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”I was jerked roughly from my trance as a bucket of ice-cold water drenched me. Involuntarily I clasped my arms across my breasts, hiding just what I had come to exhibit. Still I stood there, while a chorus of shouts left me in no doubt that my audience expected a rather more generous attitude. Show them, I muttered desperately, they're not even yours. I shut my eyes and lowered my arms. The roar in the hall left no doubt that despite my obvious lack of dancing talent they still approved of me. I'm supposed to smile, I remembered, forcing a weak grin as I reopened my eyes.” Prompted by pin-up pictures of Foxy Lamont, an absurdly over-developed model, happily-married school-teacher Alison decides to buy herself an exaggerated latex bosom. This turns out to be both extraordinarily realistic and extraordinarily raunchy, so that every time she puts it on she finds herself acting like a slut. Wearing it she goes along to a wet t-shirt competition at which Foxy is the star, nervously takes part, and comes third. She finds the experience both degrading and compulsively erotic and like a drug she returns to the competition every week. But her husband is bound to find out and she knows she must expect severe retribution...
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