I ran my hands over the moundson my chest through the blouse and pulled them around to make myselfmore comfortable.I looked at the tartan skirt with s...mething close to dread. Somehow tome it seemed to be the worst item of clothing, the nail in the coffinthat would mark me as a proper girl. All the other items felt like youcould just about get away with wearing without feeling too weird, aswith lots of clothing i could hide the bra, but wearing a skirtdefinitely marked a person out as a girl. I. Her body knew its master, and it obeyed. He watched as her eyes would close for a few seconds at a time, and he observed the rise and fall of her bosoms beneath her low-cut dress. She was beautiful. The glow of pleasure was all about her as she submitted to his public desires. The choir ceased for the afternoon’s mass and everyone took their seats once more as the sermon began. The cathedral went silent except for the priest and his words of salvation. With fingers still pressing against the. More

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