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The night my soldier came home.
He had been so pleasant, so light in tone before. And he was not unpleasant now, but his voice was serious, or touched on serious matters, intimate matters. She felt her pussy clench, wet and hot, as he said her name, as he asked her if she was turned on. She was unaware of her hard nipples pressing at her blouse, because she was all too aware of the smell of her sex drifting up to her nose, no tights to hold it in, only a scant pair of panties. "Yes" she told him simply, no reason to dissemble, she had known it from the second she stepped in here that this was about not hiding anymore.
"Good, I'm glad," he said. "You know else Alison? I think that if you were to lift up your skirt right now, we'd see a little spot on the front of your panties, wouldn't we." He still hadn't touched her, wasn't planning on it yet. This was so new to her, he thought, but she wasn't running screaming from the store. "Would we see a wet spot on your panties Alison?"
There was no more masquerading, no more pretending what this was about. She stood, in her school uniform and his leather boots, inside his sex shop. He asked her about her wet panties. And she knew at that point that she would do whatever he told her, answer whatever question. She had spent years avoiding this dark place in her mind, but now she was standing here, inside it, and he was its purveyor. "Yes. Not a little one," she answered, blushing furiously but meeting his gaze in the mirror, over her shoulder.
Every time she spoke, she confirmed in his mind that she was ready for more. At some point in the future, he was certain she'd protest, but now she was, and the word suddenly popped into his mind - ripe. He would take it slow, though, because he didn't want to scare her off. He wanted her to take each corner slowly, but to keep taking the corners. "Take them off and show them to me," he said, meeting her gaze.
She had already admitted her wetness. She had already taken off her tights while sitting next to him, alone in his sex shop. Suddenly taking off her panties as well did not seem outrageous. Not enough so to combat the arousal Alison felt at the thought, the pleasure in following his modestly kinky demands. There was no thought this time of asking him to turn away. She simply reached down and slowly hiked up her tartan skirt, revealing inch upon inch of bare, smooth muscled thigh followed by the rounded swell of her ass. It was encased in the tight grasp of her cotton panties, slowly bunching as Alison hooked her thumbs in the waistband, fingers holding her skirt up obscenely and slowly slid both down.
He watched her hike the skirt up without hesitation, and eyed her delicious thigh and muscular buttocks, feeling the throbbing in his pants. When she had the panties in her hand, he said, "Toss them to me."
The skirt fell again, covering the rear she had bared for just a delicious moment. She stepped out of the panties carefully, having to balance on one high-heeled boot, the sight of the simple cotton panties sliding over the kinky leather boots an erotic contrast. She stood now, looking just the same as before, but aware of the brush of the wool on her bare hips and ass, the light tickle of the skirt against the hairs of her pussy. Aware mostly of the fact that he knew she was bare now. Nodding in the mirror she turned partway around and tossed the light pair of undies at him.
He caught them and looking directly at her, first held them up in front of him like he was assessing a painting.