She entered the room, eyes heavy with eye-liner and blue-grey mascara giving them a smoky mystic look. A sharp face framed with straight brown hair, flicking around her chin and neck with a long fringe over her darkened eyebrows and across the top of one eye. She flicked it away with one hand in that feminine way I love to see.
Her deep pink skirt was possibly too short and too tight for a woman of her age but she has the legs for it; legs that were beautifully accentuated by four inch heeled silver sandals, artificial plastic jewels glinting from the lights above the cooker hood. It was muggy and humid outside although inside the house it was cooler. For this reason she had uncovered bare smooth creamy white legs. I looked down her legs from her skirt hem which just covered her tiny pink knickers, thin but defined thighs leading to knees that broke the line of her long gracious legs in two incongruous lumps. Her calves defined in the same way as her thighs showing an athletic almost masculine line before reaching the ankle strap of the sandals wrapped around feminine slim ankles broken again by lumpy ankle bones. What could I do about these things?
Her blouse fitted tightly too, outlining a small but obvious middle-aged tyre that still refuses to budge. It’s her age I guess. However my eyes were drawn to the bust area. Although fully covered, I could see her nipples through her white bra and pink patterned blouse. Exquisite. Up to her long neck, a dark thick necklace hanging like some ancient tribeswoman’s trophy which took my eyes away from yet one more little lump I’d like to smooth out.
She approached me at the dining room table. I waited and raised my eyebrows. She understood this signal through her training and curtsied deeply, one leg bending the other sliding along the oak flooring. Her skirt rode up, unable to resist the movement, her g-string knickers now fully exposed; as I like it. The tiny triangular patch of cotton struggling to hold in the growing protuberance beneath it and I could see that with a bit more pressure, would fail in its role entirely. I told her to stand up, her skirt now tight and screwed up against her stomach, her g-string fighting to retain its contents, which I could see clearly anyway. She looked embarrassed: perfect. My finger flicked out and hooked under the tiny triangle of material and her hard protuberance fell out, almost in relief, and now pointing at me like a finger of accusation. Accusation of what though?
“But you are a girl,” I said, “what is this? How can such a pretty girl as you have such an excrescence of this kind?”
She looked mortified, her eyes falling to the floor but she recovered a little as I told her I was only joking. I told her I love her little clitty, it’s so pretty, so cute and such fun to play with. She told her she can carrying on with the cooking now but to mind her little clitty on the hot oven. Ooh makes my eyes water to think what could happen if she wasn’t careful
Yes weekends are so good now I have Alice how I want her. Well maybe not quite but that’s for another day…..