This week’s theme: it’s all about standing up.
I shiver softly as the scissors work up my back, cutting away what little fabric still covered me from view, slashing up the back of my dress and across the short sleeves so that it falls to the floor. Underneath, now exposed, my lace garter belt still clings to the quivering skin, accentuating and framing all the right places. The scissors cut my bra, too, the straps and back hanging down while the cups are the only things keeping my breasts from pressing bare against the cold wall the way my arms already were as they were splayed out at my sides.
She presses the cool leather between my thighs, nudging them apart, and I begrudgingly oblige so that my cunt is exposed to the air. Widening my stance requires me to slide down the wall a bit which shifts the bits of bra still hanging and catches her attention, she reaches a hand and tugs the soft material away, pressing her clothed groin against my ass and grinding softly as she bites my neck, tossing the bra away. I moan and shiver again, this time from excitement rather than the cold, her body warming me as it teases me. Again she puts the handle between my legs, this time pressing the handle against my cunt, making me grind down against it as she tsks softly at me.
“Not yet, pet.” She croons in an amusement-laced tone. “There’s plenty of that to come. But first…”