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Veronica lifted her leg, letting her short skirt slip up high her thighs, and propped her foot on the arm of Timmy's chair. He stared at her upper legs quite revealed: the stocking tops clamped by lemon satin garter straps and the lacy lemon sussies. His cock swelled, until he felt his trousers could scarcely contain the erection. What thrilled and maddend him was her utter disdain for his presence; she exposed her intimate flesh as though he wasn't there, or as if his gaze meant no more than a pet dog's.
Taking a cigarette from her packet of Dunhill's, she placed it between her lips, then, without looking at him, snapped her fingers. Timmy bounded forward, lit a Swan Vesta match, and held it, trembling, to her mouth. She puffed in the ebbing flame until it was almost down to his skin, smiled to herself, and nodded, as he retreated, rubbing his stinging fingers.
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