Your fingers are fiddling round my crotch. I realise you have found my jeans zip. You wouldn’t, would you? You would. I realise you have slowly p...lled down the zip. I whisper your name, fearful yet not wanting you to stop. Your hand pressed against the opening, fingers slip inside, now sliding against the thin silky covering of my little cotton panties. You can feel every detail of my plump little mound, stroking it gently. Moulding it, squeezing it. I feel a tingling in my pussy, know I. The one in the chair, bored, curious, begins opening desk drawers. He is thinking "too hot, too hot--what else can come off--take my tattoos off to get cooler." In a bottom drawer he finds something heavy, pulls it out. A set of clippers, heavy like the hand of authority, like the pair your father used to use, like the ones they use on Marines, and sheep. White shorts looks at black shorts. **** White briefs went first, and his hair dusts the floor. That. More

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