I could feel his eyes on my chest, my dress wasn’t low-cut but it did frame the shape of my breasts well and the slight V-neck would have been a leading invitation. I knew my thoughts to be confirmed by his audible breath that burned through the fabric of the dress that hugged my curves; and as he took a deep breath I found my chest responding to him, expanding with my own breath almost as if to subtly present myself to him. His hands loosened at my thighs, allowing my dress to drop softly against my stockings again, and I felt them softly travel up, grazing my front towards my waist, coming to find the sash that held my dress in place. I felt the pull of the sash, felt it pull around my back waist for just a second until the knot of the bow came free. Then I felt the whole dress start to come loose, felt it drape softly at my cleavage, my breasts just barely holding the dress in place. It opened just a touch down the front in a way that would have allowed him to see an inch-wide. She won’t get any benefits, though, unless she can convince us she is at risk.”“We’ll be along.”She looked a question at me as I cut the call off. “Complicated,” I said with the help of Google, “Best wait until there is someone who can translate.”Complicated, indeed. I couldn’t be in the interview – indeed, I’d expected to leave her there and let the authorities sort things out – but when they were sending me away, Demi made it clear she wanted me to stay. They did get me a cup of pretty dreadful coffee, and I had my phone, so I could surf the net to an extent. I’d been there over an hour, getting bored, when a woman was admitted who looked very like an older version of Demi – her mother. She merely glanced at me, disinterestedly, then was escorted into the bowels of the building. Others came and went.A large woman came over to me. “Mister Davies?” I stood and held out my hand, which she shook – her grip warm and firm. “I’m Shirley Easton,” she said, “Social worker. Miss Iohannou is.
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