Clare was suppose to be at work.
She caught me red-handed and red-faced.
I was sitting up, leaning against the headboard. I had a pair of panties, the red silk ones. I'd retrieved them from the clothes hamper in the bathroom. She'd worn them the day before and they were redolent with her intimate womanly scent.
The red silk panties were one of my favorite pair, the material a little thicker, the waist-band and legs trimmed in pink lace, the shape between that of a French cut and full cut.
On the bed beside me was a glossy magazine depicting tall dominant women in fetching lingerie, heels and hose, waist cinchers, cut-out bras, wide-belted garter belts, and short leather skirts. The photos taken from that of kneeling supplicants, perhaps attempting to catch an upskirt glimpse of gossamer panties. There were other props scattered through the pages of the fetish glossy, too many to mention here.