‘Madam,’ he said, adopting his cultured British speech, ‘I am neither French, nor a dolt, and if you had not been walking backwards, while yakking into your cell phone and instead actually looking where you were going, you would not be wearing my coffee, nor the raspberry preserves that I was going to put on my croissant. Besides, they do not serve muffins here.’ He was impressed that he had managed to keep a straight face and his temper as he said that. He watched her go through several emotions. There was rage, certainly, almost an entitlement he had grown used to witnessing among Americans abroad especially in France, then embarrassment. ‘Perhaps I can offer you a napkin?’ he suggested, handing her the paper napkin, all that remained of his breakfast. ‘Or would you prefer to put that in a washing machine before the stain sets?’ That was enough to set her off again. ‘Listen you…pig,’ she said, bitterly, ‘I was perfectly aware of where I was and what I was doing before you slammed. Jane reached around to her back, pushing her chest forward towards Sarah in the doing, and unhooked her bra, leaving it to cling for a moment before she pulled it away, placing it to the side. The skin on Jane’s tits rippled as the cool night air swept over them, breaking out in goosebumps as her nipples hardened by the second. Sarah could scarcely believe the sight laid before her, she had had fantasies about a moment like this, Jane baring herself to her, showing her the tits that were somehow more wonderful than Sarah could have imagined. They sat heavy on her chest, their mass making Sarah’s back twinge just looking at them, they jiggled slightly with Jane’s movements as she brought her hands up to catch them, her hands merely framing them, having no need to hold up the tits that sat high and held their shape from the bra. Looking down at Sarah, Jane couldn’t help but smile a little at the awestruck look upon her face. “So you like them?”“This is already beyond any possible.
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