I smiled to myself and pushed my foot up to make firm contact with her cotton covered pussy.She didn't object, or move, except to wriggle a little mor.... I rubbed my foot against her crotch as we all sat watching telly. I could feel the dampness spreading across her knickers, and could see her breasts heaving hard in the little vest top and white, lacey bra.I felt he legs tense a little on either side of my foot, and the wetness increased; a lot.The film finished and we all drifted to our. They’d always avoided Tony, for whatever reason.Tony, flashing a toothy, sinister grin, was in a far better mood than us, and he duckwalked, sat down to our table, cupping a hot coffee in his hands, humming the melody to Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days.”Tony wasn’t much of a breakfast eater.Tony asked, “What’s good, gentlemen? What’s the current topic of conversation?”“Dreams...” replied The Terrorist, warily.Tony’s posture slackened. He sipped his coffee and muttered, “Dreams, hmmm,” and fell. More

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