I thrilled as his big paws massaged my ass. He was very forward in his approach. The nylon of my pantyhose rustled crisply against the lace of my half-slip as my skirt slid under his hands.

The dark-blue, knit fabric bunched easily under his fingers. I felt the breezy caress as it rode higher and higher, exposing my rounded butt. I found myself regretting that I'd bothered with hose at all. He held the skirt and slip up with one hand. His other explored the lush curves.

I shivered and felt my pussy growing moist. He traced the wavy seam of the cinnamon garment. He was a pro. I was ready to pee myself and I hadn't been alone with him for more than five minutes.

His hands left my ass. My skirt fell back in place. His tongue shot clear to the back of my mouth. I was breathing like I had just run the mile. His hot breath was smooth and even. The hard bulge pressing against my belly was the only sign that he wasn't in complete control.

His fingers started on the buttons at the back of my blouse. They came open smoothly. My top

loosened as he pinched each one from its hole. Within seconds he had the last one undone. I dropped my arms and pulled back far enough he could get it down. Like the coat, it ended up on the floor. My mother would have died. My clothes were nice. At that moment, I could have cared less.

The lights were on. My freckles showed plainly against the paleness of my shoulders. My pink nipples blushed through the transparent lace of the halter. He didn't pay any attention. He drew me back to him. His lips locked over mine again and his hands slid over my back. His fingers hooked the elastic band at the center.

John wasn't any novice. He pinched the single hook loose with one hand. My boobs stayed in the cups because they were mashed against his chest. He flicked the straps off my shoulders with a careless twitch of his fingers.