Again, she straightened up, her big belly spilling over the top of her pink knickers, damp at the gusset, hair spilling from the leg apertures, waitin... for the command. “Turn” she turned, her skin hot to touch, “knickers off” the words given in a parade ground whisper, she bent to step from the wet pants, on her rump a scar, the brand, in the shape of a W, a W for William.She stood silently, the two huge orbs of her white rumps at my face level, her wide back, dark hair over her shoulders,. ‘Good morning, Simon,’ she said smiling at me as I started to lug my tools up the stairs.I cleared my throat. ‘Morning, Abbie.’‘I can’t wait to see your handiwork,’ she said. A sultry smile across her lips and I swear she was flirting with me.‘Hopefully, I won’t be disturbing you too much, Ma’am,’ I said.‘Oh, you won’t,’ she said biting down on her bottom lip.She disappeared sharpish after that conversation – her mother Fiona had popped upstairs and was now giving me the grand tour and. More

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