A hand touched my face, caressing my cheek and running over my lips. The coarseness of the fingers told me it was a man. Another hand stroked my hair... while two more softly examined my breasts.I reach out, searching for the hands touching my breasts. All hands pulled back. Paul stops me, saying not to reach out, we do all the touching. Paul drew my arms up over my head and wrapped another piece of satin cloth around my wrists to symbolically bind them, a reminder not to touch. Two hands. She was about 5 feet 3 inches and very cuddly, and just a little bit older than my Mum. I used to love watching her working at the sink, or her climbing the stairs. I used to imagine what she looked like in just her undies and I'd go home and masturbate, thinking about Auntie Val all the time. I'd got into the habit of going round there on Saturday afternoons to watch football. She'd make me a coffee and the relationship seemed destined to remain that way -- until that is I had some trouble. More

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