“One favor, please?” She was actually begging, something I imagine
she’d never done before.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t call me Annie. That’s what that slime Bill Arnold called me.
Call me Ann.”

“We’ll see. If you do a good job and you earn it – but for now you’re
Annie. Now get naked.”

She held her breath for a second, then let it out and undid the front
clasp on her bra, sweeping it away with one hand and laying it on the
little sofa with the rest of her clothes. I cannot tell you how I felt,
seeing those breasts that I had fantasized about for so long. They were
so perfect, so round and high, and with large nipples that looked so
completetly suckable. I nearly came just looking at them. When she
bent over to remove her panties, they hung taut below her, then did not
sag one iota when she stood again, panties in hand.

And then she was naked before me. Her pussy hair was a neat, perfectly
trimmed little triangle of light brown – even more lovely and delicate
than I had expected. She had an ideal figure, her smooth tummy and
slim waist, her flawless creamy skin, her dancers legs. Nude, she was
still a perfect doll, an ideal girl.

She was shaking a bit, but I could tell that she was resigned to this.
“All right,” I said, “Now undress me.”

She stepped immediately forward and began to unbutton my shirt. “No,” I
said, “on your knees, Annie.” She dropped to her knees, and had to
reach up straining to take off my shirt. Then off came my shoes and
socks, again piled neatly next to hers on the sofa, then she undid my
pants and stuggled to get them off (levis are hand to remove from a
standing person), but finally succeeded. All through this her face was
calm and businesslike, but her breathing was becoming rapid, and there
was a flush creeping over her chest and upper arms.