Freya found herself standing with her wash bag in hand, her eyes still wide. She was trembling, she could feel herself doing it, she was certain that the others could see it in her hand put the wash bag down again on the dresser behind her without looking.<br/><br/>Only the dresser wasn't quite where she thought it was and the bag fell into empty space and crashed down behind her.<br/><br/>Freya nearly jumped out of her skin. "Shit." She turned and snatched up the bag, checked her shampoo, conditioner and other creams, unguents and rubs were all intact and placed the bag back on the dresser where it should have gone.<br/><br/>She stood looking uncertain and like a rabbit trapped in headlights, her hands clenched driving her short stubby nails into her palms hard.<br/><br/>She read about this sort of thing on-line all the time, the thought was so, very, well throbby. She had imagined doing such things time and again.<br/><br/>She. Wanted. This.<br/><br/>Only, could she? Should she? Would she?<br/><br/>Fuck it, in for a penny right? Like that first time she had gone dancing and stood on the edge of the floor for most of the evening and not stepped up, unable to take that first step and wind up embarrassing herself.<br/><br/>No, this wasn't quite like that, this situation had rather more pussy and rather less guys ogling her little twelve year old body.<br/><br/>Besides, Morgan looked really unsure now the subject of tongues had come up, "You are sure? This is what you want me to do?"<br/><br/>She felt so bloody tingly and shaky and excited and breathless, this was torture, she wanted it and she didn't want it and she couldn't quite just make herself walk over there and...<br/><br/>"You are sure though? She asked again in quick succession.