The dress was pink; entirely pink apart from a tiny collar of white lacework, and matching fringes at the cuffs. A narrow white, patent belt encircled her waist. The discarded shoes could have been cut from the same material as the belt. Her figure still retained some adolescent plumpness, but that would have naturally disappeared in a year or two. I approached her and lightly grasped her knee. Drawing my hands up, I lifted the dress so that I could see, as well as feel, the enticing curve of her thigh. Anticipating my intention, she trapped my hand between her legs; but not before I discovered she was wearing stockings in place of the more of pantyhose. The experience of having my fingers caught was far from unpleasant, and I left them there while I let my free hand move up further beneath the dress. I stroked her tummy, which was firm and flat, and then moved down to that intriguingly feminine rise at the base of her belly. She shuddered as I gauged it, no doubt fearing that I intended to intrude there and then. But, for the time being, I had done with that part of her anatomy and withdrew both hands......