We were in the garden and I was filming them as if they were looking down into a grave, Jill had turned to mum and gently lifted the black lace veil from her face, their lips had touched briefly at first, just brushing each others, then they touched again and lingered, slowly each woman's mouth parted, two pink tongues flickered out and suddenly their urges overcame them.Mum opened Jill's jacket, eager to see her lovely breasts encased in the filmy black lace of her basque, then as mum dipped her head to take a turgid nipple between her lips, Jill unfastened her jacket displaying her much heavier breasts almost spilling out over the top of her tight black corset.Slowly they removed each other's skirt and jacket, mouths still glued together, long strings of saliva dripping occasionally from their lips when they parted for air. Each woman had a hand inside the other's panties frigging and fingering until suddenly mum shuddered and a flood of urine gushed through Jill's fingers as she. He'd shown himself able to manipulate me a good bit, but he hadn't wrought any basic changes; I was still the same Nick Volker I'd been before. So while he might have played with my feelings some and tweaked them here and there, they were still my own, and it was appropriate that I act on them without regard to my suspicions about their origin.And the mere fact that I could have such suspicions—as well as other (and considerably deeper) suspicions about not only his own motives and intentions but those of his presumptive fellows on whom he seemed to be counting for rescue—allayed my concern further. He hadn't taken me over, apparently that was beyond his powers, or I wouldn't be able to think that way. It was no different from another person talking me into or out of some idea. Well, OK, yes, it was different, of course it was, but more in the means by which he did it than the ultimate effect. It was persuasion, not dominance.For the rest of the afternoon "nursing" consisted mainly.
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