"Who decides what people wear?" wondered Sharon as she detached her earrings and nose-stud, and placed them on the rickety bedside table. She glanced ...round the room, having recovered sufficiently after her scrubbing to comprehend things. Not only was it very small, but it was very bare. The only decoration was a faded portrait of the king.Primrose followed Sharon's gaze. "Him, of course. The King. And he changes his mind all the time! Not long ago, people were allowed to wear shorts or little. Surely it kind of betrayed my enthusiasm, though, I mused. Hopefully she regarded the sight as 'good news'."Ready?" she said quietly. She took up the aforesaid position on her back on the end of the bed.I tried to read into how much, if any, genuine 'enthusiasm' she might be feeling by the way she opened her thighs. Well, it was good and wide, but not ridiculously gymnastically so."Yes," I said. My manhood ached.I took up position. This entailed me leaning over her and perching my elbows to. More

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