My hand ran up my tee shirt, over my stomach to my breast. I massaged it the way Margie had touched my mom. I pinched and pulled at my nipple, feeling...it harden between my fingers. My other hand slid between my thighs and began to circle lightly at my clit. The images of Margie and my mother danced through my head, their breasts hanging beautiful and heavy. I couldn’t believe what I was thinking – and though I felt like I should be disgusted, I was even more aroused by the taboo nature of it. I felt over dressed in my shorts and tech tee. She led me to the backyard and the hanging tire. Laying against the garage were numerous wooden baseball bats. She told me to find a comfortable one and swing away.She backed off as I sifted through the bats finding one that fit my tiny hands. I noticed as I walked over to the tire she was placing her hair up into a bun and ponytail. It looked so very good on her as I began swinging at the stupid tire she suggested I name 'Blake'. I swung at. More

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