As he introduced us, it was all I could do to keep my eyes on her face. Her top garment was a red see-through lace number closed only by a belt at her...waist. Her white undergarments were a platform bra (they seemed to be almost part of the dress code tonight) holding her artillery shell tits, and a garter belt with stockings which framed her shaven labial cleft teasingly displayed between her slender thighs. Her outfit, like most of the women I had seen this evening, was worn merely to add. "So, he stood there, our orders in hand, and went from bright red to sheet white and back several times. He snapped to, saluted, we saluted, I first, and Grace that tiny bit later that superior officers have to let you know they know."Where is your aircraft, Sir." The idiot ... didn't get the difference.I motioned him closer, read his name tag, and said, "Jim, I'm not the one to ask. Commander Grace Austin ranks me." Ma'am? Where is your aircraft?" We didn't know where to keep it, so we rented. More

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