Tessie pulled the scarf from around her neck and shrugged the coat off her shoulders. I sipped my cognac. So far the show was nothing more than I had seen over dinner. Then her top came off; underneath she wore a black demi-bra, scalloped-edged in lace. She moved around, did a twirl to flaunt herself in bra, short, short miniskirt and stockings. Lovely.
She undid her hair and did a toss to get her hair back in place, then put her hand around my neck and drew me close to her. I lowered my face into her cleavage and breathed deep of her scent. I reveled to the feel of her soft, yet firm flesh pressed against my face. Clutching her tits, I squeezed them, pinched her nipples through her brassiere as I ran kisses across the rounded tops of her mounds.
Tessie unzipped her miniskirt and carefully stepped out of it. She folded it and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. This was the era before the thong had taken over the world; Tessie was wearing a simple pair of string-side black silk panties, which looked nice with the stockings and garter ensemble.
She reached around and unhooked her bra, moved her arms and let the insignificant garment fall away. It was the first time in the fifteen-odd years that we'd known each other that I had ever seen her bare breasts; they were a superb pair, full and firm and round, capped by a pair of impudent pink cones. Parisian apartments are not well heated; her nipples were stiff and erect, pointing in two different directions.
Tessie looked up at me and smiled as I drank in the view, then she sort of covered herself in a sort of coy way, her fingertips fluttering about her pink nipples. "So, John, are you expecting a freebie or are we going to discuss a price?"
"Oh, I don't plan on doing it or anything like that, Tessie. I just wanted to look at your tits."
"You pig!" she exclaimed, instantly clutching her breasts; a pair of nice round handfuls. She said it half smiling but I could tell she was a bit miffed at being tricked into doing a striptease.
