. I ... don't want to be any trouble Miss Becci," he stuttered, not removing his eyes from my body."It's no trouble at all," David said. "Is it Sis?" ...o, of course not Mr. Johnson," I replied."Just some milk then please, Miss Becci," Mr. Johnson replied.I smiled at him calling me Miss Becci. It reminded me of a love story that Barbara Cartland would write, where the hero was always tall, dark and handsome and the heroine was always a poor girl who had suffered in life from birth until the hero. It was summer and she wore shorts or miniskirts and bare legs. I wanted her soft thighs wrapped around my head from the instant I saw her. Her bedroom was next to the laundry room that I was remodeling, and she pranced around me in her underwear, exposing a multitude of sun tanned skin to me daily. Her name was Lynn and she was a little fuller, with broader hips than her mother, but in her own rite, she was a knockout.I made up my mind that I would fuck all of these women before leaving their. More

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