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Top Picks: MRCAMELTOE turned his head and smiled back. The woman's dress had been pushed down holding her elbows snug to her ribs, exposing her breasts which rested on the whale bone shelf of a Victorian bustier, the nipples erect in the cool night air, her waist cinched tighly, her hands pressed flat onto the leather seat beside her hips, her eyes downcast. This pair was different, he knew from the beginning. He'd wondered when they first got in his cab, if the woman was only wearing the thin dark silk dress. In spite of the old style gown, by the way her body had moved so smoothly under it, the way the skirt had clung to her ass when she walked, he'd thought she was naked under it. He'd been imagining what she looked like as he left the hotel and let the mare slowly walk the route she'd taken for three years through the small inner city neighborhoods; short trips though Fairly-Poplar and the recently renovated offices now lofts. The mare was used to turning north on Peachtree but instead he headed south towards the Underground Atlanta complex. The mare had objected when he didn't let her turn east towards the stable, but a light snap of his thin whip on her hindquarters silenced her snorts and she settled into her usual calm gait.