Her internal thoughts raced. The academic mind, the one that analyzed and categorized and explained, fired. The wife mind, the one that watched her husband stand beside her half-naked mother, raged. The two minds warred.
Viktor, watching her face, saw the confusion. He reached over. His hand found the mother-in-law's wrist. Pulled. The mother-in-law, who had been standing with her face down, her eyes on the ground, her body trembling with the internal storm of guilt and shame and arousal, moved. Toward him. Automatically. The response, conditioned by hours of use, was instant.
He groped her ass. Over the short skirt, his hand found the cheek. Squeezed. The flesh, thick and soft, yielded. She gasped. Her body, reacting, arched. Her hips, tilting toward him, presented herself. Her blouse, already loose, shifted. The fabric, damp from the milk that leaked continuously from her stimulated breasts, darkened further.
