Blood red. That temping slit you love so much right down the middle of the skirt. So if I cross my legs you can see the tops of my stockings.Tell me a...out those.The stockings?Yes, pet.Thigh high. Black. A seam running straight up the backs of my legs.I love that seam.It took me forever to get them lined up exactly.Just for me? Yes, dear.What else are you wearing?High heels. The fuck-me-now black ones. The ones you love.And what else?Nothing.Nothing else? No panties?I thought it would please. The setting is the same weapons storage area that another incident happened at, the difference eas this happened during the late winter of 1967 in November. Again it involved two dog handlers and their alsatians and myself. This time all had been quiet so the dog handlers took shelter in an old guard house overlooking a fence line that had originally been built by the Nazis during World War II, but now stood defiant and only used to shelter the k9 men. Though dusty and filled with many cob webs. The Jays were able to keep their Sunday barbecues going. Harry Bosworth was a regular visitor coming to check the beer consumption to ensure that the Jays had not been selling anything other than Venture's beer. They had not. It was not worth the effort or the economy to buy in good but cheaper beer for outside events where it might not be sold. They had picked up a number of these: the National Canine Defence League's Open Day, the Atheldiston Fete, a local National Trust Open Day and one. He swam back to shore and lay down on the grass, his arms and legs spread wide to catch the sun. I followed him. But I dared not lay nor even sit near him. I stood some distance from him. His body was so unlike that of Jordaens. His manhood, shrunk by the cold, looked like a little brown mouse. No memory of my horror assailed me as I surveyed his lithe and graceful form. “How is it that you can hold your breath for so long? Is it more magic?” Kano smiled without looking at me. “Yes, it is.