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I wriggled as much as I could to try and free my loosened hand but it was no use. I pushed as hard as I could away from the chair legs, but they wouldn't move. I sat upwards as much as I could, the strain on my abdomen and neck excruciating. Slowly, I started to move my arms backwards up towards the tip of the back rest, it felt as if my shoulders were about to pop but I could feel that I was so close. I turned my waist to the side, as I did, my left arm slipped incredibly slowly over the chair; the crook of my elbow now rested on the lip. With one final motion, I snapped my arm free from around the chair, and rested for a brief period on my side, my arms still tied behind me. My chest was beating and my breasts, clearly visible through the thin robe, were heaving. Arduously, I lifted my ass in the air and slid both arms underneath, resting them in the crook of my knees. My feet still weren't budging. I could now see that it was in fact thin rope ties that were intersecting both. Very much the mirror of her mother, built on a smaller chassis, fewer laugh lines, less living behind her. I did not know if Brent had ever had quite this view of my daughter. I had not, myself, and found the comparison to my wife quite flattering to both women. I could readily imagine how a younger man, less experienced in the company of women, might be transfixed by the sight presented to him. For me, well, I was “rising to the occasion”, the visual stimulation quite vivid. Brent, it appeared, had all he could do, wrenching his gaze from my wife, to my daughter, and again back to my happily naked wife. Kathy wriggled for his (and my) benefit.“So, Brent? Are you happy to see me, or is it my daughter who has all your attention?” Another wriggle, and, Pavlovian, Brent’s eyes followed the sway of Kathy’s caramel breasts. The boy was without words.I spoke for both of us, as I rolled my shirt over my shoulders. “Honey, from the looks of things, the poor boy is overloaded with feminine.
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