Then the moment of truth arrived. Chantelle told me to remove my skirt and sit on the desk in just my small red panty. I saw the dark wet patch on the...gusset between my legs. I gathered all my courage from deep within me, hooked my thumbs on the thin strings of the thong and slowly pushed it down my hips, and over my thighs. Falling back on the desk, with my legs in the air, I removed the small lace panty. Chantelle captured every moment of my exposure. Bending my outstretched legs to finally. He wore slacks, a button-down shirt, and a vest. Neatly kept.“Who are you?” she asked in a low tone, still paused in the threshold, unsure of who he was or what to expect.“Amber, it’s me.”She squinted. It was near impossible to make out his features in the low light, but he certainly did not look like Cain.“We don’t have time for a full-length explanation,” the man continued, “but what you knew out there as Cain… was… well, a subconscious version of me, so to speak.”“What? How?”“It was a part. More

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