He had his hand in the back pocket of my booty shorts, giving my ass the occasional squeeze. I kept my head down hoping not to run into any passers-by... I could feel the night air drying the cum caked onto my face. My stockings had ripped from my kneeling, completing my image as his cheap used-up whore.“What’s your name,” he asked.“Sam.” I answered, not knowing why I told the truth.“Is that short for Samantha or Samuel?” He joked while pinching my ass. “Mohamed.” He said as he pointed to. I feltmyself blushing and there was a stiffening in my genital area at thethought of wearing intimate feminine garments again. There was no way ofconcealing my arousal. My fianc?e was holding my cock when she asked thequestion.So the following evening, in preparation for our regular demonstration, Ifound myself carefully deploying dark tan stockings up my freshly shavedlegs. And then attaching them to my suspender-belt. The demonstrationwent very well. More than once.It was the morning of the. More

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