It was perhaps no coincidence that once their little snuggle sessions had resumed, Marge's desire to masturbate went through the roof. She had always been a pretty devout disciple of self-love, but Chris' burgeoning s****l magnetism meant that pastime exploded. She was constantly rubbing and fingering herself, with her hand endlessly inside her panties. Chris too, was a World Series champion in jerking off; she could tell from all the dirty tissues and soiled boxer shorts she found in his room.
With the s****l tension building, there was no doubt something big was about to happen.
They were sat on the couch one evening, some stupid movie on the TV screen on the wall in front of them. Marge was gently stroking Chris' chest, her fingers snaking between the buttons of his shirt, tickling an
