“You…uh…I should…-”
“That’s what I thought,” she’d responded with a nod. Xxx “Do you need…help?” she’d asked, her almond eyes glancing from the
swollen mound to Alonna’s still shocked/excited/terrified expression. If
the brightly smiling associate were to place her ear on the exterior
dressing room door, she might, with some straining, hear the
distinctly wet sounds of a slippery pussy being gleefully hammered, or
the susurrus of breathy moans, squeaks, and mindless cursing that is
consistent with a proper fucking, albeit a clandestine one. With a critical eye, she
would spin the girl around, then suggest, quite matter of factly, that
the judgment of this corset could not be done without seeing her in
the matching panties. The glory of this system, or one of its merits, anyway, is that
displays of opposition can thus be integrated into the experience. Smiling brightly, Alonna would answer “Of course!”
and would, from there, be witness to the burgeoning globes of
