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Can you feel my other hand playing with your clit? My mouth licking and nibbling on your neck. Judging by the moans that are coming deep within you, you've about to pass that point of no return. Grabbing your hips as my fingers fuck in and out of you slower, curling then straightening. Pulling you around to the basin and placing your hands on the worktop, smiling wickedly as you stare at our reflections in the mirror. My hand leaving that beautiful clit of yours to hold up your left leg as I drive my fingers home, loving how you whimper and beg to make you cum. Watching you close your eyes as I add a fourth finger and feel you thrust back against them. Resting your leg on the ledge as my hand goes back to your clit. Pinching and pulling wanting to take you over the edge.Wishing that I had a camera, watching your reflection, seeing my sopping fingers glide in and out of you, my other hand on your clit pinching and pulling with one of your legs stretched out and resting on the bench,. When it came it was wrapped in clear plastic. It was a dark blue cotton-like material, but he couldn't be sure if it was his trousers or not. Same went for the next packages, would could easily have been either a shirt or a blouse without opening it. Paul tried to reconcile himself to the fact that he was being a little paranoid.. as if they'd make him wear a skirt! Then, horror struck - the final two packages were unmistakable, wrapped up or not - it was the Brannigans standard issue dress. He recognised the print on it straight away, as the manageress herself was wearing it. Sure enough, he was also handed the thin lightweight jacket that all the female members of staff wore, not the thick heavy version for the men. Paul stood in disbelief... was this some kind of joke? A test? Part of the interview? 'er...where do you want to put these?', he said. 'In your locker of course, where else?', she replied. 'But..er...is this *my* uniform? I thought...' 'What does it say on.
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