I watched her, still mesmerized. She walked over to me, leaned forward, her gorgeous pointed breasts hanging down, and kissed me. ‘Now be a gentlema....’ I had no idea what that meant – we New Yorkers weren’t known for being gentlemen. I wanted to grab her, to suck her hardened nipples, to drive myself between her legs – but I got the strong sense she didn’t want that – the ‘gentleman’ thing clearly meant something, but I wasn’t sure what. She slowly lowered herself to her knees, and began to tug. That would be less cruel than making me stand there, untouched. “Skirt.” It takes me a few moments to react, enthralled as I am, much to your amusement. Your rich chuckle, however, galvanizes me into motion. Reaching behind me, I clumsily unzip the modest cotton skirt and wiggle out of it, pushing it down past my thighs and letting it pool at my feet, my soaked panties on display. I risk a quick glance as your eyes drift downward, seeing what you see; matching pink cotton turned dark with my. More

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