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A mini pink fishnet dress. a pair of 6 inch clear heels and an ankle bracelet with an engram an ace of spades. the clothes, heels, and jewelry he got me. "daddy what's this? who are they" i say in trembeling voice. he gets up and walks to me "these are yo fans baby doll". "my fans?" i say looking at him with my innocent blue eyes. "yeah ho! we here to see you bounce that phat booty" one of them shouts from the back. I run to the bedroom. He walks in and closes the door behind him "don't be scared blondie, this is your dream. you always telling me when we talked online how ou wanna get gangbanged like a pornstar". "that was all pretend, I cant, I cant believe I did what i did with you, now these people" I reply. "Then why arent you sying your safeword?" he asks. he's right, if i say the safewordall this would be over, maybe i DO want it. "what did you mean they are my fans?" he pulls out his phone and plays the video of me twerking naked on his lap. I felt no shame, i felt proud, I. Once, she grabbed her knees to examine achair closely. Sometimes she'd do a little "dance" while feigninginterest in a piece for sale.While she went thru her little ritual, I happened to notice an oldrazor strap for sale. I picked it up and examined it. Sheimmediately reacted, and came over to the table. She took hertime, stopping to handle an object enroute. Very nonchalant.Certainly not chasing after me! She gave me one of those glances,flashed that naughty smile, and asked, "What do you plan to do withthat?" I was lost for words--rare for me! "I like leather," wasmy reply.We chatted briefly about antiques. And she mentioned that todaywas her birthday--she was 23. She looked 23, except for those eyesand that smile. They betrayed a depth of character hidden by hercheerleader like features. I suggested we have lunch after lookingaround a bit. She agreed, and we spent about an hour looking atantiques, chatting, and thoroughly enjoying one another's company.But I couldn't.
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“Modesty will not do. And do it gracefully, if you please, with style.”She made a face, turned sideways, working on her fancy bodice with its many bows, puffy sleeves, gobs of lace and ribbons galore. When she finally shrugged out of it and discarded two flimsy kerchiefs, she faced me, her hands at her impressive chest.“Go ahead,” I told her, trying to look amused. Stripped of her furbelows and extra folds of cloth, her had a fine, if somewhat thick, torso. She was, let us say, generously proportioned, but well proportioned for all of that.She undid her waist and wiggled her skirt down over her pocket hoops. Then she doffed those contraptions and tossed them aside.“Don’t wear those again,” I said, “except to a costume ball or some such.”She nodded, jiggling the curls at the back of her head and her lush boobies.“Turn about,” I said as she stood there in her fancy stays and lacy shift.She did, quite prettily.“You have a fine body,” I told her. “But a poor dressmaker.”She looked.

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