They were meant to be free and naked. They watched her turn her back to them, her skirt pulled tightly over her firm ass, her hips swinging back and ...orth. Her back was almost naked, the bra strap hanging uselessly, the men eager to see her without the bra. Dr. Michael had told them about her breasts, wanting to see them in the flesh. She turned and flashed them a sexy smile, winking as she slowly let the bra slip down her arms, her palms moving up to take the place of it, her small hands. She was called Polly – he didn’t know her family name – and she was a buxom woman with a friendly smile and something in her face that always touched him deeply. A friend of his once asked him why on earth he went to the Rose and Crown? It wasn’t particularly fashionable, and it was a few miles from the village – the village pub had a very good name. ‘Yes,’ he had said, ‘but at the Rose and Crown the barmaid hands out daydreams free with the beer.’ His friend had come along one day to find out. More

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