She lifted her hands to the buttons that ran down the front of her dress. He’d assumed they were decorative, but she began to undo them one by one, her fingers trembling slightly. The small sign of nerves had him going rock hard, and he had to quell the urge to shift in his chair to ease the pressure.

He stayed still, his pose relaxed, as she unbuttoned the dress all the way to the hem, and inch by inch her body was revealed to him. He’d seen her naked before, of course, when they’d played together two years ago, and several times since at club events or parties. So he wasn’t surprised by the soft, plump breasts with their puffy pale brown nipples. The small strawberry birthmark on the inner curve of her left breast was exactly where he remembered it, and her belly had the same sweet curve. The jut of her hipbones, the round thighs—none of it was new. But seeing it laid bare at his direction, for his eyes, was indescribably, almost unbearably arousing.

“Very nice,” he said, his voice low and approving. She sat still, the dress spread out on either side of her, a soft frame for the body beneath it. She sat unmoving as he looked, and an observer might think that she was unaffected by both her nudity and his lazy perusal.

But he knew where to look for those small signs of arousal, and to him they were bright as neon signs. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, her nipples darkened and drew into tight little buds. Her thighs shifted subtly, an instinctive and futile attempt to put friction and pressure where she needed it.

She wore panties, a simple pair of white cotton hipster briefs that he imagined she’d chosen because they wouldn’t be visible under the dress. She never wore thongs or G-strings, preferring to go without underwear altogether rather than subject herself to what she’d once described as “a fabric enema”, and he found himself smiling at the memory.

The briefs suited her, and something about seeing innocent white cotton covering what he knew was a bare pussy appealed to the pervert in him.

And the damp spot on the cloth was like the bullseye on a target.

“Put your hand inside your panties and your fingers in your cunt,” he ordered.

She slid her fingers under the cotton, her breath hitching as her fingers made contact with the tender flesh beneath. He watched closely, tracking her movements as she slid her fingers—two or three, he couldn’t quite tell—into her pussy.

She gave a full-body shudder that made him smile, and he lifted his gaze to hers. “Are you wet?”

She nodded, the movement jerky and uncoordinated. Her eyes had grown heavy and her plush lips were parted, damp and glistening. She was breathing faster, her breasts shimmying gently with the rise and fall of her chest.