Saunders quickly moved around in his stool, saliva forming at the corners of his pudgy mouth. Old Zeigler was going to get a set of photos, by damned; one hell of a hot set – for Kim was in rare form today, and when she got like this she could fuck a man to death! Saunders didn't know why Zeigler wanted the pictures, or who the sucker in the living room was but he knew that when they got down to nakedly writhing on the couch or in bed, he was going to have his hands full snapping the shutter of his camera.
Roger Carmel was stunned by Kim Copeland's change into "something more comfortable". She wore short-shorts of bright red, so tight that her pubic mound and its teasing little cuntal cleft was impressed on the cloth between her white thighs. Her long, statuesque legs, bronzed from the sun of Nevada, were bare and curvaceous, and her belly was just as tanned and nude between the band of her shorts and her strained halter. Her breasts quivered, barely concealed by the thin halter, and Roger could almost make out her nipples. Her sparkling green eyes sparkled vivaciously and with a hint of fire.
She moved panther-like to the couch. "You finished your drink. I'll make you another." She seemed to catch his wide-eyed stare for the first time. "What's the matter, Roger? I plan to go out and suntan after you leave. I hope this isn't too much for you." She smiled slyly as she undulated toward the kitchen. "Don't forget, I won't eat you."