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I stood in front of the mirror in my lingerie. My hair was a golden
cloud that swirled around my shoulders as I made sure my make-up was
fashion-model perfect. I felt terribly wanton as I put on a short skirt and
tightly fitted blouse, leaving the top three buttons open.
From the minute I came in the door, Kevin couldn’t take his eyes off me.
His eyes instantly locked on my breasts, which crowned subtly but were
distinctly visible within my blouse. I could hardly control myself as we
worked through his lesson. He messed up almost everything, obviously
distracted by my flirtatious attire.
When we were through, I began to implement my scheme. I stood up, and
feigning a slip, stumbled against the desk, falling to the floor. As
expected, Kevin jumped to my assistance.
“It’s my right leg. I think it’s just a cramp in the calf,” I told him,
“but I don’t know if I can walk.”
“Here, Miss Taylor,” he offered courteously, “let me help you over to the
sofa.”
I leaned heavily against him, making sure that my breast pressed warmly
against his arm. I couple of phony limping steps and I fell back onto the
couch, my skirt “accidentally” sliding up my thighs.