<strong>Susan Cochrane<br/>In a Bar's booth<br/>Going with the flow</strong><br/><br/>Heat, the heat of her, Susan swallowed visibly, hr eyes wide with something very primitive burning behind them.  that whip, Mara was an artist, Susan didn't doubt that for a moment.  The street doctor knelt at once, sinking to her knees smoothly, then bending a little more to roll up a pant's leg, quiclkly and smoothly unlace Mara's left boot, gently lifting the leg to slide a foot clear, set the boot down, and carefully rolling the sock down of the foot, easing the foot down to the floor, and dropping the sock into the boot.<br/><br/>Every move, ever motion, every effort in time with the beat, swaying slightly as she moved and worked.<br/><br/>Rinse and repeat, slowly with the other boot and sock and foot.  Not looking up, keeping her head down, but lifting her gaze enough to stare at Mara's belt as she slid her hands up the Domme's legs to her hips, glide along the belt to the buckle, unfasten it, unbutton, unzip Mara's fly and slowly tug her fatigue pant's down.<br/><br/>Weight in the pockets.  Wallet, keys, coins... other things.  Susan kept her face blank.  Not docile, but blank.  Bracing, supporting each leg in turn as she helped Mara step out of her pants.<br/><br/>Those legs... Susan had seen those legs in the mirror when she was younger.  The resemblance was...  uncanny.  that was the word coming to mind.<br/><br/>The panties.... black, but conservative cut.  A comfortable cut.  Susan hooked her fingers in the upper hem, and rolled them down, not roughly tugging them down.  Mara had a landing strip, but was otherwise shaved.  Well, a lot of women did these days.  Susan's bush was full but trimmed.<br/><br/>She felt intensely relieved to finally find a difference between them.<br/><br/>Wanting to her hands along Mara's belly, just a bit up under the shirt.   Thinking about how soft that skin would be under her lips.  NO.  She had not been ordered or given permission to do that.<br/><br/>Reluctantly keeping her hands out from under the shirt, then slowly unbuttoning the bottom button, flowing up to the next, unbuttoning again, fingers flowing up to the next button, releasing it, the next, the next, the shirt was unfastened, she had to stretch a little to tug the shirt back, Mara shrugged out of it one shoulder at a time.  Mouth so close to the younger woman's lower ribs, Susan had to fight not to run her tongue along the bottom ribs.  She didn't.  She hadn't been given permission to.<br/><br/>The bra, front closure.  Susan tapped her fingertips on the bra cups, in time to the beat, then hunhooked the bra, held it open for Mara to shrug it off.<br/><br/>God it was hard to think, her mouth was dry.  Those luscious young tits.  So much like her own, but just a bit firmer.<br/><br/>Incandescently aroused, faintly marveling that her nectar wasn't running down her legs, Susan carefully placed her hands flat on the tops of her thighs as she sank back, her haunches on her heels.<br/><br/>And still, she swayed slightly to the beat.