Bette walked into the bedroom. I’d just finished dressing for dinner and was primping in front of the mirror.

“Helena! No!” Bette exclaimed.

Startled, I turned quickly to look at her.

“What?” I said.

Bette stood with her hands on her hips, staring at me from a few feet across the room.

“You’re not wearing that sweater!” Bette said authoritatively, voicing her objection to the wardrobe selection I’d made for the evening.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” I asked turning to look back in the mirror. “I think it’s quite nice.”

Walking towards me, Bette said, “Oh it’s nice alright. Nice and revealing. It’s too sexy. I don’t want your attire to encourage any salacious notions that may be stirring in Barbara Grisham’s brain. It’s bad enough that your ass looks so inviting in those tight-fitting pants.”

Bette stood just behind me and ran her hand over my bottom. I looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled as I watched her ogling my figure.

“See something you like?” I asked playfully.

Leaning into me, Bette wrapped her arms around my waist and nuzzled her face into my neck. I closed my eyes and lay back into her.

“Mmm,” she moaned, kissing and licking my neck, before whispering, “You know I do. Now take off your top. Please? And change. If I should see Barbara Grisham leering at your cleavage, and those luscious nipples poking out underneath the clothes you’re wearing right now, I might have to gouge her eyes out.”