He frowned and brought the sharp edge of the blade up to her stomach again. Instinctively, she sucked in her gut and held her breath. He reached into her jeans with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand and plucked the top of the panties, now loose between her legs and began to pull the remnant from her pants.
She felt the silk tighten, then drag along her slot and across her clitoris. A shiver, and then she tightened her thighs, hoping to hang on to the cloth. He continued to drag it, slowly, thread by thread, across her nub. Her knees weakened and she would have cut herself on the knife if he had not reversed the blade and allowed the dull edge to press into her skin. She felt the steel line across her navel but the fire between her legs distracted her from the delicious danger of the open blade. A tiny spasm ran up the walls of her sex. Then another. She whimpered and clenched the muscles of her butt.
The moist crotch of the panties pulled free from the jeans and they both smelled her heat, fat and sweet. Then the rest of the cloth slipped free and he was holding the cherry remains of the panties in one hand, the knife in the other.
He snapped the knife shut and dropped it back into the pocket of his trousers. Then he carefully folded the damp remnant, then stuffed it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and arranged it so that just a flash of red peeked out like a silk handkerchief.
With a grin, he wished her a good afternoon and headed to a meeting with his client. Throughout the afternoon, the scent of fear and lust drifting up from his breast pocket kept him in a state of partial arousal. He was witty, urbane and most certainly in control.
She returned to her job at the bookstore, but the stiff seam of her jeans rubbed her bare sex at every move and kept her moist and distracted all afternoon.
