, while his lower half was encased in denim, it was a designer fit. Smart, patent leather shoes wrapped his feet, and he gave the overall impression of the charismatic leader of the rebellion.“Mike, this is Allison. Do you remember her, now?”My husband, his cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol, stopped to acknowledge our other guest. “Yes, I remember you,” he beamed as they shook hands. “Ginger, please,” she responded, shaking vigorously. I ignored the fact that her probably-braless tits were bouncing up and down along with her arm. I vehemently opted to not see my husband’s eyes bounce up and down, following the heaving of Allison’s incredible boobs. Nor did my eyes perceive the way his lusty stare traveled down her body, fixating on her sexy legs and the treasure box between them.I formally greeted Ben, feeling my entire body grow heated under his gaze. A good wife needs her husband’s friends and guests to want her; that props him up and raises his status in the male pecking order. So, rather than shy away from his lecherous leering, I brazenly let him take all of me in and even jutted my comparatively inadequate breasts out. It was at that moment that I remembered that Escort Malatya I was nude beneath my stylish A-line dress. My nipples responded to my epiphany by growing hard and sticking out, making sexy little points in the front of my dress.“Big Ben!” Mike called. “Let’s wash up. Mary Anne’s cooking is her second-best skill.””Oh, really?” he called back. “And what’s her…” His voice trailed off as they went down the hall.Ginger turned and faced me, a quizzical look on her face. I closed my hand around an imaginary cock and made lunging motions with it toward my mouth. We erupted with cackling laughter.“What’s so funny out there?” my husband’s distant voice queried.“Nothing, tiger,” I responded.“Your dick,” Allison whispered to me.The following bout of laughter between us could only be described as the maniacal tittering of very stoned, deviously perverted women sharing a moment. By the time they’d reemerged from the bowels of our domestic sprawl, we had everything perfectly in place. The dining atmosphere was worthy of gracing the cover of any magazine—domestic bliss in the heartland.With Ginger and me getting along like long-lost friends and Mike and Ben already bonding despite the huge contrasts between them, both conversation and drinks flowed. By the time we’d all but finished my amazingly successful meal, the atmosphere was jovial, comfortable, and somewhat uninhibited.“So, Ginger,” my husband eventually inquired. “What do you do for a living?” He turned his head toward her as he spoke. She glanced at me, and we traded knowing smiles, having already determined that the men would lead with “interview” questions.She took a long sip of her drink, her fifth. I was taking it easy on the alcohol because the edibles I’d eaten had me flying so high that my entire body was tingling and everything was either sultry and arousing or insanely hilarious. Allison’s demure smile communicated volumes of information to me that the men wouldn’t pick up on. With a glance and a timid, naughty smile, she told me that what she was about to say wasn’t the entire truth, but it would be appreciated if I played along.“Oh, I do some part-time cashier work at the grocery store, but most of our income comes from me being a fashion influencer.”“A what?”“Online marketer,” I interjected. “Rather than work for a specific company, an influencer is a sort of freelance marketer that gives reviews of products, usually in a video that people watch online. Then, they get a small commission for each unit they sell.” She was obviously hiding something, but I played along and ignored the unspoken juicy bits that I knew were there.“I’m impressed,” Mike said, looking at her and not me. “Is there much money in that?”Ginger nodded, her boobs bouncing slightly. “Well, it pays the mortgage.”“And it paid for your new tits,” Ben laughed.“I needed them for work, so I could model the newer fashions. Those B-cups weren’t paying the bills.”She was growing flushed with embarrassment, so I interrupted. “That’s right. People online want to look at beautiful and sexy people. So, it makes sense. Honestly, though? They’re fake? I thought you were just blessed with enviable breasts.”Everyone laughed.“Thank you,” she beamed, proudly, shimmying her chest to make them wiggle and bounce. “They look real, don’t they? They feel real, too.”Of course, everyone focused on the topics of discussion. I had to admit that even knowing she’d had them surgically enhanced, her breasts had a natural curve and slope to them. I wondered why I didn’t feel jealous about my husband of six years ogling our dinner guest’s mammaries. I just quaffed my drink and decided that the booze, company, and extremely-potent edibles were the reasons.“You can feel them if you want,” she said. I watched, awestruck, at a total loss for words, as Ginger pivoted in her chair and presented her tits to my slightly inebriated husband.

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