"Happy birthday Mrs. Hollins."
I handed her a half-dozen roses. While a cliché, it was always appreciated. Eyes spread wide, she kissed my cheek and said, "They're beautiful. Please come in."
And while her eyes had spread wide, they were no match for mine. Mrs. Hollins' red dress snugly fit her slender form; her small breasts perfect in the built-in cups. The back was open; there were no straps, just a tie around the neck. And, as I followed her into the house, I focused on her butt; it formed an impeccable bump on the back of the dress.
And the shoes: red stiletto heels that buckled around the ankles.
The dress screamed f**k me, the shoes hollered the same thing, and later her moves on the dance floor would be exclamation points. If it was going to happen, it would happen tonight. I was go……
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