Mrs. Wilson had been modeling regularly for Gerald for over a year now, and during exhibitions, she turned out to be one of his most-liked models, strange enough. And then, out of the blue, he asked her if she would be interested in making some extra money meeting her fans. The next exhibitions would be combined with a sort of fashion show, with a catwalk, and he thought it would be a great idea for her to participate.
Gerald had disappeared into the closet; she could hear him rummaging. As he reappeared she had already lost her skirt and was pulling her panties down her thighs, preparing to step out.
"Oh no, Mrs. Wilson: you don't have to fully undress this time! Just the skirt will do.
And the shoes, please."
As she hastily pulled her panties back up again, all of a sudden, the total weirdness of the situation struck her. For the first time in months! Maybe it was due to the reverse action, but for the first time since this whole thing had started, she was asking herself what kind of a person she had become. Here she was, a respected grandmother and widow, walking into this young man's dorm, and her first inclination was to take all her clothes off? How had it come to this? She tried to brush the thought away, but the uneasy feeling lingered around. Somehow she felt scolded, put in her place.
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