From where George was sitting he had a clear view of one stocking clad leg where her dressing gown had fallen open to reveal nylon, thigh and suspende... and, as she leant forward, peering into the mirror to apply her mascara, the sight of the swell of her ample breasts, constrained by her basque and revealed by the fall of her robe. George started as he realised she had caught sight of his interest in the mirror. "Dear me," she said, getting to her feet and striding towards him, "don't you know. I found her number still posted on the side of the fridge and gave her a call. "Hey, Trish? Can I talk to Renee for a minute? I tried calling her cell but it must be dead," I explained. "Umm, sorry. She isn't here yet," Trish replied, to my surprise. "Are you sure? She left more than three hours ago and it only takes about an hour and a half to get to your house." I replied, wondering where my wife could be. "Yes, George. I'm sure she isn't here yet," she said, with the same bit of attitude. More

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