Everything she owned was right here. Now, where was that man she'd agreed to marry, she wondered. She swept a glance up, then down the street, looking...for the gentleman she'd imagined from his letter. There was a fellow standing in the street in front of the Butterfield Stage office. Although it looked as if he were waiting on someone, she could not begin to consider him. The man she had agreed to marry was not a man who's clothing would be so stiff with dirt that its cloth appeared about to. Eventually she slid her bikini top straps off the shoulders to finish the area (I think I stopped breathing) allowing her breasts to jiggle and sway a bit as she rubbed in the cream, the bikini cups half slid off and barely staying in place teasing me cruelly. The possibility of getting to see her nipples and/or naked breasts had me simultaneously feeling guilty about being a being such a pervert, while also praying to God for her top to slide down just a liiitle bit more. Between this and. More

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