Pammy slept. She snored quietly lying sprawled half on her left side, half on her stomach her right leg drawn up. Her red hair covered her face. Her right arm half hid her tit. Light from the living room cast a glow into the bedroom accentuating, deepening all the shadows of her legs and ass crack. My prick stirred still aching from last night's engorgement. The memory of Pammy's wet welcoming mouth and her choking surprise when I spent myself flashed through my mind.
'Hey,' I called rapping knuckles against the doorframe. 'It's time. Grab a shower.'
She startled and rolled over on her back showing her breasts. Her bent leg flopped over giving a view of her red bush and the crevice of her pussy. Her nakedness dawned on her. She sat up quickly drawing her legs up and together, folding her arms over her breasts. That would not do.
'Nope, lay back down,' I ordered. 'Pull those arms above your head. Spread your legs.'
Pammy looked up at me.
'Anything, you said. Or, do you need a bus ticket? One thing I will do while you are here is look at you.'
Pammy obeyed. I looked at her arms thrown across the pillow. I looked at her breasts parted and flattened by gravity. I looked at her exposed belly, her bush, the way her straightened and spread legs shaped her thighs. She watched me examine her wanting me to be pleased. I was but I refused to show it in my face.
'Shower. I'll fix up something for breakfast.'
'Do you want me to make breakfast?'
I put a finger to my lips shushing her.
As she walked to the bathroom wearing only that light green skirt she'd slept in, I sat on the floor at her gym bag and began to rummage through it looking for things I wanted her to wear. I made sure she was aware that's what I was doing. In it, I found other things I could entertain myself with later. I pulled out what I wanted her to wear taking them with me to the kitchen.
I prepared a hardy British style breakfast, fried ham and sausage, eggs on toast, and pork and beans. Whatever might be said about British food, they knew how to do a breakfast. I put it on the table as Pammy rounded the corner holding a towel around her torso.
'Why the towel?'
Pammy unwrapped herself clinging to it with one hand. She slumped her shoulders – her only effort to conceal her breasts – but shift her weight to pull a slightly bent knee slightly before her other leg concealing her pussy but not most of her bush. Her eyes left mine shyly looking to the floor. I made an effort to scan her head to toe making her flush.
'Your clothes are draped over the chair. Dress and eat.'
White panties again, a blue skirt not quite as short as the one she wore yesterday, a white tank top. She stepped into her panties pulling them up quickly and tucking her fingers into the leg openings running them up to tuck in stray pussy hairs. She had to cock hips side to side to slide on the skirt pulling the zipper to the side to zip it up then twisted it to the back. She squirmed her arms into the tank top, slid her head into it and pulled the shirttail down. The tank top clung to her breasts and torso better than I had hoped.
She sat. 'Can I talk?'
'For the moment.'
'Why don't you want me to talk?'
'Talking is for later,' I said. That was only partly true. Talking was for later. Pammy burned for that – that connection, that returning to the business of the past. This was not the past. I liked what was happening now. Maybe Pammy putting herself in my net ensnared me too. I let her eat. I had a camera to fiddle with.
I took a few shots of her after she'd finished and went to the sink to wash the dishes. Side shots and over the neck shots of the tank top clinging to her breasts. Low shots catching her legs and ass. Pammy fought against the distraction of the camera so I caught a profile of the avoidance in her face.
'Come on. Let's go outside.'
'Where are we going?' Pammy asked.
'I'm going to let the camera have its look at you. Now is the time to stop talking.'
Pammy let out the smallest breath of exasperation. I chose to ignore it – for now.
My forth-level shell corporation rented me (anonymously) some 900 acres of woodlands deep within huge forests barely populated. I took Pammy down the path toward the gurgling stream that marked the southern edge of my property. The stream was not where I was taking her. Too cold. Winter was almost gone and the day was just a bit warmer than brisk. As we walked I took a couple of shots of how the temperature puckered up Pammy's nipples under the cotton tank top.
'Stop here,' I said. I slipped the string strap off her left shoulder pulling it slowly down her arm until it dragged the cotton knit off her left breast. If possible, her nipple hardened even more. Pammy flushed again. I pulled her hand up to hold the strap as if she might pull it back up. Her seemingly shamed expression looked like pensiveness in the camera lens. I shot several pictures from various angles.
'Leave it like that. Walk with me.'
Pammy's one showing breast swung with the rhythm of her pace, juggling nicely when she stumbled over the uneven ground.
We strolled over to the huge ancient holly tree growing near the water. Untouched and growing free with limbs beginning near the ground, the great tree was my goal. I eased Pammy close to the trunk letting a few of the prickly leaves to brush across her skin. I turned her toward me, reached to pull the shirt back over her breast enjoying its softness, and replaced the strap.
I took her hand. She looked up at me expectantly. I placed that hand on a limb. It was not what she expected nor really wanted by the look on her face.
'What?'
