I looked down at Ada, and inhaled sharply with her fingers shaking on the waist of her dress. She dropped the leaf-skirt slowly, deliberately, at her feet, and the slew of the skirt showed the glittering, distended folds of her pussy--glistening already, already beckoning to me.
But instead, saying nothing, she stretched up and pulled away the loose leaves which hid her nipples, and dropped them to the ground. Her breasts would spurt out, her nipples so hard and erect, and so dark and swollen and in need.
My gaze dragged over her body, devouring every inch—the way her thighs quivered under my scrutiny, the wet sheen of her pussy lips, the way her breath stuttered when my eyes lingered just a second too long. A smirk tugged at my lips as I tilted my head, my expression carefully schooled into one of mock confusion.
"Aunt Ada…" My voice was saccharine innocence, my voice with its murmur; the type of voice that shivered her body with disbelief.
