She scowled when she saw me sitting there on the sofa."I thought I told you not to wait up," she said. She'd been drinking. I can't say I was surprise... by that.She was wearing a cashmere sweater and a short, tight skirt that took advantage of her legs and ass. At some point after she'd left home that morning, she'd lost her bra and I could see her nipples were hard from the cold. She smoothed her skirt and ran her fingers through her short red hair. She was normally perfectly put-together. I'd. I'd boughtthat bra, and consumed it. Now I was another bra, an exact duplicate.And, to my horror, I understood that this second bra, me, was theproperty of this gypsy clan. I was just a bra, one of many that dangledin the breeze, awaiting a pair of tits to serve.As my slower and shallower mind conjured up these thoughts, the latemorning crowd started to arrive, sorting through the bras. I wasshuffled one way, and then the other, drawing an occasional second look,though at no time did I hear. More

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