Vanessa watched TV growing increasingly restless as she sat there. The sports channel was showing a bikini contest, a repeat from the previous night that Shane had watched. Vanessa found herself drawing comparisons with the various girls. It was somewhat embarrassing to find she had a tighter tummy, a fuller bust, or a firmer ass, than virtually all the contestants.
The Trinidadan look just as self-possessed and imposing. Looking past Vanessa as if she were beneath her contempt.
Vanessa's gaze shifted to the men and women in the crowd, appreciating a well filled top, or a snugly fitted pair of swimming trunks.
A gurgle made Vanessa realise the coffee wasn't sitting well. Her shoulders collapsed, as she realised she needed a piss.... as she realised this time she needed a seat. Afraid of having an accident, she left the sofa.
She had to peel the short shorts from her broad hips, forcing them beyond the expansive swell of that juicy rump, and down. Relieving herself Vanessa tried to pretend nothing was happening, as she studiously ignored the sounds. Instinct, made her wipe with the nearby toilet paper. In moments, the friction making her change to a softer dabbing touch.
It was oddly exciting, and unsettling, until she felt she was dry enough. Vanessa discovered peeling the shorts off was nothing compared to trying to pull them back into place. A humiliating jiggling, bouncing hop seemed to help, as she slid half an inch higher each time. The rippling rolling flesh allowing the movement.
Finally in place, they looked almost painted on. Vanessa took in the zipper and the popper on the waistband. She already felt like she was falling out of them.
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