.. * I waited outside the wooden door that led me into his beautiful grasp. I could picture him now, the way the light reflected off his dark skin and...bald head. This way his teeth shined brilliant white. I sighed softly. I knocked three times. "Enter!" His deep voice called, and I stepped over the threshold. He was wearing a dark suit that flattered his muscular frame. And his tie was loose after a hard day at work. "So... Daisy... You have not been up to standard recently. Is there any reason. That cat, like all cats I have ever known, was far more trouble than she was worth: she had a snooty, lording way about her, as though our sole purpose in life was to tend to her every need and sate her every desire. I never really liked cats, though I was not totally averse to sometimes cuddling up with Priscilla in front of the TV and giving her belly a bit of a tickle. Purely for the proven therapeutic effects, of course. Not out of any feelings of fondness, or anything. Twenty minutes in,. “Should I?” she whispers back. She’s caught on to this trash talk game already. I smile and suck her neck. Her slim, tan body curves under me, slipping into a more comfortable position. My hands explore up her stomach and over her breasts, taking time to rub her nipples and turn her on. She’s breathing heavier already and I close my mouth over hers, but only for a moment. She pulls away and I think I’ve blown it. Fuck, what did I do? “Take my dress off,” she whispers the order. Her smile melts. In those days, there used to be trend and it continued for a long time, regarding the dress women wore at home or in the confines of the chawl. She would wear a petticoat (the kind you wear under the sari) and a tight shirt (usually a collared T-shirt). Now with this dress on, you could imagine her butt showing off her glory. And whenever she wore a sari, she would drape and insert the folds way below her navel revealing her beautiful narrow waist in full. And often her pallu would slide aside.
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