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One step at the time. One foot follows the other. Running. Never stops. Meditative mileage. Every step has been taken so many times before. One step at the time.

Some people find it boring. Like hell kind of boring. I have never felt it that way. A self suggestive, totally egocentric treat; me and Mother Nature breathing together: Running.

No it is not boring. On the contrary: Exciting, arousing, passionate.

Perhaps in the fifth kilometer, maybe the sixth along the track I felt like I entered another world. Sounds of birds had suddenly vanished. Air was thick with tangible tension. Yet, it took me a minute to realize that I was not alone.

It was no real surprise – there are lots of people, some of whom I know very well, that frequent the track almost on a daily basis – but now there was something that put my senses on full alert: Concealment. Someone was hiding nearby. At first I could not tell what made me so sure; there was no sight of anyone and I could not tell any special sounds. At first.

But there it was: Vibrating rather than sounding but once recognized, impossible to not notice. A narrow path led from the main track into the woods. Only ten meters away, the vegetation thickened; kilis escort trees and bushes mounted a barrier against curious passersby. But the bushes radiated passion; I was mesmerized by the brute force of the barrage I experienced from the pulsing source of pure energy. I listened and I heard the sounds of uninhibited lust.

To not sneak closer was not an alternative; never even passed my mind. I was pulled, dragged, furiously attracted by the magnetic force of the great unknown behind the bushes.

As I slipped closer, sounds became clearer. Rhythmic movements, heavy breathing – there was no doubt in my mind what private activities I was about to witness. I crept up behind a bush and looked through the leaves, standing on my knees.

Yes. I was not disappointed.

The first thing that struck me was the fire in her eyes. Almost as though she had known that I would come, as though she knew exactly when and where I would turn up, she looked right at me with eyes burning with heated arousal.

She did not seem intimidated by my appearance. On the contrary, her movements became even more agitated and she jumped up and down on top of a character lying on the kırklareli escort ground, almost totally hidden in the deep grass. She cried out moans of pleasure while she rode the man with insane fury; her hands caressing her torso, running over her shoulders, breasts and stomach. All the time her eyes were holding mine, demanding my undivided attention. I suddenly became conscious of my erection. She smiled at me. Did she give me a quick nod or did I mistake her passionate lovemaking for an invitation to me?

I was beyond reason, aroused mad. The raw lust that shone from the woman before me captivated me and intoxicated me. Drunk on excitement – adrenalin rushed through my veins – I started to caress my own body with my hands. Shortly, both my hands were rubbing my erection through my bulging running shorts. She smiled at me. Yes. Her nod was a nod of appreciation. When I looked down I found that my shorts were halfway down to my knees and my hand gripping my swollen member tightly, moving up and down the shaft.

She wriggled elaborately on her mate, circular motions, grinding her sex against his. I was there. I could feel the heat, sense her warmth, smell her karabük escort sweet scent. Elaborate exhibitionistic masturbation. I wanted her to know my passion, my infinite lust for her. Wanted my pleasure to be her pleasure. Give her of me. She smiled. She nodded. She knew.

Jerking, beating, pounding. So close. Making love in a bizarre ménage a trois – a secret within a secret: A man lying in the grass pumping his cock into the wet pussy of his lover clandestinely fucking the accidental stranger.

Was it long? I do not know. In a way, it felt like a lifetime: So many impressions – overwhelming. So wonderfully intense – timeless. But status quo is not an option for an arousal this extreme. It must be suppressed violently or allowed to explode just as violently. Of course I did not suppress it. I wanted to give myself to her, needed to release; I was desperate for us to share a common climax. Share the original orgasm.

And we did. Violently.

Her scream echoed in the forest. The sound of her voice was still ringing in my ears as I jogged slowly along the track. I met other runners. Nodded, maybe smiled at familiar faces. Would they know? Could they see it in my face that I had just mated with this divine creature of the woods? At least I had had the awareness to put my shorts back on. I smiled at familiar faces, nodded.

One step at the time. One foot follows the other. Running. Never stops. Meditative mileage. Every step has been taken so many times before. One step at the time.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Two women, both on business trips. POV only one.

Across the street from each other. See each other in underwear through windows.

One starts caressing her breasts, other mimics.

Self pleasure increases until narrator orgasms. Sees other woman smiling and licking her fingers.

Both go to bed with blinds open.

It was a long day at the seminar. Panels with presenters discussing “cutting edge new technologies and techniques” that I probably won’t see in my office for at least 5 years, if at all. Walking between conference rooms wasn’t much different. Vendors and distributors peddling their wares here and there. Many of them were the same companies I had already turned away when their salespeople had visited my office. Still, I was more than glad to hear a quick pitch in order to get myself some of whatever swag they were offering. Of course, all of this walking was taking its toll on my feet. This was the third day of the seminar and all I wanted to do was go back to my hotel room and collapse. The flats I was wearing were better for me with all this walking than heels would have been, but sneakers would have been the best option. If only I had sneakers that would work with any of my skirts or blouses. I would have packed them in a heartbeat.

I decided to skip the last presentation of the day, “Self Empowerment and The Chiropractic Practice.” All the staff at my office would be attending a training on this very subject in a couple weeks from the same person doing the presentation. I should be able to get more out of that three-day session while comfortable than I would in a conference room for 45 minutes while sore and tired. Instead, I slogged back to my hotel room with my bags of swag. Fortunately the seminar was being held in the conference rooms of the very hotel I was staying in so the trip would be short and sweet.

The time from pressing the elevator call button to stepping into the tub shallow with water was a blank as my body went through the motions while my brain was on cruise control. I had entered my room and removed my blouse and dress pants, leaving them heaped on the floor. My shoes are flung across the room and hit the side of the bed before falling to the floor. I lay a folded towel over the rim of the tub and sit down on it. I don’t want the cold porcelain of the tub against the bare skin of the backs of my thighs while I relax. I start the tub filling with hot water right before bending down to yank my socks off.

The only thing I keep on is a matching bra and panties set I had bought a couple years ago. Given the lack of action or reaction from him on the multiple occasions I wore them in front of him, I have decided that I can’t be sexy for him anymore. With that in mind, I decided to take this weekend to be sexy for myself. The bra and panties were both a deep purple that visually popped against my lightly pale skin. The cups of the bra and waistband of the panties were trimmed in a thin lace that begged to be touched. Between the cups of the bra was a weave that appeared to strain to hold the bra itself together. It was a simple set, but one that I liked the look of against my skin.

I settle onto the towel and turn the water off with only a few inches of water in the bottom. Just enough to cover my feet. All of the tension and stress from the last few months along with the weight of the last three days flows out through my heels and toes and into the warm water of the tub. My whole body relaxes and the chaotic thoughts in my mind settle. As the water starts to cool but is still warm, I stand up and step out of the tub. I sit down on the bed and dry my feet. The night is still young but I have no desire to go out. Instead, I decided to enjoy a quiet evening in my room by myself.

My feet are now more sensitive. The fibers of the carpet stimulating the smooth skin as I walk across the room. It had gotten dark outside while I was soaking my feet. Since my room was on the 12th floor and the only light on in my room was a desk lamp far behind me, I stood in front of the window with the blinds open and didn’t worry about some random person seeing me in my underwear. The warmth of my feet contrasted to the slight coolness my body felt emanating from the glass window.

Looking down, I could just make out cars going up and down the street from the shine of their lights. My eyes move up the building across the wide street from my hotel. The bright lights of the facade casting shadows on the windows of the bottom three floors of rooms. My eyes travel further, climbing up more rows of windows covered with blinds. Some have a faint glow of light behind them, others do not.

Motion at a window across from mine but a floor higher catches my wandering eye. The blinds open and a woman stands in front of the floor-length window. She appears to be browsing the windows across from her. Our respective hotels preventing either of us from seeing the skyline of the city itself.

She stood there in just a man’s dress shirt. The white material of the shirt shining against the suntanned tone of her karaman escort skin. From my angle, it appeared like it was buttoned in only one spot. The shirt is clearly straining to cover her ample breasts and hiding the rest of her figure at the same time. While I have never been ashamed of my body, what I could see of hers was making me envious. For a reason I couldn’t explain to myself, I could not tear my eyes off of that woman behind glass across the street.

It became clear that I could be seen when her eyes shifted to my direction and she smiled slightly. I smiled back at her. The rest of the world vanished. Even the glass and space between us seemed to disappear. All that existed was this scantily clad woman and me dressing in a sexy way for myself in a bra and panties.

The other woman started running her fingers from the collar of her shirt down the lapel to the strained button. She pulled the shirt aside a little, revealing more of the bare breast underneath it. She stopped when some of her areola, barely darker than the rest of her skin, was revealed. She then slipped the shirt back in place.

I copied her motions, sliding a single finger up and down the lace along the cup of my bra. I pull the edge of the cup aside and reveal some of my own breast, my areola standing out more on my paler skin. I noticed my nipples becoming more sensitive as the cups of my bra shifted across them. The distance between and the other woman was too great to determine if there was a similar reaction under her shirt.

I’ve never been attracted to other women. When he shows an interest, my husband has never failed to turn me on. Unfortunately, that is something that has not happened in far too long, despite my best efforts. Being here with this unknown woman, each of us touching ourselves, privately watching each other in a potentially public display. All of it was stirring up a desire in me. A desire to touch and be touched. An urge to build to a release of pleasure I hadn’t felt in a long time.

With a slight pivot, the woman in the opposite room turns her hip towards me and starts slowly raising the hem of her shirt. She lifts it high enough to display the shapely curve of her hip and waist. It is also plain for me to see that she has nothing on under the shirt. She lowers the shirt again slowly, pivoting to face me more directly just as the hem reaches her thighs again.

Since I didn’t have a shirt to lift, it took me a second to think of a way to reply to her action in kind. I turned my hip in her direction and slipped a thumb under the waistline of my panties. Pulling downward, I lowered my panties until they were at my knee. This forced me to bend over and show the cleavage caused by my bra as well. I stood back up and pulled my panties back into place, turning my hips to face full front to the window and my solo audience member as my panties settle back into place. I pull the waist band away with my thumb and release it. I am the only one that hears the high snap of fabric on flesh, but I see her lightly flinch at the sound and her smile grows.

I hadn’t realized how aroused I was getting until the brief moment my panties were down and I could feel the air in the room against me. The room was warm but the air was still cooler than I was, especially in that moment. The cool air seemed to make things even hotter under my panties as I pulled them back up. While lowering and replacing my panties, I never took my eyes off the other woman.

Once I was standing straight again, she seemed even more interested. She raised one hand and started caressing her breast through her shirt. Her other hand slid under her shirt and began massaging her other breast. Even though I couldn’t see at that distance, in my mind her nipples were pressing against the back of the man’s shirt and causing that single button to strain just a tad more. With my right hand, I began massaging my right breast through the cup of my bra. The garment’s tightness on my chest prevented me from getting my left hand under it in order to imitate her actions under her shirt. Instead, I curled the left cup of my bra under my breast and started teasing and caressing my nipple. Both of my nipples stiffen and grow more sensitive under my touch. The soft material of one bra cup sending shocks through me as it brushes my nipple. My fingers pinching and dancing around my other other nipple generating waves of heat through my whole body.

The other woman seemed to be enjoying the show she was watching almost as much as I was savoring my view. Her mouth hung open slightly and her eyes were locked in my direction. Her hands were intensely caressing and squeezing her breasts. She tossed her head and her long hair is flung around behind her shoulders. Gripping the material, she rips her shirt apart. I swear I can hear the the weakened button of her shirt ping off the glass in front of her as I sigh at its release and the full exposure of her body to me.

I had seen her curves and tanned tone in the previews she had given me earlier. However, I kars escort was not prepared to be so aroused by the sudden view of her total nakedness before me. This was the first time I had ever craved to see another woman’s most passionate of secrets. Even though we were separated by a wide street and the glass of two windows, I felt like I would do anything this woman asked of me in order to have her fulfill my carnal desires.

My hands gripped my breasts tightly for a brief second. Despite the fact it’s usually quite comfortable, my bra was suddenly too tight and had to be removed. I reach behind my back and undo the clasp myself faster than my husband ever has. A shrug of my shoulders causes the straps to easily fall to dangle on my arms. I hold my arms to my sides so the bra is help up only by the pressure between my arms and chest. I angle my arms forward so my bra slides forward, revealing my pale breasts with dark areola and stiff nipples pointing at the window in front me and the general direction of my interactive audience.

Feeling a little overdressed, I wink at the other woman as I slip my thumbs under the waistband of my panties. I stand with my feet slightly apart and bend down to lower my panties to my knees without taking my eyes off the other woman. My breasts dangle free. I let go of my panties and they fall to my feet. I give my breasts a little shimmy as I stand back up.

I stand upright with my legs separated just enough so that my lightly trimmed and carefully shaped patch of pubic hair is visible. It is the same shade as my dark brown hair and stands out in stark contrast to my pale skin tone. I strike a pose full of attitude with a hand on my hip. My other hand starts teasing my nipple as I smile alluringly at my entertainment partner.

With an alluring smile of her own, the other woman spreads her legs in her stance and slowly slides a hand down her stomach until it reaches the curve of her body between her own legs. She reaches deep between her thighs, her fingers twining into her lightly colored pubic hair. From my view it looks like it’s trimmed short but not shaped as neatly as mine. A single finger disappears inside here for a moment. Her eyes flutter a little and her mouth slacks open in pleasure as she caresses her innermost recesses for a second. I can’t hear her, but I imagine a sigh of pleasure is escaping her.

Her finger slowly reappears and she pulls her hand away from her body. She slips the finger that had been inside her against her lips. Her tongue runs up and down it. I can only guess on the flavors she is tasting. After seductively licking her finger clean, she held it up in a gesture suggesting I wait a moment. I nodded as my hands continued to massage my breasts and caress up and down my stomach.

The other woman disappeared from the window. For a brief second my hands paused on my body as I worried she might be leaving and I would have take care of my growing urges with only my imagination for stimulation. Not the first time I’ve done that, but sharing the intimate experience with someone else, even a woman that was a total stranger, made it more intense and arousing.

I sighed and continued caressing my body as she reappeared. She was dragging a chair and placed it in front of the window. She sat down on the chair and spread her legs wide, opening herself to my view. Her window reaching the floor combined with my lower angel to give me an ideal view of her actions. One hand massaged her breast in imitation of my own hand. The other began to trace paths up one inner thigh and down the other. Her fingers danced around the intimate recesses now displayed before me, but didn’t probe any deeper for the moment.

I tear my eyes away from the view out my window for a moment. I look around the room for a second before remembering the desk with a padded office chair rolled up to it next to my own window. I made the same “wait a moment” gesture she had without sampling my finger first. I step over to the desk and roll the chair in front of the window. I stand behind the high back of the chair as I position it in the center of the window.

With the chair perfectly centered in the window, I seductively walk completely around it once, then stand to one side. I lift a foot up and place it on the seat of the chair. This put my knee up in the air and opened my legs wide for anyone to see. I watched the other woman’s face as I pinched a nipple and slipped two fingers quickly inside me. My palm pressed against my clit as my fingers were quickly soaked by the juices practically dripping with my arousal. The sensation of being filled by my fingers and the pressure against my clit caused my knee to bend in a desire to push my fingers deeper and increase the pressure on my clit. Before the sensations cause me to fall on the floor, I slowly extract my fingers and reach out to the window and leave a smear on the glass. I sit down on the chair and prop my feet on the bottom window sill. My single audience member can now see as much of me from her vantage point as I can kıbrıs escort see of her from mine.

She sits in her chair, her legs spread wide. The fingers of one hand are alternating between pinching her nipple and tracing small circles around it. He breasts are shifting slightly as her breathing increases. Her other hand was caressing her inner thighs, fingers tracing through her light colored and thin pubic hair. It is nearly invisible except for the slight shadow on her tan skin and the shimmer in the light of her room. I move my hands in imitation of hers, including tracing the long nail of my finger through my pubic hair.

My body is aching to be touched. I have a need to be filled. Every part of my being is screaming for the build-up to a passionate release. The long period of inattention from my husband combined with sharing these intimate activities with someone else to arouse me in a way I can’t ever remember being. I was determined to not finish until she was satisfied, no matter how many orgasms that might take tonight.

Her mouth opens a little and her head tilts slightly as she slips two fingers inside her. She pinched her nipple tight and held her fingers inside her. I could just make out that her hand was pressing hard between her thighs, the pressure moving against the area of her clit.

I pinched my own nipple tight enough that my fingers were getting sore with the pressure. A hungry moan escaped my own lips as I slipped two fingers inside me. They entered me easily as I was practically dripping with arousal. I pressed them as far into me as I could. My palm pressed into my clit. I flexed my fingers inside me, the tips of them caressing my most intimate recesses as I felt partially filled for a moment. I rub my palm against my clit as my fingers flex and relax inside me. I look towards my partner’s eyes across the street. I can’t know for certain, but I easily imagine her fingers coated in her own juices as their movements mimic mine inside her.

She lets go of her breast. She begins to move her hand slowly back and forth so her fingers emerge almost completely before slowly slipping into the depths of her pleasure. The fingers that had been teasing her nipple were now toying with and teasing her clit while she is filled with other sensations.

I copy her actions, but I add a third finger to flex and press against more of myself from the inside. I moan like an animal each time I push my fingers deeper inside me and spread them wide. A sigh of desire bubbles out of me as my fingers are nearly extracted. My fingers dance over and around my clit faster and more furiously as pleasure fills my body.

I know the other woman is there, but the growing passion is taking my focus off of her and only in myself. The rest of the world is gone. There is only me, the swelling amount of pleasure begging for release, and a vague feminine figure pleasing herself in the distance. As I begin to thrust my fingers harder and faster into me, the line between me and the passionate pleasure blurs. The moans erupting from my throat become more animalistic by the second. I begin to clench around my fingers as the probe inside me.

My hips twitch in a desire to get more pressure and contact on my clit. My fingers stop dancing around it and start rubbing furiously. Their touch sends shocks through me. All thoughts are gone. I begin to clench around my fingers, the intensity pulsing through me to higher and higher peaks. I breathe more heavily as the scent of my arousal hits my nose. The pressure of the pleasure inside me growing and swelling until I can take it no more.

I let out a roaring moan that starts in my toes and courses through my body to the hair on top of my head. The muscles in my legs tighten up and fireworks go off inside me. I press my finger tight against my clit. The fingers inside me become stiff as I pulse around them.

With a sigh of relief and release, all of the muscles in my body relax. I look up at the window of the woman across the street. She looks satisfied while leaning forward with a hand against the window. My brain was a little fuzzy after the orgasm, but I’m pretty sure the hand on the glass was the one inside her and she was leaving streaks of her juices.

Standing on wobbly knees, I faced the the window. I took a bow and added a bit of a flourish. I stood back up, smiled, and slowly closed the curtains between my naked body and the naked woman across the street. With the completion of the show, I went to bed sated for the night. I was comfortable in the sheets and in the thought that my brief experience with another woman was mine alone since we would never see each other again.

I woke up the next morning more refreshed than I had been in a long time. With my body on auto-pilot, I packed my stuff for the return flight home. A short cab ride to the airport and a too-long wait at the gate lead to me finally sitting on the plane as it was sealed up for takeoff. I spared the flight attendant a glance as she started her practiced safety speech. It took me a moment to realize why she was familiar. Then the fact I had only seen her without clothes hit me. I found myself getting slightly aroused as I smiled at her from the third row. She didn’t miss a thing in her safety speech, but it looked like her smile got a little bigger and her eyes sparkled a little brighter.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

(Note to readers: This is an entry in the Nude Day contest. All characters are at least 18 years old. I don’t think there’s anything in here that could trigger anyone. The narrating main character is an African-American woman, and she becomes involved with a White man, but there is no race play.)

***

As of today, images of my nude body are on the internet, where they might remain forever. This may ruin my life. This may deny me a career in high-tech fields where I have nearly finished a demanding education. Yet I allowed extreme body exposure to happen anyway. Not just allowed, I made it happen. I have good reasons. I also have not-so-good reasons, and they’re the ones that impelled me to do this now, rather than continue to chicken out indefinitely.

I’m one of four women who took it really hard when they (we) were dissed, and even insulted, by men we tried to mingle with at a party. We were overweight, but never before had we been shamed for that so severely (yet mostly silently). Because this was a shared experience, we four resolved to get in shape, at the peak of health, so that when these same men later take an interest in us, we’d kick them to the curb.

Yes, this was a childish motivation. We are smart adult women who have better things to do than whine about dating, or lack thereof. But we were hurt, damnit! More deeply than we realized at first. And we learned through our pity-partying that none of us could move on, to those better things, until we did something to address the hurt. Even if it didn’t work, we thought we’d benefit to some extent from improving our health.

So, we did one hell of a something. We didn’t think, at the start, that this would lead Corazon Armendariz, Susan Kramer, Rusalka Pyrzinsky, and myself (Ashanti Nicholson), to stroll around a clothing-optional beach for most of today, with hundreds of witnesses, while totally starkers. But it seems as though this ‘something’ worked.

Happy National Nude Day to you, too.

***

In late 2022, the pandemic was finally winding down, to the point that social life might become possible again. Not that my social life was all that great before coronavirus. After almost three years, however, I blamed my loneliness on the lockdown. I made the most of the hiatus, by spending even more time on grad-student work than I had previously. My experiments, in development of new materials, yielded positive results (admittedly, after quite a few trial-and-error failures). Reviews of grad students’ theses were as stalled as everything else during the pandemic, so when I finally had my thesis review, I sailed through my Master’s and got a quick start on credits towards the doctorate. (I don’t think I actually need the Ph.D., but starting on it allowed me to keep my work going, with the university’s support.)

Also, the drama-queening I mentioned earlier, about endangering my career, is unlikely. I’ve already had job offers, and exposing myself is irrelevant to them. This is probably true of all four of us. Our careers will be in the deep anonymity of obscure high technology, with scant personal contact.

When the lockdown lifted, even my peer group of nerdy introverts started looking to encounter people in proximity (like, the same building, even connecting rooms!), and to hold parties as the old year (and, we hoped, the pandemic) drew to a close. I had hooked up a few times during those dreary years, but the trysts only briefly slaked my thirst. (There was nothing emotional for me or my partners, and I preferred it that way.) The idea of a party, where I might consider several men, like baubles on the shelves of a big-box store, had me excited to the point of internal warmth and moisture.

Our university is huge, with loads of grad students grinding away on lucrative research contracts, under the thumbs of tenured faculty. A few tech billionaires got their start here. Even those of us without delusions of grandeur believe we can make good. In my case, I have some ideas–entirely mine, not proprietary to my work on contracts–that might lead to high-output photovoltaic solar collectors that aren’t environmentally harmful. I could describe them in lots of detail, but I’d rather hold them for patent applications. And you might be more interested in my nudity.

With so many brilliant, hard-charging Type-A’s around here, it’s no surprise that even our parties crackle with anxiety, and aren’t conducive to relaxation and pleasantry. We’re far more likely to compete than commune. Often, when we have sex, it’s a short-term truce, after which we return to our campaigns for advantage.

But I was in a good mood when I arrived at the New Year’s Eve party at the house Marcus DuBois had bought, thanks to the profit sharing in the phone-app startup that had recruited him. I didn’t think too much about how I looked. I had dressed nicely enough, for this weather: A white cable-knit sweater and blue jeans. Despite months of neglect, my hair looked okay, in a shag that behaved gebze escort well, given the tight curls of my West African heritage.

I had been carrying around excessive softness for so long that I wasn’t even aware of it. It wasn’t too obvious, because of the clothes. But somebody looking for my jawline wouldn’t find much of it, and might be able to count more than one chin.

I’d banged Marcus once, while he was still a student. Even in a diverse setting, sometimes black folks find it less stressful to get busy with each other. The sex wasn’t great. His good-sized dick shot its load early, and he couldn’t do much after that. Still, he was now a known quantity for me, and I thought I might be able to delay his detonation with frenulum pinches. I’d definitely be okay, rollin’ around with him. Or with any of at least ten more guys I saw as I moved through the party. While I was checking them out, I didn’t pay enough attention to certain other partiers.

Such as, women a few years younger than I.

Recent arrivals at school.

Tech-brilliant in their own ways.

Thanks to having spent so little time in the grind here, many of them had not yet succumbed fully to junk food, and did not have a wasted ounce.

These women were impressed by those who had made some headway in the technoverse.

‘Those’ meaning men.

When I had a moment with Marcus (in a large chat group), I sent out some trial-balloon flirts, favoring him with my most eager smile. He bantered back to me a few times, but was, um, easily distracted, mainly by younger women. I drifted away, reminding myself that Marcus was now a master of the universe. He could see me as one of many women entranced by his success.

I hadn’t even brought a housewarming present.

Yet the situation at the party went beyond Marcus. I processed this gradually as the night wore on. Men who, during the pandemic, had been as eager as I was to steal a moment in horizontal conjunction, now perceived more options. My conversations, and my flirting, didn’t draw much of an audience. I saw that this was also happening to my roommate, Corazon, and the renters across the hall in our apartment building, Rusalka and Susan. The men in my age group hovered around the younger women. The newer, younger men were still in the deep nerdiness of their high school years, and seemed too scared to try moves on anyone.

As midnight approached, I found myself in a default conversation with the other, ‘older,’ women, because we couldn’t seem to get anyone else’s attention. Brent Gilmartin, alpha-level handsome and equally sarcastic, sauntered up to us, with a tipsy-looking younger woman leaning into each of his enfolding arms. He ran his hands along the narrow waists of his apparent conquests, and said to us, “This sure is a big improvement!”

Our look at him was puzzled at first, but then we caught on, and glared.

There were voices in another room, counting down to midnight. They grew louder.

Grinning even bigger, the surfer-blond bastard leaned closer to us and said, “Can you guess what your New Year’s resolution oughta be?” His young women laughed. He guided them away before we could throw drinks at his face.

Now, to be honest, we all could have hooked up eventually. There were more men at the party than women, and very few were openly gay. The new nerds would have tumbled to us, if we didn’t care about whether they could screw competently. But what we heard from Brent, and the silent concurrence from other men, ignited fury in our, yes, fat bodies. With all of us seeing that we reacted that way, we triggered ourselves from quiet despondency to a very noisy gathering of coats, and storming out of the house. I slammed the door with three seconds left in the countdown to 2023.

***

The next morning I knocked rapidly on Cora’s bedroom door, and texted our neighbors to come over and vent. This was a situation we didn’t have to mope through separately.

“We’re joining a gym!” Cora declared between sobs. “Right, Ash? If the world wants hot, we’ll give it scalding!” When I moved in, my (White) roomie and (White) neighbors were relieved when I told them that they could call me Ash. I’d used that for years among friends, explaining that my medium-brown skin didn’t look anything like ashes, so I wouldn’t be offended.

“These bums don’t deserve it,” mumbled Sue. I was worried about her. She was prone to bouts of depression.

“That’s not the point!” I said, getting in her face and surprising her. “We’re going to do this for us! What have we learned from pursuing our professions? Do we get the best results from being cooperative, and deferential?”

There was a three-second silence. Finally Rusalka said, “No.”

“How do we get the best results?”

Corazon sniffled, then said, “By looking out for ourselves.”

That was in the right direction, but not strong enough. I decided that I’d have to play the less-privileged-Black card. I let urban cadence take over my voice:

“By gümüşhane escort not takin’ no shit!”

Sue animated enough to say, “Yeah!”

“It’s six months to serious summer!” I pressed on. “Plenty of time for us to get in shape. What’s going to keep us charging, with diet and exercise, until then? What will we want, every single day?”

There were still tears on Cora’s cheeks, but above them, there was fire in her eyes. She said, low and slow and dangerous, “Revenge.”

I exulted, “Hell yeah, Sistah!” Sometimes, when you need to reach somebody’s lizard brain, you have to wake it up with a stereotype.

We group-hugged with loud, incoherent cheering. But what sealed the deal was how we developed a plan. Deep in our cores, we all love planning. Minutes later, Rusalka was in charge of our diets, designed for each of us personally. Cora would tailor our exercises. Sue would cover the soft stuff (yoga and mindfulness and whatnot). I would allocate all of our academic resources, scheduling us to assist as needed in assignments, exam prep, and some degree of thesis writing.

There was, of course, no time left for social life. We had each other. This had been true to some extent all along, because we essentially live together. It’s easy to fall into a groupthink, and follow examples. The herd we had been, previously, supported our inertia. We were now the alliance that enforced our momentum.

***

Our work and studies still existed. My contract-related stuff often teamed me with Dylan Courtney. He was shy, and nice, yet his blue eyes showed an inner intensity. He was also lean, and kinda cute. Sometimes his whole combination, seen from the corner of my eye, inspired in me a certain, um, enjoyment. We got along well, recognized each other as equals in our specialty, and always gave each other credit where due, in our reports.

Dylan was one of the few white guys in whom I might take a wider interest. But I suspected that an involvement with him would take some heavy lifting. He had a bad case of Woke Fear around me, and took pressure off both of us by occupying my nerdy friend zone. I accepted this. Now that the Revenge League (as the ladies and I referred to ourselves) was up and running (several laps a day), I had even less time for frivolity.

Key point: Dylan wasn’t at Marcus’s NYE party. So I didn’t assign him guilt-by-association in fat-shaming.

In mid-January, as we tended to equipment and gathered data, Dylan said, “Where are you getting this energy?”

I halted between two work stations on opposite sides of the lab. “Uhh…what energy?”

“I can barely keep track of where you are.”

I realized I had been quick-stepping. It kinda felt good. “I’m really interested in these results,” I said, which was true, but incomplete.

Dylan shook his head. “It’s winter. I can barely drag myself out of bed.”

Suddenly I was in a quandary. Did ‘revenge’ require secrecy, until skin would be shown this summer? Could I exempt Dylan from ‘revenge?’ If not, and he learned what I was doing, would I have to hunt him down and kill him?

I smiled. “Maybe I’m just having a good day.” In fact, I was in day two of PMS.

My smile might have let slip a little of my, um, enjoyment of him. He smiled too, eyebrows lifting. “Guess I’ll need more energy, to keep up. You want anything from the candy machine?”

“No thanks.”

“Really?” Over many months, he had seen me down many candy bars.

“Maybe later,” I said.

As Dylan headed for the break room, I decided that I wouldn’t divulge anything to him. I liked the idea that my reveal, which would avenge me against douchebaggish men, could be a nice present to a man who was beyond reproach.

***

Ah yes, the reveal. As I sit on a lawn chair in July heat, typing on a borrowed laptop, the breeze tickles my labia. How did we get to the point of public nudity?

The original plan was to eat more sensibly, and exercise together, so we’d look much better by summer. This would be presented through our usual seasonal change in clothing choices. Not very revealing, but some skin would be visible (arms, at least, and to some extent legs). Our cloth-covered contours would show improved proportions. Our boosted confidence would be expressed through more assertive posture and movements. Like my trotting around in the lab.

The thing is, after the first week, we found out how difficult it would be, to progress that far in only six months. None of us was severely overweight (less than fifty pounds…but more than thirty), but we had spent so long at those weight levels that they had become our metabolic baselines. We had to shock our bodies out of that rut. Do you need to be convinced that we’re smart? We all agreed, without prompting, that we’d stay away from dubious diet pills; any treatment not backed by legitimate, peer-reviewed data; and laparoscopy (none of us was heavy enough to justify that). Yet looking good in summer clothes izmir escort was no longer a goal strong enough to keep us going. We weren’t sure that we could reach even that goal, from our initial schedule. We had to work harder, so we might as well aim higher.

For a week or so, we envisioned a swimwear photo shoot, in private.

Then we decided we’d wear two-piece suits.

Then, bikinis.

Then, we wouldn’t show off through phone pix. There would have to be in-person bikini strutting, with the targeted guys present, and their regret obvious.

Yes, every change raised the bar. We’d no longer be able to hide, with clothes, imperfections like residual love handles. We’d have to make ourselves into hotties.

This, however, was not out of the question. All of us have good genes, lucky ones even, and no conditions that would prevent responsible weight loss or muscle toning. We’d simply have to work at it constantly.

Working out together got us past a sore point: showing ourselves in workout clothes at a public gym. The bulges were apparent to anyone who wanted to judge them. Just glimpsing my limbs and torso as I moved them, on equipment and the jogging track, was as much a bringdown as a motivator. It helped to have company for my misery.

A post-workout talk in the locker room addressed whether doing this in a gym gave away too much information. Sue said, “I haven’t seen anyone here I recognize.”

“Me neither,” said I. “Our peer group is made up mostly of the physically inept. Not the kind of people who do workouts in winter.”

Cora said, “Do we even care if people know what we’re doing?”

Rusalka said. “It might be good if they do know. Another reason to keep us from quitting. Avoidance of ridicule.”

I scowled. “I’d rather not draw any attention. Can we at least not announce what we’re doing?”

“I’m for that,” said Sue. “Let’s not add the answering of social media snarks to our overloaded schedule.” Cora and Ru got on board with that.

By the end of January, our muscles got past the strain of the new demands we put on them. We began to access endorphins. They helped carry us past the impatience from our too-frequent weigh-ins.

Yet I wasn’t convinced that I’d look all that alluring when slimmed down. I could manage decent condition, when I did look after my health. I ran track in high school. Sadly, in those days the mirror showed me a stick figure with appleknockers. It was no surprise that my brain soon distracted me from my body. In college, I decided that health could wait. I allowed junk food to keep me going.

At least, my background competing as a hurdler prepared me for the leg work involved in one of the exercises Cora hectored us through: Kickboxing. If nothing else, this could give us a self-defense skill set.

True, none of that covers the huge transition from bikinis to birthday suits. I’ll get to that in a while.

***

By February, I was convinced that Rusalka was trying to poison me. Everything she had me put in my mouth sapped my will to live.

“Deal with it,” she growled. “Where my ancestors came from, there were two food groups: Lard and cabbage. Often in the kitchen, when I was a kid, my grandmother took over when my mother worked, so I was raised on that regimen. I’ve known what I should be eating since I was a teenager. So I was with food the way you were with exercise, Ms. Trackstar. I was convinced I could always yo-yo back to ideal, so I skipped the will power I’d need to avoid bloating. We don’t have that luxury this time. We have to eat what our bodies need, but our taste buds hate.”

I couldn’t make a real case against the diet she gave me. Her focus as a geneticist is on when genes activate because of environmental influences, and nutrition is a large part of that.

Rusalka is tall and naturally blonde, and her breasts were so big that they’d probably retain much of their appeal as she shed weight. True also of ass, legs, and other things men enjoy as outliers. I was convinced that her hips could crack a bank safe from a single side toss. These gifts from her Slavic background were accompanied by what she herself called a face like a dumpling, with eyes too small to assert their bright blue, even with heavy makeup. She once said that she was tempted, when flirting, to move her body seductively and tell the object of her attention, ‘I’m down there, Pal.’

***

Each passing day made us more conscious of our bodies’ workings. Generally, a good thing, but another potential source of distraction. Cora addressed this bluntly in the locker room: “Are we supposed to swear off sex?”

“I didn’t sign up for that,” said Rusalka.

“I’ve rubbed out four nights in a row,” I told them. “But I can’t see going through the hassle of dating.”

“Hey, exercise is exercise,” said Sue with a lopsided smile.

I was glad to see that her mood was holding up well, but Cora grumbled at Sue, “Easier for you.”

The sweat-laden air in the locker room seemed to freeze.

Cora and I knew that Sue and Ru spent some Sapphic moments together, but they didn’t mention them to us. I inferred that they’d prefer men, but took what was available. Out of respect for them, those of us across the hall maintained silence on the subject. Until now.

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Curious. If I were forced to use one word to describe my own character it would probably be Curious. Other words that would probably describe me better could be nosy, blunt or excessively shy and dull but I guess that bottom line, I try to be positive about myself and life in general. So Curious it is.

I cannot remember one single day of my life that has not been spent, at least not to the greatest extent, by me investigating the surroundings, indulging in the spectacles of lights and colors around me, learning about the life of people and their habits.

This hobby of mine is made so much easier by the fact that many people, the absolute majority, have a tendency not to notice me at all and when this category of people do, they tend to actively ignore me. Consequently, I can (although I despise the expression) sneak up on people pretty easily and follow their everyday life and doings without anyone disturbing me. I have spent most of my life in the shopping mall just watching people, smiling inside knowing that they would probably not take notice of me even if they would look straight at me. The excitement of finding a new peculiar behavior or an interesting character I have never seen before is only superseded by the rush I experience when I find new patterns – an elderly gentleman that always halts for a second to tighten his tie and wet his lips before he enters any store in the mall, a young woman that everyday manages to sneak out of the record store celebrating a new innovative way of stealing a compact disc only to return ten minutes later and pay for the goods anyway.

Most observations are mundane, such as the fact that men pick the nose by digging with the index finger or the thumb whereas women use their ring finger or little finger and remove any itching with an outward movement as if the ambition was to fling away any foul objects as far away as possible, but I cannot resist from adding even these observations to my catalogue of human behavior.

Other reflections, nevertheless, are quite exquisite. One of my all time favorites, of erotic nature of course as erotic and sexual behavior has a tendency to always end up on my top ten lists, is Mrs. Fruit. She was Miss Fruit when I first spotted her but I am positive that she married a couple of months ago. Her daily show is still on, nonetheless.

*

My first sensation was that of being monitored but I was pretty sure even then that nobody was watching me but I was equally sure that somewhere in the mall, somebody was watching or guarding someone or something. The feeling prompted flashes of the image of sharks circling a helpless prey in deep water. Wide circles at first, narrowing, sudden fake attacks and then…

There it was, at the fruits and vegetables desk in the supermarket was a slender girl letting her hand stroke a bunch of zucchinis, then quickly removing her hand and turn away into the store. Only to return a minute later. This time, and I saw her eyes focus on the fruit from far away, her steps took her to the bananas. A quick check of a bunch of bananas and then away again.

I followed her closely, watching her repeat the routine a number of times until she had gone over all stretched fruits and vegetables in the store only to hide one specific cucumber a bit behind the others and then leave the store. Watching her stroll between different shopping-windows in the mall, I started to wonder what she was up to when she suddenly turned around, swift like a shark changing direction, and strode towards the supermarket. Radiating a sense of razor sharp precision she picked up the targeted cucumber and put it in her basket. On her way to the counter, she randomly picked up a couple of small items. After having paid, she moved hurriedly towards the parking lot and disappeared.

The woman’s routine developed almost instantly to one of the regular sceneries of the mall. Almost like clock-work she arrives mid-afternoon, neatly dressed in dark blue or grayish suits. Most often, she will finally pick a cucumber but already after three weeks, she had picked up carrots and bananas, zucchinis and egg plants as well as corn on the cob and a few other stretched fruits and vegetables.

I was quite certain from the start that the reason for her daily purchases was not an urge for vitamins and fibers. Her sensual investigation of the phallus-like vegetables displayed far too erotic undertones. But I was a bit afraid that this conclusion was designed by my disturbed mind rather than founded on facts and reason. This hesitation disappeared, nevertheless, a week after she supposedly had married.

Without warning, the woman had interrupted van escort her daily routine for several days but this particular day she had returned and had bought a yellow zucchini but instead of heading directly to the parking lot, she sat down at the Italian café in the middle of the mall.

It took a while before I realized, but when she moved a cup of cappuccino to her lips, the diamonds from her brand new ring sparkled almost unnaturally bright and I understood that her civil status had most likely changed. I guessed that this was related to her waiting at the coffee shop.

After some twenty minutes of idleness, I returned my focus to the woman since she had started to look at the watch and make movements as if she was uncomfortable. There was something about her appearance that led me to suspect that she had strained her back but I realized that the peculiar angel of her back was due to the fact that her hand was deep down in the paper bag from the supermarket while she looked casually around her, apparently trying to let her activities go unnoticed. Needless to say, she did not notice me watching her but I believe that she was successful in her attempt otherwise.

Finally she lifted the zucchini out of the bag and she let it slide along her leg all the way from her ankle to her thigh, over her knee-long skirt. Her eyes were half closed and lips slightly apart but otherwise there were little, if any, evidence showing that she was carefully caressing her legs with the vegetable. She did not wait long until she parted her legs and let the zucchini slide in under her skirt between her legs. I could see that she bit her lower lip as she raised her hips slightly only to sit down again, although this time with the new-won friend under her, secured by her clenched thighs.

Obviously a bit nervous, she let her eyes wander over people on neighboring tables, but when she felt comfortable that nobody had realized what she had been up to, she returned to her cup of cappuccino for a sip. She picked up a newspaper and made a good impression that she was actually reading it but I could see that she rhythmically tightened the muscles in her legs and wiggled her behind, as to squeeze the vegetable under her. I could also notice that her body trembled occasionally and every once in a while she would twitch her head and bite her lip.

The pleasure she was obviously experiencing did, nevertheless, not diminish her attention. Even before I noticed the disturbance to the rhythm in the mall from his half running steps, the woman had dropped the zucchini in the bag, risen from the chair and opened her arms to greet her husband from far away. This was the only glimpse I have ever gotten from him, but I have continued to spot the woman’s green lovers almost daily.

*

Some people, and I have never been able to tell who or why or what will make up the difference, are quite the opposite from those that do not see me. I live my life without prejudice and I do not think that I give certain people more attention than others. I am not much of a flatterer but am pretty open with what I think at all times (this has, of course, led to disagreements more than once). Consequently, I sincerely believe that it is not my doing that lead certain people to ignore me and others to adore me.

Some people, more women than men to be honest but like I said, I have no prejudice, seem to like me straight and simple. When we meet, the mutual attraction is instantaneous.

Conversations turn into emotions, mutual reflections turn into subtle touches, the arousing feeling of the breath that bears the sweet words from a close face turns into a kiss. Sometimes I can feel that kiss for days; feel like I bear a mark of erotic sensation open for anyone to see.

But I have learnt not to let myself get carried away. Too many times have my lover from the day before forgotten about me the day after and through her neglecting me, actively pushed me back to the voyeur’s seat. Watching my lover, watching new people, usurping characters and characteristics.

*

Suddenly, she stood in front of me. She was smiling, dancing, flirting. I knew in that instant that my life had changed. My initial state of wilderness quickly passed and I was lost to her charm, enchanted by her vigor. She caressed me and took me home. She did not demand or ask me, she just took me home. And I followed.

I was excited, even thrilled over the sharp turns faith had suddenly taken. I had always been the spectator. My satisfaction had always come from wallowing in my impressions of the outside world. Characterizing, cataloguing, analyzing; yalova escort often knowing what people would do before they did it, even before they knew what they was about to do. My reflections on human nature had reached a status of perfection – I had had it all figured out.

No more. Finding myself in the midst of events I did not even try to guess where Fortune was about to take me. I could not sort out any data from my observations, could not identify any patterns to analyze. Frameworks were non-existent. Every second was a new experience. Every minute, I was reborn. Emotions overwhelmed me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh.

Amazing. The feeling of her presence was fortified by the smells in her home and the sudden sensation that everything around me was part of her amazed me as we entered through the door. I felt that I was home.

She showed me her bedroom. Music filled my ears and engulfed with lust we danced. Her muscles and limbs seemed to absorb the rhythms and put her body in motion in perfect harmony with the music.

My excitement grew and I felt bolts of lightning running through me as she started to undress, still dancing, preening before me, stroking her body with her hands as she removed her light garments. I was aroused like never before when she danced before me, totally naked, divulging her beautiful body. Smilingly, she teased me by touching herself; her hair, her neck, her torso. Her one hand caressed her breast while the other moved, slowly, along her side, caressing her behind, forward to her thigh.

She looked straight at me and winked as her hand cupped her sex and made massaging it a part of her dance. Suddenly she seemed to lose track of the music as the swaying movements of her body slowed down and was replaced by stiff spasms. A faint moan slipped from her lips and her head flung backwards, eyes closed, as she buried the tip of her hand inside her.

She sat down on the side of the bed, again looking straight at me, apparently exhausted from her self-exploring dance as pearls of sweat were visible on her chest, although still smiling. Then she lay back on the bed expressing a sigh. I tried to reach out to her but even before I could move she shot out of the bed and out of the room without one word of explanation.

I heard her rummaging around in the other rooms but did not dare to follow her. I did not understand. And I did not understand why I did not understand. Why was it that I could not relate to any past experience in my trying to approach her? Why was this scenery, in which I was an integrated player, so different from others that I had only observed as a spectator? Why had I learnt so little when I had studied so much?

After ages of time she came back to the bedroom. My doubts faded as I watched her. She had brushed off any clues from her savage dancing before. She wore an astonishing silk dress that led the thoughts to water and wind as her every move sent waves through the fabric, yet it divulged the perfect curvature of her body. She looked straight at me, carefully smoothed her hair, smiled hastily and then she was gone. All went dark.

*

So, I am curious. Curios about her. Curious about my situation, what I should do, if I should go or if I should stay. But I have no outlet for my curiosity. Curiosity is pounding in my head, in my chest, desperate to find its way out. Frustration builds as it cannot escape. All is dark. I try to move but cannot. I try to scream but cannot. I do not know why I am paralyzed. Was I always like this? When did it happen and why? Nothing else in the room moves – is that the reason why I cannot move? Nothing else in the room makes any noise – is that why I cannot make a sound? I was so sure that my life had changed. I did not realize that this was all there was around the corner. Darkness. Silence. Despair.

*

I am back at the mall. People are running to and fro as they come by after work to do their grocery shopping; because they want to come home with flowers, for love or for conscience; because they are afraid to go home; because they have no home. Mrs. Fruit has just left for the parking lot with a bag of vegetables, half running. She almost ran over the elderly gentleman as he tightened his tie before he was to enter the supermarket but hurried away anxious that he might find out her secrets. But he does not care about secrets. He just wets his lips and enters the store.

I am safe. Nobody takes any notice of me. I savor the impressions from the living people around me, the sounds, the movements…

*

The front door opens. The realization that I am still in çorlu escort her bedroom startles me. Hope? Maybe. Anxiety? Definitely.

Laughter. Voices. She is not alone. A man is with her. They stumble into the bedroom. I freeze, pressing myself against the wall.

Darkness does not allow me to see more of her and her company than silhouettes. I hold my breath, hoping that they will not spot me, when I reflect over the stupidity in my reaction. Why should I hide? I should forward and claim my right to her. But what would my grounds be for such a claim? I was more than willing when I let her take me with her. I reveled in her attention but demanded no commitments; neither took nor gave any promises.

So I hide. So I observe.

So I watch a man and a woman, just barely visible from the faint light from a neighboring room, bodies entwined in a licentious performance. Her movements echoes the dancing from earlier, only reinforced, only more expressed, only more erotic from the interaction with him, performing an equally captivating dance. The man and woman complement each other perfectly and my uneasiness and shame disappears for the benefit of excitement and admiration.

Never have I experienced such ardor. The heat from their animated passion touches me and sends waves of pleasure through me. No, I should not hide. My place is not hiding against the wall. I should enter the lustful competition and embrace the situation with the enthusiasm that is building up inside me. Touch her. Kiss him. Let them feel me. Let them see me. I am no longer the observer – I am a participant.

Did I make a noise? Their eager movements slow down. His eyes focus on me. Has he seen me? He whispers something in her ear and she smiles and looks at me.

Lights on. Beckoning. He rises before me, smiling; showing me his naked body, proud of his athletic constitution, proud of his erection.

She comes up behind him, presses her torso against his back, and caresses his body with her hands. Kisses his shoulders, then looks up at me smiling and invites me to join their fondling. He pulls her in front of him, brings her closer to me, to share her with me. She does not leave me with her eyes as she puts one arm on each side of me. Her face is right next to me. Her breathing is heavy. He puts his arms around her, he kisses her neck and places his head over her shoulder, placing his face as close to me as her. His breathing matches her and I can feel the warmth from both of them.

I shiver inside from the feeling of his hands as he let his palms slip between me and her. Her eyes rolls and she utters a silky moan of pleasure as he enters her from behind. Through her body, I feel the impulse from his thrusts.

Faster.

Her soft skin rubs against me as I support her with my back against the wall and I feel drops of her sweat forming small currents on me.

Pounding.

He bares his teeth as he approaches his climax. Harder. My exhilaration knows no borders. I am stimulated. I am stiff. I feel like I could explode. I feel like I could break into pieces. Or melt from the heat.

Screaming.

Spasms run through her body. Eyes closed, she screams out her pleasure and drops her face on me. I feel her vibrant orgasm and reach my own climax. Caught a bit off guard, a final plunge from him makes me lose balance and as he pulls her slightly away from me, I drop to the floor.

Falling.

Back scrapes against the wall. Far below I can see how the floor gathers strength in anticipation of the blow from my fall.

Closer.

I hear the laughter from my companions; the warmth from their heavy breathing is fading away. They look away, letting my fall go unnoticed. Moments before I am about to hit the floor, I see how their lips meet in a passionate kiss. Want to scream – but I cannot. Want to cry – but I have no tears.

Impact.

I hear the sound of it, before I feel it; the crack, the fracture, an explosion that involves my entire presence. Bright colors. Rays of light. Spinning, flinging. She surrounds me. He is laughing. So many pictures. A shattered image of our temple. A kaleidoscope vision of the world.

*

Dawn breaks. A thousand suns shine through a thousand windows. One by one they disappear as parts of me are shuffled to darkness. Sharp edges of broken glass distort the impression of her. No, the impressions of her. Thousands of her, moving in tandem, performing a joyful dance and giving me shelter, piece by piece.

*

Again I am one. One little piece of me that her caring hands have missed. Again I am hidden in a corner, curiously observing the world around me. Investigating human nature. Finding pleasure in her doings; how she moves, the rhythm of her breathing at night, her erotic adventures, her clothing, the attention she gives to the little details. Feeling joy from the melody of her humming as she attaches a new mirror on the wall.

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Editor’s note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Daddy’s taking me out tonight!

He told me to wear his favorite slut dress – little black piece, buttons running down the full length with a little ruffle around the neck. It hit a few inches above the knees and tonight he requested fishnets as well – no undies!

On the drive Daddy pulled my clover clamps out of his pocket and dropped them in my lap, to which I unbuttoned the first few buttons of my dress and let his tits fall free from my bra. He instructed me to put them on. I immediately complied. The pinch was intense. I tingled.

The nipple clamps were now securely on and haphazardly tucked back into my dress along with Daddy’s tits, just enough to be street legal. Taking my hand, he lead me across the parking lot and into the building.

We’d been here before. It was a sex toy shop with an adult theater in the back. He led me inside. My head was down, a sign of my submissiveness, but my eyes were fixed to the floor, taking in pairs of shoes and miscellaneous sex toys and accessories displayed on bottom shelves. Still holding my hand, Daddy led me through the displays to the back and the darkness beyond.

As soon as we rounded the corner, Daddy stopped to pull his tits free once more, giving the chains connected the clamps a good tug before hooking it with a finger and using it to pull me towards the entrance door.

There was a slight pause and a buzzing sound as the lock opened. My heart was pounding. I was biting my lip and my gaze was transfixed on Daddy’s back. We paused briefly in the first room of the adult theater before continuing to the last room. My nipples were achey and hard and I could hear the murmurs and footsteps of those that followed us as my face burned red hot.

Daddy led me down into the theater, between the rows of seats and stopped, directly in front. He turned me to face the seats. He leaned down to whisper into my ear.

“Do not disappoint me,” he commanded, and placed his hand on my shoulder and pressing down.

I immediately trabzon escort dropped to my knees on the hard, concrete floor with my back against the wall, tits out, eyes downcast. I saw Daddy’s shoes move away from me, heard as he took a seat in the front row.

The movie played on the screen behind me. I was bathed in its light. The soundtrack of this experience was grunts and wet noises and sexy dialogue from the actors.

I opened my mouth and shivered as I waited, hungry and eager to please Daddy…

I did not have long to wait.

A pair of scuffed brown shoes appeared before me. Khaki pants led up. There was a zip and shuffling, then a cock appeared. The man shuffled closer, and I raised my face to take the cock in my mouth.

Not a word was said as it came forward. Not a word was said as it went right into my mouth and filled my throat. Not a word was said as I tasted the day’s residue on my tongue. Not a word was said as the man grabbed my head and began fucking my mouth like a ten buck whore.

Spit dripped from my mouth each time he withdrew and from the corners of my eyes, I could see other pairs of legs approaching. The cock hammered into my mouth at a frenetic pace and I closed my eyes to ward off what was coming.

The shot was hot but thin, like the man had been jacking himself off to the movie earlier. I had no choice but to gulp it down. Eventually, he pulled himself away, spent for the moment, and a string of saliva and semen reached from my mouth to his softening cock.

“Look at this little cocksucker,” I heard a voice declare as I worked to catch my breath. “I bet she could use some more.”

Legs encased in jeans and ending in Adidas sneakers moved forward to me, another cock leading the way. The first one seemed like 5 inches. This one was that long with another half. And it was hard, kept hard by the hand that jacked it in front of me.

“Take this snake, slut,” the man challenged, and I automatically opened my whore mouth to comply. The cock thrust in, not gently, but then again, I didn’t deserve tunceli escort gentleness. I gulped air when I could as the cock moved in and out of my facial fuck hole.

Was my Daddy proud of my work? Was my Daddy happy I was taking strangers’ cocks into my mouth? I hoped so, even as I felt myself slipping further into the morass of being a whore. The cock was pushed further and further into my face, down into my throat, until I found pubic hairs tickling my nose.

“That’s it, bitch. Take this cock all the way,” the man said, and the thrusting sped up.

I forced my mouth to stay open even as my eyes closed. There was no need for pretense or delicacy here. I was nothing more than a receptacle for cum, and I earned my place on the floor of this seedy adult theater as the cock in my mouth surged and spat its molten cum into me.

The cock’s owner didn’t care if I was swallowing his cum or not. Even as it jetted cum, the cock withdraw and I felt hot strings of semen crossing my face. I gasped at the realization, and felt a new cock stab into my mouth.

The parade of cocks seemed endless and from time to time, one of their owners would reach down and pull on the chain connected to my clover clamps. If the myriad of cocks and cum weren’t causing me to drip my juices on the hard concrete floor, the shocking pulls on my clamped nipples did.

Cocks seemingly multiplied. How many were thrust into my mouth? Others wavered at my sides and I was compelled to reach out and grab them, tugging and pulling. How many shot their contents into my throat or sprayed its pearly essence across my face and over my tits? How many hands courageously reach down under my dress, now stained with male seed, to fondle my bare and exposed pussy?

How many times did I focus on the pain in my knees as I knelt in subservience on that concrete floor, fighting back the opportunity to cum, knowing that if I did, Daddy would be displeased?

Even as I glided into the sweet oblivion of whoredom, I wondered if letting myself cum would be a bad thing. Daddy would surely uşak escort punish me, I thought, but I am a whore and a slut deserving of his punishments. The idea of him spanking my ass and slapping my face and bruising me for being a slut dumb enough to enjoy the degradation he was forcing upon me made me shiver with excitement and delight, even as I felt another cock — the fifth? The 10th? — spear my whore mouth.

Finally, after what felt like a cum-soaked eternity, I heard his voice.

“OK guys, I think this slut has had enough,” he said.

Some men grumbled in frustration at his statement, upset they couldn’t bust a second or third cum into me. Others I heard high-five him, thanking him for a great night.

The surprise came when I felt a delicate tongue trace along my cum-covered cheek and mouth. I caught a whiff of perfume — jasmine? — and soft voice giggled in my ear.

“Some sluts get all the luck,” she said, “or should I say, all the cum?” And she licked me again.

I peeled my eyes open, blinking away the cum that coated my lids and lashes. I caught a glimpse of a feminine ass rocking in a tight red dress and toned legs ending in stiletto heels.

A hand appeared in front of me and I looked up to see my Daddy beaming at me.

“You are such a good whore,” he said, almost sweetly, and helped me to my feet. He grasped the chain still attached to the clamps on my numbed nipples, and tugged. I came to him and he deftly released the pressure. I gasped in shock as blood surged into my breasts and my nipples throbbed in release.

He pocketed the chain and clamps, took my hand, and guided me, so unsteady, up the aisle and out the theater door. I could sense his pride as he paraded his cum-stained slut through the store, and hear the whispers of the few patrons who watched the spectacle.

Out the door we went, with no care given about his tits as they swung freely outside my dress. He helped me get into the car, then went around and got in the driver’s side.

“You have one more job, you disgusting slut,” he said, and I heard his zipper release. I watched as he pulled out his cock and started up the car.

“The drive home will take us 15 minutes,” he said. “I expect to cum in your whore mouth twice before we get there.”

As we pulled out of the parking lot, my mouth was working furiously to comply with his commands.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes – aaah
     – Antonio Carlos Jobim

*

Nelle loves her sunrise walks; and this Monday morning she has risen early so that her husband, Brether, and their company, close friends Anne and Drew Foster, will not be disturbed nor even miss her. The 2-mile stretch of Plum Island between parking lot

---

and the now defunct Camp Sea Haven is usually deserted and has become a favorite path for her early morning nude workouts.

The waters off the island are treacherous with the shifting sands. Sometimes after a storm the sand may be washed away to reveal the secret hiding place of an old shipwreck. And, remarkably, today the ribs of an old hull rise down the beach ahead of her, ghostly and ominous. When she gets back toSea Turn,Nelle plans to figure out which one it might be by using a map of shipwrecks that is included in a book about Plum Island she had bought in Newburyport.

The Refuge is open to the public from sunrise to sunset; and today, a short distance beyond the old wreck, two eager surfcasters have already set up camp in this remote area which is available only those who can walk there or off-road the dunes with their 4-wheel drives.

Nelle has become possessive of that 2-mile track of refuge beach. Because it is adjacent to the property they rent, she rationalizes that any beach-goers she might meet are not intruders, but her guests, and they had best be apprised of the dress code. Of course, being nude for friends is one of her sexual turn-ons, but having two strange men see her up close and personal would be an extra sweet rush.

So rather than detour up through the dunes or shorten her walk, Nelle determines to traipse by in only her reef shoes—proud of her well-toned 152-pound bod, flowing tits and Brazillian waxed snatch. As Brether contends, she is “built for comfort” and extremely sexy for a mature woman of 42.

Both men are wearing sunglasses to shield their eyes from the glare of the rising summer sun low on the eastern horizon. They don’t seem to be watching her, but she is sure that they are. What guy wouldn’t watch a naked woman stroll past them?

She has a choice to say something or walk by silently. Deciding to put on her aloof “Girl from Ipanema” act, she strides on by without a word, yet with an added bounce that makes her big tits jiggle and gives a samba-like rhythm to the swing of her round ass and hips. Nonetheless, she gets no comment from the guys, who seem to attend only to their fishing.

Disappointed, Nelle continues on, making her mersin escort usual distance, then turns around to go back the way she came. The ocean being calm, she decides to walk the water’s edge and try a different tack with the stoic fishermen. Avoiding their long lines laid out in the surf, she walks up the sand behind them.

Although Nelle is glad that the men have not been rude, she is slightly put out that she hasn’t even drawn a glance, never mind a cat-call or a wolf- whistle. Stopping behind the pair, she begins, “How’s the fishin’ boys?”

“Nothin’ yet,” the man on the right offers.

“Do you’ll think it’ll rain?” Nelle asks trying to prod some further conversation.

“Red sky at morning, sailor, take warning,” offers the guy on the left in strong New England accent.

“True enough,” laughs Nelle. “What’s running?”

“Bluefish,” the New Englander says as he rapidly reels in his lure, hoping for a strike.

“Is this the first time you’ve fished here on the island?” Nelle goes on.

“No. Usually, Bob and I fish off the south jetty, but we thought we’d come out here today away from the beach crowd. By the way, my name is Al; and this here on my left is Bob. Say, would you like to join us for some coffee and a doughnut?”

“Hi, Bob, Al. I’d love a coffee and doughnut. My name’s Nelle. I’m not disturbing your fishing, am I?”

And, before Bob can answer, Al goes on, “Nah – we can let them ride in the waves for a bit. Bob and I were going to take a break anyway, right, Bob? “

“I guess so.” Bob returns with a reluctant roll of his eyes.

Setting the poles in their sand-spikes, the three retreat up the beach to the guys’ jeep, where there are two beach chairs, a ‘Box of Joe’ and a dozen of Dunkin Donut’s finest.

“Go ahead, Nelle,” Al says as he starts to pour coffee, “take one of the chairs and help yourself to a doughnut. I’ll sit on the tailgate.”

Nelle chooses a lemon-filled jelly stick to go with her black coffee; and, as the threesome chat, she kicks off her reef shoes and casually positions herself with one leg over the arm of the aluminum beach chair. Nelle is careful to flex her strong shapely legs (that Brether is nuts about, especially in stockings with garters) and moves so that both guys have a good view of her bare wet pussy. Before long she observes that she is, finally, getting the notice she deserves as the sizable bulges in Al and Bob’s shorts expose their interest.

” Tell me, Nelle,” Bob smiles joining the conversation, “where did you walk from this morning?

“My cottage – it’s a rental on the other side muğla escort of island.”

“Do you meet a lot of guys out here fishing?”

“No, I don’t, Bob. I hardly ever meet anyone out here. Sunrise is too early for most vacationers, and this is a pretty remote stretch of beach. But I’ve bumped into a fisherman or two,” Nelle replies and then sucks some of the lemon filling that is about to drop from the end of her cruller.

Bob grins broadly at her suggestive nibbling, but he continues to ask questions without losing a beat. “When you do meet guys out here dressed as you are, or should I say undressed as you are – do you ever get more than coffee and a doughnut from them?”

“Sometimes,” Nelle answers coyly. “I was thinking by your lack of response initially that you might be gay. But,” she continues, reaching out to give Bob’s risen cock a playful squeeze through his shorts, “that’s obviously not true.”

“Sometimes we New Englanders are a bit restrained,” Al offers, adjusting his own bulge, which has become quite prominent.

“Uh huh,” Nelle responds, smirking at Al’s dry wit. Turning to look at Bob, she asks, “So, Bob, do you have something else that you would like to give me besides a doughnut and coffee?”

Unzipping his fly, Bob takes out his hard on. “How about this? Would you like some of this?”

“I do love jelly sticks, Bob, and you have a big handsome one that I would love to taste. Just sit right there.” And with that Nelle gets up out of her chair, drops to her knees in front of Bob, and gazes with thirsty admiration at the extraordinary size of his engorged glans. Nelle licks and sucks his pre-cum already on tap. Then she laves his cock’s thick barrel with her tongue before consuming its entire length.

That action brings Al off his perch on the tailgate and to the ready. He frees his hardened cock from the constraint of his tight shorts, which he kicks off with his remaining clothes, and starts to jerk off.

Seeing Al’s uncut beauty come to life, Nelle pauses a moment to address him: “And what about you, Al? Would you like me to have something else?”

In response Al approaches, his cock, the equal of Bob’s, fully extended and waving proudly. As he moves toward her, Nelle is struck by his beautiful curly black pubic hair and the incredible size of his dark scrotum. Because Al’s sack is bigger than Bob’s and, for that matter, really bigger than any set of balls that she has ever seen, Nelle is suddenly weaned and switches her attentions. Taking Bob from her mouth to stroke in one hand, she reaches out to fondle Al’s prodigious jewels with the nevşehir escort other.

“Hmmm – so large and loose and full of juice!” Nelle coos before taking Al down to the balls, nuzzling his dark bush. Al, transported by the sudden rush of sensation, groans loudly.

Nelle alternates hand-pumping and blowing the two handsome hard cocks. Rewarded by Al and Bob’s groans of pleasure and encouragement, she purrs her own satisfaction but, wanting more, asks, ” Would one of you boys like to fuck my very wet cunt?”

“Go ahead, Al,” Bob demurs. “I’m happy right where I am – provided I can come in your mouth. Okay, Nelle?”

“Mmmm, I want you to. And I want to swallow too. I want you both to come in me. Does that sound good, Al?”

“O yes, baby!” Al crows. “I’ll give you all I’ve got. I hope you can take it.” He then moves behind Nelle, who is still on her knees in front of Bob’s chair, and takes her doggy style from behind. Nelle is well lubricated, and Al’s dick fills her well, ramming her hard as his big balls repeatedly slap her swollen pussy.

Nelle groans, “Atta boy,” and then plunges down Bob’s shaft, deep- throating him. Beach boy Bob plays with her luscious tits that dangle and swing beneath her. He rolls her nipples between his fingers and then pulls them out long. Nelle gasps out her pleasure made manifold with Al’s strong fucking from the rear.

Bob, driven over the top by the sights, sounds and sensations of their orgy, cums in a rush. Cumming herself, Nelle is only able to swallow a gulp or two and takes the rest it in the face.

Upon seeing Bob’s creamy seed splash on Nelle’s face and feeling the tightening grab of Nelle’s O on his dick, Al loses his entire load deep inside her.

In the breathy quiet of release and satisfaction, each holds another in the growing warmth of the rising sun. At length, with the dawn of reality Nelle exclaims, ” God, fellas, that was fantastic! What a sunrise! Got a towel?”

Nelle puts her reef shoes on and runs down to the water. Dropping the towel on the sand at water’s edge, she then dives in to rinse off. By the time she returns, Al and Bob are all tucked in and nearly back to normal. Nelle hands the towel back, and the boys thank her for being such a great fuck with hugs, some tongue and few more squeezes of her tits.

“Will you guys be here tomorrow?” Nelle asks. I have a girl friend who might join us if you thought you might.”

“Sorry, Nelle,” Al replies. “Bob and I just had this odd day off this week and decided to come down to fish.”

“Well, maybe we’ll meet again when you have another odd day off. You guys did me really well. I got off big time.”

“We got our rocks off big time, too, Nelle. We sure lucked out ourselves today –no matter how the fishing goes!”

And with that, Nelle turns to walk back down the deserted beach toSea Turn; and the boys, donning their sunglasses, return to their fishing.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

There’s something wonderful about the first really summer-y week of the year. Its not on any calendar, but you know it when its happening. The whole world just seems… hornier. As a typical voyeuristic adolescent, I assumed this was just me and my fellow droolers, staring at the glorious adult flesh, for so long hidden away, bleaching under sensible winter coats. Obviously, the return of flesh to greedy male eyes is still a part of it, but these days I think there must be something more going on. Maybe it’s the heat. Sultry days, sultry moods, and all that. Maybe it’s the mating season. Maybe its because women enjoy the chance to dress more sexily. Maybe it’s the prospect of evenings outside, a bottle of wine, I don’t know. Anyway, as I say, I love it.

This past week in London has been just one of those weeks. I’ve been enjoying it. Enjoying, as always, the sight of women sloughing clothes like an unwanted skin. Enjoying the accentuated smells as sweat releases perfume. Enjoying the enjoyment of those around me. Its not often you get to talk about joie de vivre in London, but this week, it seems fair.

All that being said, on Thursday I was not in a great mood. A suit and tie turns a gorgeous spring day into a sticky nightmare very quickly. Staring out of office windows at lazy Frisbee games in the park makes it difficult to revel in other people’s enjoyment. Perhaps I’m just too stressed, frustrated and bitter in my job to ever relax on a working day. All I know is that on Thursday I was far too hot, and I could feel the beginnings of a killer headache coming on. I went down to the tube platform at Earls Court hoping only for a journey without delays, and enough room rize escort to open my book.

Against all the odds, I got what I wanted; a tiny space on an overheated train, but room enough to read my book, and no major distractions around me. I’ve grown to hate loud iPods on the tube almost as much as I hate mobile phones on the train. But I digress. Thankfully I was reading Brighton Rock; Graham Greene being just perfect for the commute, an easy prose style and a good old-fashioned story. I suppose we’d gone through South Kensington before I even noticed her. It was the smell first, of course. I think it always is, for me. I knew a girl a few years ago who smelt like that. I don’t know how to describe it; I’m better at wines than perfumes. Citrussy, I suppose. Slightly sweet. A very feminine smell, at any rate. I think Chanel make the perfume, but it doesn’t matter. It isn’t that I liked the smell (though I did), but the memories that it evoked that make it worth mentioning.

It was only as we jerked to a stop at Hyde Park Corner that I realised I’d been communing with the ghosts of girlfriends past, and had missed most of the last few pages. My thinking gradually became conscious, and I recognised the smell, as a picture of Jennifer in that white string bikini danced across my memory. Did I ever tell you about that bikini… oh well, maybe another time. You want to hear about this girl. I looked around me for the source of the smell. Moving was inevitable anyway, since the hordes were packing us deeper into the train. I parked Graham in my briefcase, a spied the woman I was looking for. It wasn’t that I could smell that it was her, not at that sakarya escort point. I just knew.

Anyway, we were pushed closer and closer together. I didn’t have to manufacture this, which is good, because I probably wouldn’t have had the guts… it seems like a pretty seedy thing to do. But I was pressed up against her by the crowd. I suppose she was about five foot, as she didn’t quite reach my chin. I had no chance of reading my book; the crowd having pressed my hands to my sides, and I studied the girl, the woman, I guess, standing in front of me. There wasn’t much to see, from my angle. She had dark brown hair, parted in the middle. She was wearing some kind of greenish top, one of those ones with the flouncy shoulders. And she smelt of walking on the beach with Jennifer. Of first tentative hand on bra contact, blushing almost as much as she did. Great days.

As we rumbled into Green Park, where fat banker types forced their way on and off the train, she turned slightly sideways, and my picture of her improved slightly. She was wearing a silver dolphin pendant, stark against the flush on her neck. She had a perfect trail of hair around the line of her ear. Transfixed, I watched as it began to dampen in the heat, clinging to and accenting the lines of her face. She brushed it off with long, delicate fingers. Painter’s hands. Artist’s hands. Lover’s hands. As she lowered her hand, I saw a glimmer of bra strap. Obviously pink, obviously expensive. And obviously gloriously, dangerously delicate. I suppose it was at this point that the girl began to turn me on in earnest.

I know this shouldn’t have been erotic, but hey – samsun escort it was. The heat, the scent, the subtle beauty of the girl, and the voyeuristic, taboo element to it all. Well, wow. As the train moved on, she was pressed into me, and for a moment, it was all I could do to stop myself from shouting in pleasure, as the rumbles and grumbles of the train caused her lower back to vibrate against my groin. Pure biology. My brain intervened and reminded my cock that it was… making itself known, and I shifted a thigh forward quickly, reducing the pleasure, but also reducing the risk of imminent arrest.

The girl pushed back against me. Moving my thigh back, straightening me up, and unmistakably pushing herself against me. She wriggled slightly, and eased into me. I could feel tight denim against my thigh. I could feel the slim, tight contours of a bum that knew its way around a gym. It sounds like a cliché, but I really felt my knees go weak, my heart race, and my face go warm. It was one of those defining moments. The single most erotic second of my life.

The moments that followed weren’t bad, either. I simply stood there whilst this girl slowly, subtly gyrated against me. I could feel her moving along almost every point of my body. It was only a couple of minutes to Piccadilly Circus. It felt like everything from a few seconds to an hour. As the lights flashed and slowed around us, I felt her reach back, and for a fleeting moment I thought she was going to touch me. Her hand brushed my pocket, and I thought she’d missed her target. But two clever fingers reached into my pocket, and then she was gone.

As she stepped out of the train, she turned, and smiled at me. She was, of course, radiant, a porcelain beauty. It was the first time I’d seen her face. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out her phone number. I smiled at her back as she was lost in a tide of commuters. My headache was gone. All I had to do was drum up the confidence to ring her.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Rachel texted me in the middle of the day. It had been quiet at work, so I noticed the message arrive.

“Are you busy?”

“Not so much, what’s up?”

“Can I come over?”

“Sure”

She arrived about twenty minutes later. She was dressed in her usual plain clothes, just jeans and a T-shirt.

“You see,” I said, “this is what I’m talking about. You dress plainly, so I feel I have to fix that.”

“Actually,” she said, “that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“OK, but first how about you get more comfortable.”

We walked through to the living room, and sat down.

“Oh, did I not make myself understood? I’d like you to undress.”

She liked being told what to do, so stepped out of her sneakers and socks, then unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down and off.

“It would be better if those were a lot tighter,” I said.

She pulled her T-shirt off over her head, leaving her in her white underwear. I kept looking at her, and she unhooked her bra.

“Can I keep my panties on for the moment? It’ll make sense soon, I promise.”

I nodded, intrigued. She sat down.

“So you know you complain about my dull panties?”

I nodded.

“I wear them because they’re cheap.”

“I’m happy to buy you some sexy ones, so you can look sexier while we’re playing our games.”

“That’s not what I mean. Well, really. See, I want cheap panties because I only wear them once.”

I obviously looked a little confused at this.

“See,” she carried on, “the thing is, I make money on the side by selling them.”

“What?”

“I sell my used panties. I have a little side business on a web site. It’s how I’m paying my way through school.”

“How long has this been going on for?”

“I dunno, maybe a year?”

“Um, OK. How much do you sell them for?”

“That’s the thing – I auction them. There are a big bunch of guys who bid against each other, and ones I’ve worn to work or whatever usually go for like $10 or so.”

“How do they know that?” I asked.

“I do a little journal entry, right, of each pair, often with a picture of me in then – just the panties, no face or anything, and then people know what they’re getting.”

“Show me.”

She pulled up the web site on her phone. It was pretty basic, and the pictures of her looked like something from a department store catalogue.

“Interesting. I always thought that was a fringe Japanese thing.”

“Oh no, there are a load of guys registered on my site. None in Japan yet, that I’m aware of.”

“I can make the site better if you want.”

“Like what?”

“Better pictures, video, subscription, that sort of thing.”

“Maybe.”

“OK, so…”

“Well, what I’ve found out is that guys really like the stories I’ve been telling about what I did in the panties, and I’m finding that panties I’ve been really turned on in, with a story, sell for a lot more. Like $100 to $150 more. And the stories they seem to like are the ones you’ve pushed me through.”

“OK, so…”

“I just wanted to check that you’re OK with this. I mean, I can cut you in if you want…”

“That’s not necessary.”

“The thing is, there are some requests coming in. I usually do better on those. In the past, they’ve been for panties I’ve exercised in, or that I’ve worn for a week or something.”

“But now?”

“Now they’re for panties I’ve worn while blowing somebody, or I put on after getting fucked. They’re getting really specific, but they’re offering me a bunch of money. I don’t think I’ll do all of them, or even focus on them, it’ll just be one a week or something, I guess. I just wanted you to know. And be OK with me wearing panties, like all the time. I know you’ve talked about me not wearing them and stuff.”

“If you bring me the request list, I’m sure we can get some of them knocked off in our games.”

“That’s the thing, I’ve noticed that every time I put up one of your stories, I get more requests to do something similar again. It’s like you’re giving them ideas or something.”

“Can we at least get you something urfa escort sexier?”

“I don’t know. Part of me thinks they like the innocent panties doing sexy stuff thing. We can see, I guess.”

“I’d like to try,” I said.

“How about I try on some sexy panties, and buy them, then see how they sell?”

“Well, we could do that today, but you’re hardly dressed for trying on clothes.”

“I like to wear jeans, as it pushes my panties against me, so they… I guess, smell? better than dresses. It’ll be fine, it’ll just take me longer to change is all.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “Come on then, get dressed, we’re going shopping.”

She picked up her bra.

“You don’t need that, unless you sell those, too?”

She dropped it on the sofa, and pulled the rest of her clothes on. She took my hand, and we headed out.

“We do this my way, OK?” I asked her. “No questions, just do as you’re told.”

She nodded, and we went in to the clothing department of the store. She looked nervous. I asked her what size she was, then we wandered around the lingerie section while picking up a variety of different styles and colors of panties and bras.

We went over to the changing rooms. There were six changing rooms, three on each side, and they faced a sitting area that was in the main store. At the other end of the tunnel, there was a large mirror.

“I’ll sit here,” I said, in the seating area, “and I’ll give you what I want to see you in next. I want to see you in only what I give you, OK?”

She nodded, looking nervous. I gave her a white cotton thong, and she headed in to the changing room. There was nobody else about, and I sat and looked through the underwear we’d chosen until she came out in just the thong. I took a picture of her, then had her turn around and took one from the back. It looked pretty sexy – a lot sexier than what she normally wore. I had her come over to me, where anybody could have seen her if they’d been looking. She put her arm over her tits, but I let that go. I pulled the straps up her hips, pushing the crotch up against her pussy. She stepped back into the tunnel and I took another picture, then she hurriedly went back into the changing room, then came back dressed and gave me the thong. I knew we were buying all of these, so I started a new pile, and gave her a lacy red thong to try next.

She headed off and shortly afterwards, popped out wearing just that. I took pictures and she went to get dressed again. I could tell she was really turned on, as her nipples were hard.

“Why don’t you just change here?” I asked. “It’ll save you some time, and there’s nobody about.”

She’d been posing in the little tunnel between the changing rooms, where only coming to me meant the possibility of being seen by more of the store.

I held out a yellow thong to her, and she looked around before coming and taking it, then stepped back between the changing rooms. She stripped off the red thong, and put on the yellow one, then posed for me to take my pictures.

She came back fully dressed and gave me the yellow thong, and I dropped it on the pile with the others.

“How are you doing?” I asked her.

“Incredibly turned on,” she answered, grinning.

A married couple came up, with the wife having a couple of blouses to try on. I gave Rachel a black panty and bra set, and she headed off to get changed, and the husband sat down next to me.

His wife came out in one of the blouses, and he nodded at her. She went back into the changing room. Rachel came out in the black underwear set, and I had her pose for a couple of pictures, blushing furiously. The husband really enjoyed seeing her, and seemed excited to see what happened next.

His wife came out in the next blouse as Rachel came out to give me back the underwear set. He nodded at his wife, and she went back into the changing room while I took the set from Rachel, and gave her a red set. She headed off to get changed.

His wife came out in another blouse, and he nodded again. Before she pulled the curtain back, Rachel sivas escort opened her curtain, and came out. We watched her, approvingly, and I took pictures, while the wife looked at her husband angrily, and Rachel disapprovingly. Rachel headed back to get changed, and we heard the wife give a loud tut. I know, young people today.

The wife came out, dressed in her own clothes, and stood in front of her husband. Rachel came out, dressed, and gave me the red set. I gave her a pair of red boy shorts. She took them and headed off, and the wife dragged the husband away before he got to see Rachel’s next pose.

She came out, and I took a couple of pictures. There was nobody about, so I held out a red lacy bra, and she came and took it.

She went to put it on, and I said “One item at a time”.

She went to step back between the changing rooms to take off the panties, and I said “uh uh, here.”

Quickly, without looking around, she took off the shorts and put on the bra. I took a couple of pictures, then said “why don’t you go and get dressed again?” I held my hand out.

She took off the bra and gave it to me, then headed for the changing rooms. I called to her, and took a couple of pictures of her there naked before she went back in and got dressed.

We took the underwear we’d already chosen, and headed off to find a dress.

After browsing around for a few minutes, I found a small black dress she could try on. I handed it to her, and she started off towards the changing room, but I grabbed her hand.

“There’s nobody about, you can try it on here.”

She looked around, quickly, then pulled her shirt off, giving it to me, and pulled the dress on. She then undid her jeans and pulled them down, taking them off and handing them to me. She twirled around.

“What do you think?”

“I like it. Because it’s a little bit looser, you can’t see your panty line. I think we’ll take it. Let me find a summer dress, OK?”

She stood there, looking at herself in the mirror at the end cap, when I came over with a summer dress. I handed it to her, but before she could do anything, a store clerk was coming our way. She was older than us, and a little tubby. She had an amused look on her face, rather than being angry.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but we have changing rooms over here – you shouldn’t undress on the floor here where anybody can see you. Let me show you.”

Rachel blushed, and I had to try really hard not to burst out laughing. I let the clerk lead us over to the changing rooms, and sat down when she went in to the changing rooms with Rachel.

They were gone an awful long time, and eventually Rachel came out with the summer dress on. She looked flushed, and posed for me, then scuttled back in to the changing room.

I sat there for a while, waiting, sitting there with Rachel’s clothes, until she came out in just her panties and took them from me before heading back. A minute or so later, she came back out, dressed, carrying the dresses on hangars. She looked really embarrassed.

We went and paid for the underwear and dresses, then went and to a coffee shop to get a drink and let her calm down a little.

“That was unreal,” she said, babbling excitedly. “When she took me in to the changing room, she told me somebody had complained about me trying on underwear, and she’d watched me change into the dress, and she thought I looked really sexy, standing there topless for a few seconds. So she started to come over, and then you gave me the other dress, and she thought she’d like to see me strip off again, but just for her. So she stood there and I took the dress off, and stood there in just my panties waiting for her to give me the summer dress. She reached out and felt my tits, and I leant in and kissed her. So we made out for a little bit, and I remembered that I was supposed to be trying on the dress. I took it from her, and put it on, then came out and posed for you.”

“Ah,” I said, “that’s why you were gone so long.”

“Yeah,” she said, “so I went back, and she took the dress tekirdağ escort from me and hung it up with the other one behind her. She pulled me to her, and kissed me again. She stood in front of the dresses, so I came out and got my clothes from you in just my panties, then got dressed – the rest you know.”

“How are you doing?”

“God, I am so turned on. My panties are soaking.”

“You going to auction them?”

“Oh yes,” she said, “I want to go home and swap panties before work.”

“I have a better idea. We have panties here,” I said, motioning at the bag, “take a pair to the restroom and get changed, then we’ll go back to the store.”

I gave her the white thong, and she stood up.

“Men’s restroom,” I said. “And not in a stall.”

She grinned and headed off. A minute later I got a picture from her on my phone, of her in just the thong. It was a selfie, taken in the mirror over the sink in the restroom.

When she came back, we headed back to the store.

“OK, you’re going to find that assistant, and ask her to help you try on a bikini. That way she can really have you strip for her.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“Walking around. I’ll leave you to it, I know where you’ll be.”

She headed off and found the assistant, and I watched as they went and picked out a bikini. Then they went not to the changing rooms, but to an “Employees Only” area at the back of the store. Interesting.

I was pottering around the store looking at storage bins when I got a picture of Rachel in a white string bikini. She looked like she was in a little employee rest area, and I could see her clothes lying on a chair behind her. It wasn’t a selfie, it was taken by somebody else.

Then I received a picture of her with the string on the top undone, holding the little fabric triangles over her tits.

Then I received a picture of her topless, but holding one of the strings for the bottoms out to the side, undoing the bow.

Then I received a picture of her with one side of the bikini undone, undoing the bow on the other side.

Then I received a picture of her with both sides of the bottoms undone, and the front flap of fabric down, showing her pussy.

Then I received a picture of her fully naked.

I waited to get another picture. It took a few minutes, then there was a picture of her kneeling down naked, with her head under the front of a skirt.

I figured she was too busy to send anything else, so I carried on looking at some of the other displays while I waited for her to come back. I was looking at TVs when she came bounding up to me.

“Let’s go back to your place,” she said, and grabbed my hand and dragged me out of there.

She didn’t want to talk about it until we got home, where she stripped off, put her now wet thong with her other soiled panties, and put on a different thong.

“So I went and found the assistant, Anne, and said I’d like her help with a bikini. She just looked at me and smiled, and said she knew just the one for me. She went and grabbed it, and said of course I’d want to try it on, and took me to the employee’s coffee area, not the changing rooms. I asked if she could lock the door, and she said no, it doesn’t have a lock. So, I quickly undressed, and she took her damn time giving me the suit. I pulled the bottoms on first, then the top, and she had me pose for the pictures – I sent you a few of them, but there are more on my phone. Well, she had me strip off, then we started making out. I’m standing there in their staff room, naked, with her all over me, and she pulled her skirt up and her panties down, and I went down on her. She has a hairy pussy, but pretty nice legs. She must have been really turned on, as it didn’t take her long to cum. She used my thong to wipe herself, then my face, then told me to put them back on. I got dressed, and she gave me the bikini. She said to come back any time, as she really enjoyed herself. And now I want you to go down on me and make me cum before I have to go and get ready for work.”

She came over to me, wearing just the yellow thong, and I reached around to hold her butt, and licked her clit through her thong until she came.

She took the thong off, and put another one on, then finished getting dressed.

“Right,” she said, “I’ve got to go.”

She grabbed the bag of clothes, and I saw her out.

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I feel nervous excitement as I board. I’ve taken this train a thousand times, but today is special. Today the train journey, at its end, becomes a trip into my wildest fantasies.

I can back out any time that I want to. I want to. I want this to be a journey like any other, to sit half asleep, scrolling through Instagram on my phone, headphones on, pretending I don’t notice guys checking me out, annoyed when they do, annoyed when they don’t. I want to get off the train as another face on the platform, disappear into the station, make for home.

I want to do that.

I don’t want to do that.

I don’t want to chicken out and regret another missed opportunity.

I want my fantasy to become reality.

It’s busy in the train carriage. I wonder how long it will be busy for? Too busy, and I won’t be able to go through with it. But there are many stops before mine, as the train takes us further and further out of the city, so I’m not worried.

I’m worried.

I’m worried that after I told my friend Andrea that today was the day, I’ve picked a bad time. I worry that the crowd won’t thin, that I’ll be too observed. I spend the journey in a state of heightened anxiety, counting the passengers as they get off, mulling over whether to switch seats or carriages, whether that will draw more attention to me.

Gradually, a few at each stop, they start to leave the carriages.

I will myself to relax.

It’s bright. The sun was hot today, and it flares through the scratched Perspex windows of the carriage. It makes reaching into my bag for sunglasses, unfolding them, putting them on, a natural gesture. I feel safer behind them, more anonymous.

We’re getting close to my stop now. Maybe ten minutes. There are two more stops to go. I’m almost on my own in my little space. One empty seat next to me, two opposite. Across the aisle from me, another woman, in the same position.

We stop again. She gets up. She goes to the doors. She gets out of the carriage.

There are other people in the carriage. I crane my neck, I count a dozen, maybe fifteen. But I’m unobserved now in my little space. I’m not in anyone’s natural line of sight. They’d have to be trying hard to see me to see me.

My chest feels tight. It’s time now. Time to start.

I don’t want to.

I want to.

I wriggle in my seat. My cotton dress is loose, I reach up under the skirt with both my hands. I find my panties, find the tight elastic hem against my thighs. I slide my thumbs beneath it, working my hands to the sides. I make fists, the fabric of my panties bunched in my small hands. I lift my butt off the seat, I pull, the panties come down. They’re round my legs, then my knees, then leaning forward I pull them to my ankles, work my feet through the leg holes and then sit back.

I remember to breathe then.

I look around. Nobody has noticed.

I smooth the skirt of my dress back down. My face must be red already. My heart is pounding.

My panties are balled up in my fist. I discard them, stuffing them between myself and the wall of the carriage.

I’m not wearing any panties. I part my legs cautiously, the brush of the fabric of my dress directly against my skin a confirmation to my body that, yes, this is happening.

But I could still stop if I wanted to.

I don’t kütahya escort want to.

Now comes the tricky part.

I look around again to make sure I’m not observed. I’m not. I lean forward. I reach up behind my back, arm bending. I find the clasp of my bra, easily accessible beneath my light cotton dress. I unhook it, feeling the tension vanish in the straps as everything loosens.

Then comes the ballet, the dance called ‘woman removing her bra beneath her top’. A piece of performance all women get the knack of, either from modesty or laziness. Arms slide through fabric, through straps and out again.

I’m midway through this routine when the train pulls into a station.

I freeze, my bra half-pulled out of my dress.

Two passengers get up from their seats.

One ignores me. The other, a man, glances in my direction.

How must I look? A young brunette in a cotton dress and sunglasses, blatantly removing her bra from underneath her dress while sitting in a train carriage.

His brain figures out what his eyes are seeing. He does a perfect double-take. He stares.

I can do nothing.

I smile, a guilty, caught smile.

He stares.

Then the doors open, and still staring at me, he gets off the train.

I’m still frozen.

The doors close. The train rumbles into life. The train begins to pull away from the station.

I unfreeze.

My bra makes the rest of its way out of my dress. I stuff it down where my panties are. Reflexively I adjust myself beneath my dress. My breasts are just a little too big to go bra-less, especially in a dress like this. They look strange in their liberated state.

My nipples are hard in spite of the heat of the carriage, pushing against the cotton of the dress.

I pause, trying to calm my racing pulse, my ragged nerves. I take a cautious look out and down the carriage. I can’t see to head count now, but there seem to be still a dozen folks riding the train with me. Mine isn’t the last stop.

But it is the next stop.

I’ve maybe four minutes.

My stomach turns butterflies, my chest tightens.

I can still stop if I want to.

I don’t want to.

I take the hem of my dress in my hands. I chose to do the dress last, hence the rigmarole with my underwear. But the dress is all I have left.

I extend my arms, lifting, feeling the dress lift from my body. I am blindfolded by the cotton as I pull it over my head, vulnerable, unknowing. I don’t want to prolong that state but the only thing I can do now is keep going, take the dress off.

Then my dress is off. It’s in my hands, and then it’s lying on the seat next to me.

I’m naked.

I’m completely naked.

I’m a 26-year-old woman and I’m sitting completely naked in a train carriage.

I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling. I try not to look at myself but I can’t help it. I look down, at my bare breasts, my terracotta nipples, the fold of my belly, the neat patch of dark brown hair between my legs.

I’m naked.

I feel naked. I feel the rough fibres of the train seat against my back, my butt, my thighs. I feel the heat of the carriage on my skin, feel the warmth of the sunlight through the window playing across my body.

It’s almost too much.

Familiar landscape manisa escort passes by me. Almost home. Two and a half minutes, maybe.

I have a decision to make.

Two minutes.

I make my decision. I reach over. I take the handles of my hemp tote bag in my hand, I shoulder it.

I stand up.

I’m naked.

My legs are shaking. I feel faint.

People can see me.

People in the train carriage can see me now that I’m stood up. They can see that I’m naked.

I stare straight ahead. I try not to look at them, try not to count who can see me and who hasn’t noticed yet.

I put one foot in front of the other. I walk. I walk naked through the train carriage.

They must all be able to see me now. I catch glances as I go. Most are simply staring in disbelief.

I reach the door of the train, and I stand in front of it. I stand there completely fucking naked in full view of at least eighty per cent of the people sharing the train carriage with me, my only concession to any kind of modesty the slight screen of my tote bag on my shoulder, which hides the top half of me on one side.

I stand there and I wait for the train to pull into the station.

I try to stare ahead, at the scenery racing by through the Perspex window in the train’s double doors. I try to ignore the people, ignore the hubbub of their voices, tune out what they are saying, to each other, to me. It’s impossible.

The phones are out now. Pointed at me, doubtless photographing or filming me. Someone will upload it. It’ll be on the internet tonight; “girl naked on train”. Years from now, my future husband (whoever he may be) will be surreptitiously browsing some porn site he thinks I don’t know and would mind that he’s looking at, and he’ll see a video of me standing naked in a train carriage, holding on to the rail, waiting for my train to arrive at the station.

I don’t care.

I love it.

I wanted this.

I love it.

I feel high, I feel holy. Woman sacred, natural, nude and powerful. They don’t know who I am, they don’t know anything about me, except that I’m naked in public, and that I’ll soon be vanishing from their lives. Their glimpse of the true me will be just that, a glimpse; their photos and videos the only proof I ever did this.

Nobody approaches me. I am thankful for that, thankful I don’t have to stammer out an explanation, a refusal of advances, an assurance that I’m fine. I just want to stand here naked and let them see me and let them know my body, and then disappear.

The train is slowing. The open air gives way to the yards and then the beginnings of the platform. The train slows to a crawl and then stops.

Nobody else is standing. Of all the people in this carriage, I alone am getting off at this stop.

The doors hiss open. The platform is before me.

My clothes, my dress, my underwear, are still lying on my seat in the carriage. I have only my bag, my sandals, my sunglasses and my nakedness.

I step forward, step down off the train. I feel the fresh but still warm air on my skin.

I’m on the platform now. Other people are getting off the train, people who weren’t in my carriage. Some of them aren’t looking in my direction, but some are, seeing that I am naked, seeing that I am a woman and young mardin escort and good looking and I’m completely naked.

I love it.

I begin walking, dizzy with the thrill. I begin walking along the platform, towards the exit. People ahead of me don’t see me, they’re already focussed on the journey home. But those behind me have a clear view, a clear view of my naked butt as I walk ahead.

My body moves differently walking naked. I’m aware of its movement more. The thrill is increased.

I’m away from the platform now, descending the stairs. I laugh at my own jiggling as I descend the steps.

A man is coming the other way, he gets the full show. He stares in delighted disbelief at what he can see. I smile and keep walking.

The station concourse is ahead, the ticket barriers. I know there are cameras here, capturing my naked walk. I don’t care. I’ll be gone before anyone can react, stop me, detain me, demand an explanation.

I’m unopposed, my only obstacle ahead the ticket barrier. With practised motion I have my travel card from my bag, scan it, barely breaking my stride to give the barrier time to open and then I’m through.

Station workers are here, waiting to help people who get into difficulty with the barrier, waiting to stop those who have not paid. They stare at naked me, eyes following as I go. I feel them looking as much as see them. I smile and keep walking.

Fifty yards, past people who stare and people who just do not see, and then I’m at the doors, the big glass doors, sliding open automatically for me, no more obstacles, just the world beyond.

I step through, the heat of summer evening hitting my face and body.

For the first time since the train pulled into the station, I’m nervous. Where will she be? Will I find her quickly? Will she be there at all? Could something have happened to hold her up, is she stuck in traffic right now? Has she perhaps even had an attack of meanness, and decided to leave me to my fate.

I allow myself to stop. I stand naked on the sidewalk outside the train station with people milling around nearby, doubtless starting to notice me, and take stock of my surroundings. I scan the cars, searching.

There it is, a blue Toyota. I walk towards it, breathing a sigh of relief as I see the face of my best friend in the whole world, Andrea, looking through the windshield, sitting at the wheel.

She sees me, and her face splits into a wide grin. I can’t hear her laughing but I know she is.

There are friends, and then there are the people who will agree to collect you in their car from the station because you want to strip on a train and walk out naked, leaving your clothes behind, because it’s been your sexual fantasy since the first day you started commuting to and from work, and you’ve finally summoned up the courage to do it.

Andrea is the best.

I reach the car. I open the passenger door. I slide my naked self inside, sitting my bare butt on the cool upholstery, the A/C a shock after the heat of day. I close the door, as Andrea exclaims excitement and enthusiasm that I’ve actually done it, wanting every detail, wanting to know how it felt, what happened, I can’t believe you actually did it?

I’ll tell it all to her. I’ll put on the clothes she’s got in the back for me, we’ll go to a bar and I’ll buy her many drinks to pay her back for this as I describe every aching, thrilling detail. But right now I just want to sit here, naked in my friend’s car as she threads her way through traffic, willing my body down from this heightened, beautiful state that I wish could never end.

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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Sunday, after Persephone and Jocelyn had accomplished whatever weekend tasks that needed to be done, they went out to eat together, and went to the movies. In the darkened theater, they leaned against one another, and held hands. It was a wonderful evening. On the way back to Persephone’s home, they agreed that Jocelyn would virtually ‘move in’ and stay overnight as often as she wished. Persephone even gave her a spare key. The big brass bed was comfortable and roomy enough for both of them.

The next morning, after a lovely good morning kiss and a warm snuggle, Jocelyn initiated the plan she’d dreamed up on Saturday night. She told Persephone, “Stay naked, and get ready for work, while I prepare breakfast for us. Use the toilet, shower, put on your makeup — get completely ready, except for clothes. After breakfast, I have a surprise which will require maybe 15 to 20 minutes before you can leave for school.”

Intrigued, Persephone did as she was told.

Breakfast completed, Jocelyn took a long piece of rope, placed the bight behind Persephone’s neck, and draped the strands down her front. She tied them together down the mid-line with three knots, one above the level of the breasts, one between them, and one halfway to the navel. Passing the pair of strands between Persephone’s thighs, Jocelyn took them up her back to loop through the bight at her nape. She snugged the strands carefully into her teacher’s pussy and her ass crack.

Next, she separated the strands, taking them out through the armpits and around to the front, threading them through the top center opening between knots one and two and then back into the armpits. This ran the strands along the upper curve of Persephone’s breasts. Around the back, she threaded the strands between the vertical ropes and crossed them with each other, anchoring them at the center, just below the woman’s shoulder blades. Jocelyn gave each shoulder blade a sweet kiss, just to keep Persephone from getting bored.

The separated strands again were taken around to the front, and were threaded through the bottom center opening between knots two and three, which ran them along the under-curve of Persephone’s tits. The strands went around to the small of Persephone’s back, interlocked through the vertical ropes and crossed each other, to head around the narrow part of her waist to be tied together in the center, near her navel. The excess of each strand was snipped off with the scissors.

“This rope bondage can be worn under your clothes, my dear slut. Keep this on all day to remind you that you’re my fuck toy, OK? No bra or panties, of course,” Jocelyn said, grinning a huge grin.

“Yes… yes, Miss Jocelyn.” Persephone chose a dark skirt that fell to just above her knees. When she put on a blouse, she was aghast to see the rope showing at her neck, her tits noticeably pressed forward by the ropes, and her nipples showing against the silky material. She stripped off the blouse and opted for a loose-fitting turtleneck sweater instead. This ensemble completely concealed the ropes.

Later, Jocelyn saw her in class. There was no evidence of how she was bound under her clothing. However, as the students were filing out, Persephone said, “I need to speak to you for a moment, Jocelyn.”

“Yes, Professor Goodrich.”

Persephone shuffled some papers on her desk, as if looking for the item she wished to speak with Jocelyn about. When all the other students had left the room, she beckoned Jocelyn a little closer and whispered, “I want to obey you about keeping the ropes on all day, but I need to use the toilet, and I can’t, like this.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks for telling me. When’s your next class today?”

Persephone looked at the wall clock. “Not for 45 minutes.”

“Good. Let’s head to the toilet right now and solve this,” Jocelyn told her.

Luckily, the ladies room they chose was empty of other people. They entered a stall together, closing and securing the door. “OK, take off all your clothes,” Jocelyn whispered.

Persephone stripped down until she was standing in just ropes, looking shy and embarrassed.

Jocelyn quickly untied her, and gave her privacy to use the toilet, saying, “When you’re done, come and join me in the farthest stall.”

After a few minutes, Persephone, looking relieved, entered the farthest stall. She was carrying her clothes, rather than putting them back on, because she’d peeked and seen that the room was still empty. Jocelyn sat on the stall’s toilet, and had Persephone stand on edge of the toilet seat facing her, bent over, her hands braced to the rear wall of the stall. Anyone looking under the partitions would only see Jocelyn’s feet.

Jocelyn smiled and parted Persephone’s labia, which were right in front of her face. Driving her facile tongue into her teacher’s wet, steamy pussy, she performed a spirited act of cunnilingus. Once she was dining on the woman’s sweet juices, she reached up to grasp and hold her ass cheeks. But after a short while, she reached blindly up and back to fondle the woman’s kuşadası escort tits, which dangled beneath her as she leaned. Jocelyn was eating so ravenously that it only took a few minutes for her teacher to climax. Persephone came in Jocelyn’s mouth, keeping silent as she had her orgasm, which was quite difficult.

Once her teacher’s shaking had quieted, and her flow had abated, Jocelyn lapped her pussy clean, and let her dress again. “See you for dinner? We might dine at the ’69 Club’ tonight,” she said, as they were preparing to leave the ladies room.

Persephone looked confused… “I’ve never heard of… OH!” She blushed fiercely, and smiled, nodding.

That evening, after dinner and a refreshing shower together, toweling off, Jocelyn told Persephone, “I’m going into the bedroom. Please give me five minutes or so, and then join me. We may as well stay nude.” Her tone of voice was not commanding at all — just seductive.

When Persephone entered the bedroom, she saw Jocelyn stretched out naked on top of the mattress. Moreover, her arms were raised above her head. The reason why became clear after a moment — she’d handcuffed herself to the brass headboard of the bed. Persephone’s heart skipped a beat, and then thumped faster with joy at seeing her student offering herself in this manner.

As she walked to the bed, she noticed something else. She thought to herself, “Was that rope always tied to the bottom leg of the bed?” Quick on the uptake, she knew why it was placed there. Giggling, she grabbed the rope, and, pulling Jocelyn’s leg until it was diagonal atop the mattress, tied the rope to her ankle. She then checked the other bottom leg of the bed. Sure enough — another rope. Moments later, Jocelyn’s lower body was tied into a spread eagle position, although her arms were cuffed up alongside her ears. She squirmed deliciously before Persephone’s eyes.

“So tonight you’re my captive, I see,” she said to the bound blonde. “This should be interesting. That rope this morning reminded me in every class that I’m now your fuck toy, and, to be honest, I still feel that way. But it’s nice to see you helpless now, offering yourself as my plaything.”

“I just thought you deserved a treat, since you put up with me tying your body up like that for your morning classes,” Jocelyn informed her. “What better treat could I give you than the free use of my body?”

Persephone moved close to her and kissed her sweetly on her lips. Looking into her eyes, she said, “Nothing. No treat could be better than this. You know I found you attractive, right from our first meeting. As we worked together, and got to know each other — our likes, dislikes, and needs — that attraction grew. Not just for your body, but also for your mind, heart, and spirit. I love you, Jocelyn, and I don’t care if everyone knows it.”

Jocelyn felt a tear of happiness appear in her eye and roll across her cheek toward her ear. “I love you too, Persephone. You make me feel happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Thank you for loving me. I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy, too.”

“I trust that you will, sweetie.” She got up off the bed. “Now, what would be a fun way to start?” She paused and thought, eyeing Jocelyn’s body. “I know just the thing!” Going to her dresser, she opened a lower drawer and pulled out — a feather tickler. It was a wand with a large Ostrich feather at its end. She waved it slowly through the air as she approached the bed.

“We’ve never established if you’re ticklish, Jocelyn,” she said with a grin. Jocelyn bit her lip in a fetching manner, and squirmed in her restraints, saying nothing. “Actually, this feather is more sensuous than it is ticklish. Just feel this.” She ran the feather softly over Jocelyn’s foot.

Jocelyn briefly cringed, tensed up, and curled her toes in anticipation, fearing what it might feel like. But as the sensations registered in her brain, she sighed happily, and the tension left her body. “Oh! That’s… that’s utterly delightful!” she declared.

Persephone had a pleased expression on her face as she stroked her student’s body with the feather. She played it up and down her legs, across her pussy, mound and tummy. Jocelyn was making purring sounds in her throat as the feather played with her breasts, neck, and cheeks. The purring got very loud when Persephone parted Jocelyn’s labia and retracted her clit hood, dragging the feather over and over through that area. Probably twenty minutes went by. By the time Persephone finished stroking her. Jocelyn’s skin was fully alert and begging for more contact.

“That was enjoyable for me, and it looks like you enjoyed it as well,” Persephone remarked. Jocelyn nodded, smiling, and displayed eyes that sparkled. “But we still haven’t established if you’re ticklish, my little captive.” Before Jocelyn could utter a sound, Persephone tossed the feather tickler aside and started whispering her fingertips rapidly over the young woman’s rib cage!

Jocelyn shrieked and writhed, laughing as the tickling kocaeli escort assault tested, in addition to her rib cage, her armpits, the lower curve of her tits, her mound, the backs of her knees, and her feet. She was ticklish in all those places, they both learned. Both she and Persephone were laughing merrily as this play went on for a while, with short breathers to let Jocelyn calm down between bouts. Of course, she couldn’t calm too much, because she was restrained and vulnerable, and Persephone might take a notion to begin again at any moment.

Finally, Persephone got off the bed again and went to her dresser. She pulled out a bottle of sweet almond oil. Once Jocelyn figured out what was in the bottle, she asked curiously, “What are you going to do with that stuff?”

Persephone came over close to her, pumping some of the oil into the palm of her hand. A soft fragrance of almonds became evident. “I’m going to do this,” Persephone answered, carefully smearing the oil over her own tits. Jocelyn watched as her professor’s breasts began to gleam with the thin oil. Persephone tilted her torso back and gave a small squirt onto each of her nipples, before setting the bottle down so she had two free hands to thoroughly coat her mammaries with the scented oil.

“Would you like some on your breasts, too, Jocelyn?”

“Yes, please,” the bound woman replied.

“Good answer,” Persephone cooed as she climbed onto the bed, straddling Jocelyn’s hips. She leaned forward and pressed her tits down onto Jocelyn’s and then began small gliding movements — up, down, side to side, and small circles — massaging the aromatic oil onto Jocelyn’s breasts with her own. Jocelyn began moaning softly at this erotic contact. Her moans were stifled as Persephone began kissing her passionately, still undulating her torso against Jocelyn’s.

Jocelyn’s lips parted and her tongue waited at the entrance of her mouth, ready to receive Persephone’s. She didn’t have long to wait. Their tongues touched, caressed, and danced eagerly together as the skin of their upper bodies glided in smooth strokes against one another. Both women were moaning/humming with the pleasure of that contact.

When they broke off the kiss to come up for air, Persephone’s green eyes seemed to be glowing with some inner fire. She whispered to her captive, “Oh yes. You said something earlier about wanting to dine at ‘Club 69’ as I recall.” The pupils in Jocelyn’s blue eyes dilated as those words registered. But Persephone was already pivoting carefully, her slippery breasts gliding around, and down Jocelyn’s torso as she moved. Her breasts painted a trail of oil down onto Jocelyn’s tummy, while Jocelyn’s perky, upthrust tits did the same to Persephone’s tummy.

Persephone looked back over her shoulder to guide her feet into the openings between the brass bed’s headboard supporting poles as she settled her pussy over Jocelyn’s mouth. The blonde young woman wasted no time in setting her lips and tongue to work munching on her teacher’s wet, steamy pussy. With her wrists cuffed to the headboard, those were the only tools she could bring to this task. Her tongue immediately encountered the nectar it sought. Delicate slurping sounds emerged from between Persephone’s thighs, and the student’s actions made her quiver as electrifying sensations of pleasure coursed through her from that location.

Meanwhile, Persephone had free use of her hands, and she used her gently shaking fingers to open Jocelyn’s labia wide, taking a few moments to admire her gleaming inner pinkness. The young woman’s fragrance was released, rivaling the sweetness of the almond oil. Persephone inhaled appreciatively, and then began licking the inner surfaces of those outer labia, held between her fingers. The salty taste blended with the scent in a tantalizing manner. Since Jocelyn was restrained so beautifully, Persephone took advantage of her predicament by first licking her tiny pee hole several times, and then applying her lips around that tiny opening and sucking gently.

Jocelyn, who’d been spearing her tongue into the pussy partially covering her face, suddenly gasped and tried to buck her hips as her pee hole reported that strange, subtle vacuum! But Persephone’s weight pinned most of her torso against the bed, and her hands had slipped under Jocelyn’s ass to grip her butt firmly, keeping it inert. “Persephone,” she moaned, “that makes me feel like I have to pee!” She felt the woman nod with a tiny head movement, not breaking contact or releasing the gentle suction. “Oh… oh… oh…” the blonde cried softly. “I… can’t… hold… it. Watch out!”

Her bladder began to empty itself. Jocelyn was shocked as she became aware of Persephone drinking! Her teacher was drinking her piss! As the fluid was whisked away, more followed it, and was consumed. Jocelyn was dazed by this act.

But Persephone reveled in it. Even though Jocelyn was handcuffed and tied as the captive in the play, Persephone still needed to perform some act of submission. Drinking the young girl’s konya escort urine was a satisfactory compromise. Persephone had no fears about the fluid itself, knowing its composition and relative sterility. Indeed, if Jocelyn stood in front of her and wanted to piss in her mouth, Persephone would gladly part her lips and tilt her head back, submitting to it. In fact, she might suggest such a thing to Jocelyn, if doing that was acceptable to her. If not, perhaps her student could be prevailed upon to pee on her face or body — perhaps out on the lawn or in the bathtub, to make it less messy. She was tingling with the thoughts of future golden showers when the flow of urine into her mouth ceased. Jocelyn’s bladder was now empty.

“Thank you, Jocelyn,” Persephone whispered. “I needed to do that.” She gave the blonde’s clit several loving kisses, and then went back to tonguing her labia. Jocelyn quivered beneath her, her mind a turmoil of emotion. She’d just pissed into her teacher’s mouth! And, as far as she could tell, Persephone had drunk it all down! Jocelyn’s initial shock gradually faded, replaced by… by… a feeling of… well… dominance. Even though she was bound to the bed, and supposedly at Persephone’s mercy, somehow her teacher had found a way to perform an act of submission to her. Jocelyn was finally understanding how much Persephone needed to be controlled and humiliated to be satisfied. The young blonde silently vowed to try to give her what she needed — out of love.

But for now, Persephone’s pussy was at her lips, and that required her immediate attention.

Persephone was busy lapping away at Jocelyn’s fragrant pussy, while teasing her ass hole with a fingertip when she felt the sudden change taking place down between her thighs. Jocelyn was suddenly eating her with such an intensity that Persephone arched her back from the thrilling sensations. This only served to make her pussy shove harder against Jocelyn’s oral ministrations! The pleasure shot through Persephone’s body, virtually wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her in rapid succession! Also, like wringing out a soaking wet towel, Persephone’s cunt juices cascaded onto Jocelyn’s face and mouth! She got to drink some of it, but it was spewing so fast that most just gushed over her face and into her hair and ears! It was like bathing in a warm shower!

Finally, Persephone managed to suck enough air into her lungs to cry out, “Mercy! Please, mercy, my darling!” Jocelyn stopped what she was doing. Persephone swung around on the bed, kissed her student with a passionate tenderness that thrilled them both. She licked as much pussy juice off Jocelyn’s face as she could, then slid downward, worshiping the blonde’s tits, belly, and mound before planting her own lips on Jocelyn’s sopping cunt. She performed such ardent acts of cunnilingus on that wonderful pussy and clit that Jocelyn twisted in her restraints, gasping out several orgasms, before she too whispered, “Mercy.”

Persephone untied the ropes, and freed Jocelyn’s wrists from the handcuffs. They showered together once again, and collapsed into a loving embrace to fall deeply asleep.

Not too many days after that, Jocelyn was testing her newfound feelings of dominance. She got a moment alone with Persephone, and whispered into her ear, “Tonight I want you naked, blindfolded, with your wrists cuffed behind your back, kneeling by your door when I arrive. Understand, my dear slut?”

Persephone felt her nipples instantly stiffen, and her inner cunt muscles contract, hearing these instructions. She whispered back, “Yes, Miss. I will obey.”

That evening, Jocelyn let herself into Persephone’s house and shivered with joy. Her russet-haired teacher was indeed blindfolded and naked. She was kneeling a little away from the door, so it wouldn’t bump into her when it was opened. Since her arms were pulled back behind her, due to the handcuffs holding her wrists in the small of her back, Persephone’s 36C breasts looked even more prominent on her chest. “I’m home, my naughty little slut,” Jocelyn said, and watched as Persephone’s skin broke out in goosebumps of excitement.

She leaned down and tapped one of Persephone’s knees, commanding, “Open your knees more for me. I like seeing your pussy on display.” As her teacher opened her thighs even wider, Jocelyn saw Persephone’s swollen labia, and the puddle of pussy juice pooling on the floor beneath them. She touched the labia with a gentle caress, murmuring, “I see you’ve been looking forward to my arrival.” In response, Persephone moaned with need. “That’s good, because I have a little present for your lovely nipples.”

Persephone couldn’t see it, but Jocelyn was holding a small, clear plastic tube with a suction bulb on one end. Threaded over the other end was a rubber ring. Holding the suction bulb with all the air squeezed out of it, she placed the open end so that it firmly engulfed one of Persephone’s nipples. As she released the suction bulb, that nipple was forcibly pulled into the tube, and it also swelled up as the suction pulled more blood into its erectile tissues. When the nipple appeared fully inflated, Jocelyn carefully rolled the rubber ring off the end of the tube, where it snapped into place at the base of the nipple, trapping the blood, and keeping it swollen. She did the same thing to the other nipple.

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Leia –April Fool’s Day at the university pool after close

In retrospect, I should have known that she would strike at the pool. It should have been my one safe place on campus, but I did have it coming after what I did two years ago. It didn’t seem to help that my hilarious prank finally broke the ice between Candice and my twin brother, Luke. They both have seemed insanely and sometimes nauseatingly happy together for the last two years. My friend confided in me that my brother was the one; their post-undergraduate plans involved them together. I had no doubt that they were destined for great things once we finished college, but that didn’t seem to have softened her need for some well-deserved revenge.

I had been so meticulous today, on the lookout for all the classic pranks, and I had even caught a few of her more amateur attempts to embarrass or inconvenience me. I was quite happy that I noticed the old plastic wrap over the toilet trick before I sat to pee this morning. The salt replacing the sugar next to the coffee pot almost caught me, but she didn’t know that I had started taking my morning Joe black. The fact that we still shared an apartment left her plenty of opportunities to strike. Candice did spend far more time over at Luke’s place than our own these days. This was good as I had no desire to listen to that pair’s constant boisterous lovemaking. This morning though, she had plenty of time to lay sneaky traps.

I was always a late riser after a meet. I was on the university’s dive team, I wasn’t going to be making any waves on the national stage or anything, but I had the talent to get my college at the private university paid for. Our big meets came fast and furious as the semester really got going. My late start today was more due to the team drowning our sorrows after a particularly disastrous showing against our cross-state rival.

I did not stay at the pub too late or get too crazy, but I was glad that Matt, the men’s swim team’s comely captain, drove me home. I would like to think it was because he was into me, but he took half the team home. I did get to sit shotgun, and I was the last one he dropped off, but maybe I am trying to read too much into things. Though I don’t recall him walking any of the other guys or girls to their front door.

He was swarthy, with a ready smile and the most intense brown eyes, and a fantastic sense of humor. All his time in the pool made him ripped, and he had the respect of his team. What I am trying to get across to you was that the man was just my type, and I wish he had tried something, but he was too nice of a guy. He would not take advantage of my slightly buzzed state.

I should explain my best friend and I’s relationship a little more before I just dive right into the aftermath of her carefully plotted vengeance. Candice was a neighbor and a close friend growing up. I don’t have any memories from before she was in our lives. My mom had pictures of us together before we could crawl. We were far more like sisters than best friends; our parents were close with her folks and fellow nerds. From the number of pictures when we were babies, you would have thought we were triplets.

And yes, reader, before you ask, my brother, Luke, and I were named after exactly who you think we were. When my mom found out they were having fraternal twins, the name was picked for them. At least that was what they claimed whenever Luke or I complained. A love of Sci-Fi was how they met in the first place. Their first date was to one of the re-releases of those classic films. The nineties were a different time for nerds; they had yet to take over popular culture as they have today.

Luke and I have an older brother, Terry; he’s two years older than us. He was named after a fantasy writer that my parents also enjoyed. His name was not nearly as obvious as my twin and I’s. Terry and Luke were close as we grew up. Candice was an only child, and we ended up spending as much time together as sisters. She even went on vacation with us several times as kids, and her parents took me along on a trip to the mountains of Colorado. A few years later, when her parents went through a rough divorce, our house was more welcoming than her own. I had a bunk bed in my room just for Candy. I am the only one that can ever call my conniving friend that, and even then, I get a well-deserved dirty look.

In a way, our own adolescent rebellion led us to more athletic pursuits. Candice and I were rivals and teammates in many sports growing up. Between too much time on buses and good old-fashioned team bonding, it led to the start of an escalating prank war that nearly tore us apart when we pushed it too far. A particularly epic round of jokes in high school led both of us to just about wholly shave our heads near the end of our junior year. It was not a popular look with the guys at school. Luke shaved his head in a show of solidarity, but it didn’t seem to be the same impediment to his social life. This led to the informal treaty that still governed our war; çorum escort we would abstain from the tricks on any day but April Fool’s Day. Of course, this meant when the unofficial holiday came around, we went big.

It probably helped calm things when the two of us started specializing in our sporting pursuits and didn’t spend as much downtime waiting for events to begin together. We didn’t have nearly the same audience or time together to perfect our art. Candice leaned into cross country and track. Her lean, lithe body and long legs seemed to work well in her chosen sports. I always loved the pool. At first, it was swimming, but now I was far more into the diving end of things. I was still in the water, but this better reconciled my prior love for gymnastics.

Both Candice and I had gotten good enough to receive scholarships at a private university across the state from our hometown. Luke, however, was a big damn baseball star, good enough that he had his name mentioned in professional baseball blogs as a future prospect. My twin had the pitching arm that would have allowed him to go almost anywhere; mom and dad insisted he go somewhere to get a good education. Luke had the skill for the big leagues, but he didn’t have the desire or passion for going from farm team to farm team while he earned his way to the big show. He far more enjoyed his time in molecular biology and organic chemistry classes. He intended to someday help discover the cure for cancer, but that would require more years in school.

I didn’t have quite the lofty, world-saving goals of my brother; maybe I was the evil twin in the pair. Perhaps evil is too harsh of a word; I would propose that I was the mischievous or impish twin. I was far more at home behind a computer screen and working on graphic design. I had killed it in my internship the previous summer and had a job offer waiting for me as soon as I graduated. I would be heading back to my hometown after this semester.

Candice was close to a nursing degree. She knew she wanted to be an OR nurse and had an open invitation to apply at a local hospital. My best friend had yet to decide, though. She wouldn’t admit it to even me; I thought she was waiting to see where Luke ended up for his post-graduate program. I better be her maid of honor when those two get married.

Anyway, I had not planned on my mostly innocent prank going awry two years ago. I had been merciless that day, but the joke that hit big was not what I imagined it would. I knew that she got up for a long run every morning before class and capped off her run with sandwich cookies and coffee for breakfast. The treats probably didn’t taste nearly as good with toothpaste instead of the standard stuff. Since she had plenty of toothpaste already, I hoped she didn’t mind anchovy paste on her toothbrush. She was not a fan when I yelled out, “April Fool’s!” when she came out of the bathroom with a disgusted look on her face.

For her part, Candice had not been a perfect angel. She seemed particularly proud of setting a loud and raunchy porno video to automatically open when I got my laptop out to take notes in an economics class. I was thankful that I had a pair of headphones plugged in when I opened the computer. I had already made the mistake of having a loud K-pop song queued from studying the night before once in the same class; ever since, I was convinced it would happen again anytime I opened my laptop in that classroom. My cautious approach did not stop a storm of snickering from the students sitting behind me or the nice tomato red color I turned. That was when I noticed her looking through the glass window on the classroom door and mouthing ‘April Fool’s’ back at me.

I want you to understand that she was not merely an innocent victim of my chicanery; she was a diabolic schemer in her own right. Candice got what she deserved when I pulled off the greatest prank of the day. How was I to know that my then-boyfriend and a gaggle of teammates would show up when she was in the shower? Dear reader, I had no intention of my prank involving my brother in the hilarity.

Don’t get me wrong, I am now glad it happened how it did. Without my intervention, Luke would have never made a move. He had the biggest crush on my best friend since high school. I will never know how an objectively good-looking guy who was intelligent and confident in the classroom or on the diamond was shy around the ladies. Maybe we couldn’t entirely escape the social awkwardness we inherited from our parents. My unintentional push finally broke the barrier between them.

The worst part of all the social awkwardness and sexual tension between the two was that I had to hear about it from both sides. Candice was just as head over heels in love with Luke as he was; she was just too inside her own head about it. I tried to play mediator and get them together, but I had been unsuccessful in my attempts until two years ago, and that was unintentional. My prank would make a great story someday denizli escort when they were wed.

I am trying to clarify that I did not deserve what happened when I dove off the high dive today. Yes, I earned some payback, but not like this, not in front of the entire swim team. My prank had a happy ending; that should earn me some mercy, right?

We called our own practice after our terrible showing yesterday when the pool closed on Friday night. It was Matt’s idea, but I thought it sounded great. Typically, we would be out partying, like average college students, but we were determined not to have a similar showing on Sunday. Our coaches liked to give us a day off after the meets, win or lose. But none of us thought we deserved it. As a captain, I helped critique and motivate the other girls. Of course, I had my suit on but waited to do my diving until the rest of the squad had their fill.

I walked the strip of patio between the diving area and the lap section of the pool, yelling out encouragement and giving suggestions to the other divers. I couldn’t help looking over at our swim team’s tall, muscular, perpetually tanned captain, Matt. He was a Junior with a long, powerful torso and lean, strong legs. I am not kidding you, reader; he looked like a superhero from one of those popular movies with his washboard abs. The tiny shorts that the guys wore made it clear that he also had other physical endowments that could be fun. Matt and I had a flirtatious and taunting relationship. It had never gone anywhere, but how I wished it had.

I tell you all of this to set the stage for my dive at the end of the evening. The pool was closed for all but the swim team, but it was far from empty. My mind was set on perfecting the dive I almost tried last night. It was a far more technical than anything I had ever landed in competition, but I had some success with it in practice. As I jumped off the high platform and started my rotations, I don’t know how I made her out as everything in my perception twisted and turned. My mind was etched with the image of Candice as she snuck into the pool area. I knew I was in trouble, and there was nothing I could do about it now. Whatever she had planned was already in motion.

Candice — Reflecting on that same time

Before you listen to my perfect friend and all her excuses for two years ago, I think you should know my side of things. Yes, both of us were to blame for the escalation of the prank war, but I will tell you that she started the whole thing. If she hadn’t pushed my chair away as I sat down, causing me to fall on my ass in front of all our track teammates all those years ago, none of this would have ever happened. I play to win at anything I do, so I would make sure she tapped out first if it was a prank war against my best friend. All she had to do was acknowledge me as the unquestioned winner, and it would be over.

She probably let her guard down a little after last year, but a car filled to the brim with biodegradable packing peanuts was not on the same level as what she had done. Having a friend whose family owned a packing store came in handy at the time. Seeing her get reminded of that prank every time the defroster was turned on, and flecks of cornstarch dusted the dark interior was nice, but that did not measure up to what she had done. I just hadn’t been able to develop an adequate idea last year.

I didn’t plan for her to be diving in front of both the men’s and women’s teams when my prank landed. The day after a meet, they always had light, unofficial practice with just the other girls on the dive team and no coaches. My joke should have just been with a small group of girls that already knew her well. Then again, Leia never planned for her joke to involve the entire baseball team two years ago. Maybe this was more of an appropriate recompense for that.

I should really go over what happened back then; I am sure she tried to explain it away or plead innocence to you. Yes, it was how Luke and I finally got together, and for that, I would be forever grateful, but that does not excuse her behavior. If I let her get away with it, she would win, and I can’t have that.

Her prank landed so hard due to a perfect storm of circumstances. We lived in a rental house with a couple of other girls; it was a four-bedroom, three-bath. One of the older girls had occupied the bathroom closest to my room getting ready for a date, and the shower was broken in the other nearby. Maintenance always seemed to be a little slow repairing things in the rental. After my workout, I put on my robe and walked to the open working shower across the house. I probably was hoping that Leia had gotten her tricks out of the way in the morning. I should have known better.

I will admit, my love of long, hot soapy showers probably left me vulnerable. Especially since I tended to blast hip hop while I showered. Sometime during my fifteen minutes to myself, a certain someone snuck in and extracted my towel and robe. That düzce escort little weasel had already emptied the linen closet and under the sink earlier, and I did not notice. After my shower, my cell phone was the only thing I had to cover up with. Reader, I know I can hear you saying, ‘what about a shower curtain?’ The shower had sliding glass doors, not a shower curtain.

That should have been a paltry joke. How embarrassed could I have been to walk by my roommates in my altogether? I didn’t plan on the baseball team hanging out in the living room and kitchen when I made my flight to my room and safety. After that, they all knew I was not a natural blonde and that I just had a landing strip of brunette over my va-jay-jay. More than that, the bitch had locked all the doors to the bedrooms. I was in a panic when the bathroom door opened, and out stepped my crush. In my haste, I ran smack into him. Believe me, that was not how I expected him to feel me up the first time. It wasn’t his fault; his hands just happened to be at the perfect height as he left the bathroom.

It took him a moment to shake off the stupor as he was just as surprised as I was. He apologized profusely, then pulled off his shirt without taking a moment to think and handed it to me. It was my turn to stare at his perfect upper body. He was tanned and muscled everywhere I laid my eyes. How many other guys would give you the literal shirt off their back? He also ignored the whoops and hollers coming from the front room and only concentrated on helping me. Luke then went right to work jimmying open the lock to my room. I was able to get to safety in no time.

Luke deserved a reward for helping me out and not just leering and hooting with the rest of the team. I yanked him into my room with me to thank him appropriately. A kiss seemed to be just what his chivalrous behavior demanded. Once our lips met, me on my tiptoes to reach his tall, goatee adorned face, a dam burst. I had been lusting after him for almost as long as I had noticed boys. He was the perfect, tall, lean, robust specimen.

One kiss merged into another; pent-up passion exploded like a spring under too much tension. Within moments, I was on top of him on my bed. We may have spent twenty minutes making out, oblivious to the impromptu party that was raging in my house. When a knock came on my door a little later, I tried to ignore it, but it was insistent.

“Candice?” Leia’s voice came through the door. “I know you’re angry. Don’t hide in your room all night, please?” Her voice was sincere and pleading. I left Luke sprawled on my bed and went over to crack open the door, still just wearing his long T-shirt like a dress.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed…” I started to say.

“I had no idea that Brianna invited over the whole damn team. I know I went too far; I’m sorry.” She hastily interrupted me.

“I am just going to have to get you back later.” She was right, I was pissed, but something else had me distracted.

“April Fool’s?” Leia said with hesitation. It had to be invoked even when something went wrong. Over the years, we have developed a lot of strange rituals that need to be followed, reader.

“There will be a reckoning.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “This isn’t over.” I meant it; there was no way I would ever concede defeat, not to Leia.

“I know, and I deserve it, but don’t hide in here all night. There’s a party going on. Steve brought your favorite hard seltzer.” She tried to tempt me from my solitude. Steve was the team’s shortstop and not a bad-looking fella. He had been pursuing me for a little while. We had hooked up a couple of times, but there was nothing there other than fun. I should have already let him down easy, but I liked the attention.

“I am not hiding.” I declared boldly. “Your brother is about to get very lucky.”

“Luke’s here? I thought he went home to study.” She stared at me incredulously like my declaration was in jest.

“This is his shirt. He rescued me from your little joke.” I said without a shred of mirth. I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next, but I shed my shirt without closing the small gap in the door. I held it up to Leia like she would instantly know whose it was just by looking at it. The fact that I had been grinding on Luke’s big cock while we made out probably had a hand in my return to nudity. “He should be getting a condom out of the top drawer of my nightstand right now.” My now fiancé took the hint; I could hear the opening of the drawer and the tearing into packaging.

“Is this your form of an April Fool’s joke?” Leia fidgeted, but her brilliant blue eyes never left my own.

“No, you’ll find my joke soon enough,” I said thoughtfully, even though the porn on her laptop was the biggest thing I had planned that day. She didn’t need to know that; let her be a little jumpy all night. “I would open the door and prove it to you, but Luke is only wearing a condom.”

“April Fool’s?” She questioned. Again, I don’t know what came over me, but I stepped back and yanked the door open. Leia’s eyes bugged out, and she looked away quickly, turning the brightest shade of red. “Holy shit! Finally, you two!” She looked shocked, disgusted, and happy at the same time. My best friend knew I had been pining for her brother for far too long.

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This not a fictional story but i thought people would find it interesting especially if you are a man and have considered getting a brazilian waxing.

The idea getting a Brazilian waxing came to me after I had tried shaving my balls. It was not a real problem, but the results were less than satisfactory. Stubble and ingrown hairs made the whole experience far less positive than I imagined.

Since I do a lot of CBT play with others, I found that shaved balls were easier to deal with, especially when using any kind of silicone rings or stretchers. They had a bad habit of tangling with hairs and causing unanticipated pains. I much prefer to be in control of the pain I am inflicting on others and was not a fan of surprise “bad ouches”. Since I often like to do self inflicted CBT both to test techniques and just for my own enjoyment, smooth balls seemed to be a good idea.

I did a bit of research into various waxing establishments and found a few who specialized in “Manzilian” waxes. I checked for online reviews and went with the place that got the best ratings. That was somewhat assuring, but I was still nervous about the actual procedure. I am not stranger to pain and rather enjoy it in the right circumstances, but being tortured by an esthetician was not on my bucket list.

The day of the appointment, I showered and did a scrupulous cleansing of both my genitalia and my anus, since the waxing covered both the pubic area and the cleft of my buttocks. I made the mistake of watching a couple of videos as guys had the procedure done and I unfortunately found the ones where they reacted with lots of exclamations and whining.

I vowed to be stoic, and headed for the waxing parlor.

The bursa escort desk checked me in and reconfirmed I wanted a “modified Brazilian” which was their term for the Manzilian waxing. Soon after I sat down and filled out the forms that were required, a charming woman appeared and took me to one of the Cerology rooms. Waxing professionals are called Cerologists in this business.

Once there, she told me to undress fully from the waist down and get up on the massage table on my back. She gave me a flimsy paper drape to cover myself which in hindsight seemed ridiculous, since she would be removing it to do her job, but I played along figuring it was for my dignity or what would be left of it.

When I was positioned she came back into the room and moved a stand holding the hot wax and instruments she would use. She began chatting about what to expect and then after donning gloves promptly took hold of my cock. That took me by surprise, since I didn’t know hair grew on my penis, but apparently it did. Diving right into the most intimate part of the procedure apparently was a good way to break the ice, and I will admit that the first few applications of wax pretty much ended any arousal I might have felt. The wax was hot, but not intolerably so and as she ripped the wax off, I definitely understood that there was hair on my dick!

She continued chatting and working her way around my cock until it was hairless and smooth. Then she moved on to my inner thighs. I guess going right to my balls would have been a bit too much pain in one dose, but the crease of my thighs was only marginally easier. To reach everything she had me spread my legs and çanakkale escort put them in a figure 4 as she worked her was into my crotch.

Once the first side was done we reversed the position and she did the other side. By this time my endorphins had kicked in and I was not really bothered by the pain. My libido had also kicked in and my cock began getting engorged. I could feel it laying heavily against my thigh. She deftly moved it out of the way and continued.

Moving to my pubic arch she carefully painted the hot wax above my now hairless cock. As she pulled each strip off, I felt my dick getting harder and harder. She didn’t mention anything, so I assume she had seen this before, but for me it was embarrassing and yet a bit exciting.

Now the moments of truth had arrived. She lifted my balls and examined them closely. She smeared the first application of wax on my scrotum and I flinched. She asked, “is that too hot?”. I replied, no it was fine, in fact it felt good. She continued applying wax and manipulating my balls. My cock was now at full mast.

By the time she finished with the last strip on my balls I suspect my dick was leaking a little. I tried concentrating on everything un-sexy I could think of. It didn’t help. When you are a kinky twist like me, sometimes unsexy things can really seem exciting. Still I continued to try to will my erection to disappear. It worked just a little. The misbehaving cock became a little less rigid, that is until she got to the skin below my nuts. She had me spread my legs wider so she had access. It felt warm and exciting, even when she ripped the hairs out.

Finally it was time for me to turn over. çankırı escort My ass was her next target. She waxed the upper part of my crack with ease and then had me spread my legs. It was time to do my ass-crack. Luckily my cock was pointed downward into the paper-covered table. The warm wax felt great on the sides of my crack, even if the removal was a bit painful. I though she was finished, but she said there was one last place to get to.

I spread my legs further and pushed up off the table slightly, presenting my hole to her ministrations. The last application of wax went directly on my anus and it made my dick jerk and drip on the paper covering of the table. As she ripped the last wax off, it took all my concentration not to have an orgasm right then and there.her last act was using a tweezers to get the last few stray hairs off.

When she finished she rubbed some moisturizing oil into the skin of my ass before asking me to turn over again. My dick was still mostly erect as she massaged moisturizer into my pubic region and over my balls and finally my cock. If she had taken much longer I would have ejaculated and that would have been bad form in my opinion.

When she was done, she told me to have a look in the mirror beside the table. My cock, balls and whole pubic area was hair-free and a little reddened. She said that would go away in a day or two. Satisfied that I was smooth as promised, she left me to get dressed and told me she would meet me at the front desk.

I stood and began redressing, squeezing my semi-erect cock back into my briefs. After dressing I went to the front desk to settle up accounts. I left her a nice tip and scheduled my next appointment for four weeks later.

Overall it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, and when I got home I re-examined my new smooth cock and balls. My erection returned and I used some of the moisturizer to lubricate a nice sensuous stroke session. I have become a fan of the Manzilian waxing.

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