By now Melinda was a panting wreck. The oil covered white patches of her catsuit revealed the colour of her flesh beneath , she wondered where all this was going to end. Then , as suddenly as it all started her breasts were released , the hand that had worked her into a frenzy slid free from between her legs. Melinda stood limply , supported by the arms that held her wrists from her sides.

She walked over to my table confidently carrying a pencil and her small notepad. I was one of a few customers at the cafe that afternoon , and I sat at one of the tables at the edge of the cafes garden in the warm sun. She wore a white blouse and smart black jeans and sensible shoes. Obviously she did a lot of work on her feet. I smiled knowing all I knew about her , where she had been , the people she had been with.

I looked on unimpressed , and demanded to see more. Melinda went red as she began to undo more buttons on her blouse exposing more of herself. When she was down to just above her belly button I told her to stop. I placed my fingers like hooks in either side of the now open blouse and pulled it wider apart so Melindas breasts held the blouse open. Melinda went red with embarrasment , exposed as she was , in the costume she loved , but hated. She wondered how I knew she wanted it or would wear it. I traced small circles on the smooth shiny black and white patterned surface of her