Aside from the bed and chest, the room had only a small writing desk and matching chair. A bit Spartan, but elegant in its simplicity. Patricia opened...her bag to find a variety of the same cosmetics she was using, several changes of skimpy lingerie, and a simple, sheer white gown. Hanging in the closet was the silk wrap dress that she had worn to the motel. Mr. Johnson moved close beside her, reached over, and moved the bag to the floor. “Come, my little slut. I want you. You’re so amazing.” . My black skirt stretched tight against my hips, her bright green skirt stretched tight against hers, pressed and slid together as one, two frail scraps of cloth the only barrier to skin on skin, to melding into one as we took each other’s hands. My breath was swallowed in my chest, my breasts heaved up, their weight pulling me into her. I could feel my nipples taught against the black satin, like a microcosm of myself, locked rigid against the caressing flow of a wave of energy flowing across. More

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