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The motorcyclist_s wifeIt was a marvelous feeling, and as she sipped at the fresh-tasting but deceptively potent Pernod her sensation of freedom rapidly increased. "Here you are, Sandi. These ought to fit you," the photographer's foreign-accented voice broke through her ego-building daydream. Just look at the way she's livening up! the scheming youth congratulated himself. Then, as the curvaceous nineteen year old model turned her attention to the pile of clothes, he surreptitiously refilled her glass. This promised to be a very interesting afternoon indeed! The slightly intoxicated young wife had turned toward the costumes with eager interest, but the moment she held them up for inspection her doubts returned in full force. First she lifted up a long length of gossamery chiffon in the same shade of apricot as that shameful nightgown which had been a major cause of her downfall the night before. Not only was this thing the same color, but it was, if possible, even more transparent; and to make matters even worse, it had no buttons, snaps, or other fastenings. "That's an Indian sari, a real one," Tony broke in with deceptive casualness as he noted the look of consternation on the naive model's heart-shaped face ...» |
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