"Oh," Bridgette murmured, as another current of air kissed the exposed top part of her breasts. Silently, she stood near the window, and unbuttoned the top of her gown. The strap around her waist held it from falling around her satiny skin, but it slid off her shoulders nonetheless, moonbathing her firm mounds. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the winds playing with her body, creating feelings as if someone's hands were caressing her gently. Absently, Bridgette thought about her father and instantly, that somebody became her father. As much as she wanted to suppress the image from her imagination, her father started to ravish her - his fingertips brushed across her nipples and pinched them, they trailed to the waistline of her gown and tugged them down, and his lips found hers..."Bridgette, my darling, where are you?" It was Lord Burnstein who had come to wish goodnight to his only daughter. Unlike the teens of today, Bridgette loved her parents' company - more so that of her. I still worked at Micester Hall but had cut down my shifts to just Saturday evenings. And since Clarissa’s mom wouldn’t let her go out if she had school the next day, the only time we got to spend together, other than at school, was on Friday nights and Saturday days. Fridays became our date night. We’d do something together in Westmouth, grab something to eat and then I’d take her home and get one of those dynamite kisses she had a habit of laying on me. We got together on Saturdays as well, but there was no guarantee we’d be alone. Emily and Grace came shopping with us in Westmouth one weekend, we went to London on the train with a large group of our friends another.On the last weekend in November—which happened to be the weekend before my eighteenth birthday—we ended up at Westmouth ice rink. The Simms twins had promised to take their little brother and two cousins so the rest of us tagged along. I was getting better but still wasn’t as good a skater as Clarissa by any stretch of.
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