Surprisingly, he didn't take off the skirt.
He pushed it up around her waist.
The bra was open, pushed up on her chest, the blouse spread wide to reveal the perfect pair of breasts, the skirt up around the slim, nipped-in waist to show bare hips, thighs and the thatch that hid woman's passion and mystery.
It was a pose that made her feel deliciously cheap.
For Bill, it was a pose that aroused him more than one of utter nudity. There was that element of raw lust, of primary sexuality, one that he knew excited Brenda. It was one of the things they saved for rare occasions, like an old Napoleon brandy. You didn't drink it down promiscuously.
His hands stroked her thighs in a delightful series of countermovements, up and down until one hand settled between her thighs, pressed them gently
