Normally a pallid grey, the landscape was a crisp and frosty white from where countless chimneys belched clouds of smoke as the populace endeavoured to keep warm as the ill winds of Winter bit deep. Bouncing down Ludgate Hill towards the imposing edifice that was St Paul's Cathedral, a carriage-man pulled on the reins to draw his horse to a halt as the two seater hansom cab stopped outside a two story brick town house that still bore the outward facade of its original Tudor design. He laid his whip to one side and flipped open a hatch on the top of the cab. "Here we be, Sir." He called to the two passengers inside. "Number 22. Ludgate." His voice bore the signs of many an ale drunk and too many a bawdy song sung in his two score and seven years. His breath floated around him in clouds of white before fading away on a slight breeze. With a grunt, he jumped down and opened the cab door. His passengers disembarked and stood huddled together under the skeletal branches of a sleeping snow. ”“I knew you would deny it,” he smiled, “Good thing I made a screenshot it.”My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. He held his phone out to show me the picture. I naturally looked. It was a good picture. My dildo was deep inside. I was pinching a nipple with the other hand. You could even see a wet spot on the robe under my ass.I turned the car into the school parking lot and parked in my usual spot. No one was around so I took his phone. “Bobby, this isn’t me.” I looked closely as if trying to see the resemblance. “She is too young and a little thinner than me.”He looked at me with confusion. When he reached for the phone, I held it out of his reach. “Ok, Mrs. Williams,” he challenged, “There is a way you can prove it.”“And how would we do that, Bobby?” I asked in a frustrated tone.“The lady in the picture has a birthmark on her left hip,” he said, “Show me your hip, and we can see.”“I’m wearing a dress, Bobby.“So,” he challenged.“I would have to pull it up,” I growled, “I’m.
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