In the end, it doesn’t really matter. Finally, she’s going home. Checking her phone, she notes the time, “10:30 p.m.”, then sighs and turns t...e volume up on her jazz music before putting it away. She looks aside at the vague nothingness passing by the window as the train passes through the tunnel and adds to a seemingly endless supply of weary sighs.What a fucking day.What a fucking evening.Crushed by deadlines at work, she knew before the start of the day that she would have to stay after. Things progressed from just me getting topless. I started wearing micro skirts that were what I call ‘easy drop’ (Ethan calls them ‘get ‘em off quick’ skirts), ones with just a zip, or just one button; and more importantly, loose fitting so that as soon as the one fastener was undone the skirt would hit the floor. Ethan bought me 6 skirts like that; he says that I can’t have enough of them.When Ethan first unfastened the one fastener on my skirt in pub I became an even bigger hit with Ethan and. When we were leaving, she lagged back on the beach for a moment while my parents, sisters and I walked up to road level.I then realised I'd left something down on the beach and casually hopped over the railing, dropping the 7 feet or so to the warm sand not realising Karen had stayed behind to get changed back into her clothes. As I landed, she had a beach towel wrapped round her with her wet swimming costume on the ground next to her. Seeing me, she tugged the towel closer, but the movement. Cushions were strewn everywhere. Glass coffee table. Suddenly Andrew was beside me, turning around the recliner and lowering himself into it. "Slip off your shoes." "Yes, Sir," I whispered. After satisfying myself that I knew the lounge layout, I turned to the rest of the room. It had an intimidating air. I felt like I was floating as I walked across the spongy floor to the centre of the room. I pressed my hand against a large wooden ceiling to floor pole. It was a foot wide and had black steel.