"Peggy, what do you want me to move?" I asked. "Move your tight ass over here and put some lotion on me." I knelt beside her, as best as I could with ... 9-inch hard-on in my shorts, poured some lotion on her back and started rubbing it into her flesh. She groan. "Hmm, you do that so well," she said throatily. "Lower." I was rubbing the stuff into her shoulders and upper back and moved down to the small of her back. Even the little beads of sweat on her lower back turned me on. "Lower, Don," she. She had muscles, I mean, obviously, 'cause she could move and everything, but they weren't defined. They were lady muscles, the kind you'd have in the eighteenth century, when the most sport you did was cross-stitching and being wooed by an eligible young gentleman. It gave her a pleasantly soft look, and an air of intense femininity. Trina was acutely aware that Cat was a girl. Not a grrl or a gal, but a girl. Even though her breasts were smaller, they were perfectly formed, seemingly moulded. More

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