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My lady friend comes over to hang around with me...literally.


"Oh, you are SO WICKed! I LOVE it! I'm going to wiggle a LOT. My pussy lips are so BIG, they stick out, I usually have to wear loose clothes to hide them. But not here! But I haven't shown you the BEST part. Look, there's a pocket on each side of my blouse. Reach inside."

She thrust her chest forward enthusiastically. I took the bait, and met bare skin behind the pockets; then my fingers found warm, stiff nipples. "Mary! You were planning on letting guys fondle your little tits, weren't you?"

"We cut the holes in my blouse last night. Isn't it clever, and SCANDalous?" Then, closer and quieter, "Do you like my boobs? I know they're small, but they're SUPER-sensitive, I got turned on when you touched them."

"Don't worry, your boobs are great, it's proportion that counts, not just size. I'm sure they'll get a lot of action tonight. And look what your boobs did to my crotch."

Everybody giggled. I found that Angela didn't know that her name meant angel goodbody. That got more giggles. She was wearing her severely cut, unmodified school blouse, but unbuttoned, no bra. She showed me how she could expose her pert tits just by leaning over. Their lay teachers explained how they had discovered the students' sexual needs, very cautiously at first. The ones who came here were seniors, the ones who had already turned 18.

The buffet was generous, and of course of the best quality. Sara and I sat on the grass with the Catholics, the girls sitting tailor-seat so that we could all see their pussies. They thought that deliciously wicked. For them all the rules come from the outside, so as soon as those rules are loosened, anything goes.

After dinner we got a glimpse of Kirsten, now naked, but still graceful and poised. Suddenly a piercing police whistle got everyone's attention, as a man in a police uniform roughly led Kirsten up to a little raised area of the patio. He held her elbows behind her back, forcing her breasts forward for everyone to see. The crowd fell silent. A large man in a judge's robe appeared, and a bench was placed in front of him. He bellowed, "Order in the court! Big beautiful bouncing boobed bailiff, who stands accused?"

A short, heavy blonde appeared from behind the bench, in a police uniform except that her lapels were wide open, pushing together a large set of naked bouncing boobs, quivering with each step. "Your honor", she announced, "This woman stands accused of indecent exposure and petting in public."

The judge demanded, "How do you plead?"

As Kirsten stammered, a man with a briefcase rushed up behind her. We recognized Rod, who asserted "Not guilty, your honor."

The judge, sitting behind his bench that was nothing more than an ordinary patio-furniture bench, queried "And what is your defense?"

Kirsten's 'lawyer' responded that, well, she wasn't really naked at the time she was 'arrested'. There was a man sucking on each of her breasts, and someone had his fingers all over her pussy, so they weren't really exposed. So there was no exposure, and she wasn't doing the petting; they were petting her.

The judge seemed unmoved. "I'll have to examine the evidence. Big beautiful bouncing boobed bailiff, approach the bench and prepare my nightstick."

The bailiff sat on the judge's bench as he stood, opening his robe to reveal a large semi-erect penis. Without hesitation she took it in her hands as though this were an everyday courtroom event, expertly squeezing it before taking it into her mouth. The judge fondled the big beautiful bouncing boobed bailiff's boobs, repeatedly lifting them by the nipples and releasing them to jiggle back into place.

The defendant objected, "Your honor, isn't this highly irregular, exposing yourself before the court?"

The judge replied, "Madam defendant, it is essential that I probe your evidence with my formidable nightstick. You have some nerve to object to exposure - look at you, you're completely naked."

The policeman turned the helpless Kirsten around, arms still pinned behind her back, to make the point.

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