She kicks off her heels, even higher than the ones I’ve got on. The height drop would make her look suddenly vulnerable if not for those proud t**s and the ink on her body. The leopard-skin leggings are next, her hips slowly wiggling side to side as they come down. I already know she is bare beneath. Most girls would have a sense of shyness. She runs a middle finger provocatively up her little slit.
“One last thing,” she informs me. It is a blindfold, the patches for the eyes as big as lenses in aviator sunglasses to make sure all light is blocked out. I want to see her but I’m glad of this darkness. It helps rob me of my guilt. She stays close. We would be nose to nose if not for my heels and instead I feel her breath at my throat. Her hands go to my shoulders and I know she has to go o
