Yes

"A little white lie," Liz says, patting you on the shoulder. "Who's it going to hurt?" She hangs up the various pieces of underwear she's accumulated on a hook and then looks you up and down. "So," she says. "Let's get started, shall we?" She reaches down and pulls off her maxi dress. You realize that she's wearing a pair of pink panties, but no bra. You also realize that despite the fact that Emily's mother had her tongue between your legs yesterday, you still haven't seen her naked. Liz kisses you on the cheek, brushing her large breasts against you. "Like what you see?" she asks, posing in front of the mirror. She pulls on the metallic blue bra and turns her back to you. "Can you do it up for me?"

Your fingers tremble, but you manage to get the bra done up properly.

"Thank you dear," Liz says. Then she pulls off her panties, shimmying to slide them down her legs and dropping them at her ankles. She steps out of them in her high heels. You find yourself staring at her pretty perfect pussy. "Getting naked in front of you makes me wet," Mrs. Fowler whispers in your ear. She pulls on the underwear that matches her bra and poses in the mirror again. "Look," she says. "We look like a couple of supermodels!" She pinches your ass through your pants, startling you. "Get changed," she says.

You don't need any more convincing. Your shirt flies off, and with her help, you get out of your jeans in an instant. You watch her eyes as you remove your bra and panties and see her gasp when your nipples harden in the air.

"Lovely," she breathes, running one finger against your right nipple. "Now. Put on the bodysuit."

You grab the outfit she indicated off the hook. It's a small black leotard, lacy with mesh sleeves that run down to your wrists. You undo the button at the bottom and pull it over your head, slipping your hands through the sleeves. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you find yourself turned on by your own body. Your red lips, your long blonde hair. It all looks perfect, and the lingerie just completes the image.

Liz hugs you, grabbing your ass and pressing your hips against hers. "Let me get a picture," she says. She grabs her phone from her purse and hugs you again, pressing your chests together and pointing the camera at the mirror. There's a loud click sound, and she steps away. "I'm sending it to Mr. Fowler on Snapchat," she explains. "'Me and your hot date,'" she captions the image. "And... sent." She winks. "You look so sexy in that, dear," she says. "I hope you wear it for Mr. Fowler tomorrow."

You nod. "I will," you promise.

"Excellent! Now, let's go pay for these. And tomorrow, I'll pick you up around eight and bring you to the hotel, how does that sound?"

That sounds excellent.