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Mom was out there, cooking something in a big pot over the stove. She was wearing incredibly high heels, the kind that poised her leg up into a taught stretch of tan skin. She was wearing an apron again, but this one was even skimpier, a small red piece that tied around her neck. The strings went down the top of her breasts, ending right before her nipples, showing off all possible cleavage. The bright red ran all the way down, ending very high up, just beneath her groin. When she turned to the side, you could see everything; the sides of her boobs were bright and tan, held up perkily by the pressure of the apron. Her boobs held the apron up like a tent over her stomach, from the side allowing a look at the deep cavern of her smooth tummy. Then, from behind, everything was daintily exposed, her ass hanging out in open air and the back of her pussy puffy and shaven."Hey Chad," she called, coming to hug me. I coiled away from her embrace, embarrassed and disgusted by her outfit. I was. So, the move was set and within 3 weeks we were landing in Kampala, Uganda the capital. We were met by six large muscular black company men who to our surprise were armed with AK-47s and side arms. They helped collect our luggage and ushered us, along with two other arriving families to a waiting run down bus with bars on the windows and an interior cage. The men told us this was for our protection as the rebels have been active. It was at this point I noticed the several of the men looking over my daughters. I tried to have them dress conservative but being teenagers they insisted on wearing tight short cutoffs and tank tops. Carol had sided with the girls saying it was going to be hot when we landed. She wore an almost see thru sun dress that moved in the warm breeze. Looking around I notice the other families also had only daughters about the same age as Carols and mine. The men divided up into pairs with each pair assigned to and escorting a family. Our family was the.
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