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A bespoke story, written for the pleasure of a special lady.
For those to whom such matters, please note that this is her fantasy and that this story doesn’t quite culminate in penetrative sex. On the other hand, neither does real life, not every time. We hope you enjoy our little tale.
My mirror had a flaw in the middle, a distortion. OK, it was a cheap mirror and not new in any case. It had been used when I got it – my oldest sister got the upgrades for everything and things sort of trickled down through another sister and a brother before finally arriving in my room. It took time.
Mama and Papa did their best for all of us, but the cramped little house was driving me nuts.
It was a small enough house anyway, but having a room to myself gave me, at long last, the luxury of some privacy. Some. There was still only one bathroom in the place, the stairs squeaked and the walls were thin enough that I could hear the damp thud of my brother dropping his moldering gym clothes on the floor in spoiled-rotten expectation of our mother dealing with it. It was just so… juvenile of him!
Well, at least I had a room to myself now. Both older sisters had moved out over the past year and my parents weren’t comfortable about leaving a 20-year-old boy and a 19-year-old girl in the same room. Even if they were brother and sister.
The mirror was just one more irritant. It meant I had to keep shifting from side to side when I put on makeup or brushed my hair. Not as bad as being in the same room as Fred, but still an annoyance and it wasn’t helping me get ready for a night out with Nathan.
It was to be a big night. I’d been thinking about it almost non-stop.
I ‘d put a lot of thought into what I was wearing tonight. It had to look good, that was obvious. It had to be comfortable. And this wasn’t a grad ball or something, so casual. And it had to be… accessible. Yes, that was the right word – ‘accessible’. It had to be enough of a challenge for Nathan to not seem obvious, but not so cluttered with ties and obscure fasteners to be frustrating.
Well, not too frustrating… Nothing wrong with making the boy work a little for the treasure awaiting him, right?
After spending 20 minutes holding up this dress and that outfit, I’d settled on a simple getup – skinny jeans over brown medium-heel boots and a kelly-green double-V tank top with straps just wide enough to cover my bra straps.
And that bra, I told myself, was my ‘nuclear option’, guaranteed to win this boy’s undivided attention – when and if…
Considering the size of my boobs, I thought, there seemed to be considerably less bra than there might have been. The straps were opaque and the edges of the cups were solid, but the material comprising the cups themselves was an almost completely transparent elastic mesh. There was so much of it and so little ‘normal’ material that the only thing covering my nipples was a large embroidered rose in the centre of each cup. The roses were complex enough that they were almost 3D, with individual petals and leaves sticking out just a bit.
But pretty – very pretty. You couldn’t deny that.
OK, it was more than just pretty. It was hot – really hot.
It had also been outrageously expensive, considering, and, like many well-endowed women, I was cautious when buying lingerie. Comfortable support matters to a girl with a properly-sized set and compromising for looks over comfort has made a lot of ladies really uncomfortable.
I’d been dubious about this one when I first saw it at the store. It had however proved surprisingly comfortable, more so than most of my more mundane, less revealing bras.
It was not, however, something I’d shown my parents. Mama would have gone postal and Papa would have just stomped out of the room and not spoken to me for a week.
Even now, I was having second thoughts as I pulled the tank top over it. The contours of the rose could easily be seen through the thin cotton and I didn’t want to look like…
Hold it – how did I want to look? I sat down on my bed and thought about it as I examined myself in that wretched excuse for a mirror.
I really wanted to look confident. And pretty. And sexy as hell. The latter two, I realized, were almost but not quite the same. Looking at my image in the mirror, I realized that the outfit made me look amazing. And, frankly, any woman who could carry off that combination in public automatically exuded confidence. And it was comfortable, so check marks all down the column.
And Nathan would only see the bra when I was ready.
OK, I decided, the outfit worked. I pulled my shoulders back and smiled at myself. Having a big bosom could be a problem at times, but it had its advantages.
Just in case, just in case, I pulled on a grey ribbed mid-thigh cardigan over the outfit. It might be chilly in the theatre and the soft wool would be welcome in that case. And, well, the evening might not go as planned, leaving me the canlı bahis thick cardigan as an equally welcome refuge from prying eyes.
I stood up and turned back and forth in front of the mirror, trying to ignore the distortion.
Hot. Definitely hot.
Nathan and I had been going out for a couple of months. We’d met at a roller-skating arena, of all things. The old barn was probably the last of its kind in the time zone, but it had been a fun night. A friend of a friend had passed on an invitation on Facebook and I’d gone for want of anything better to do.
Then I’d run into Nathan. Literally.
I’d done a bit of skating as a little girl but hadn’t been nearly as good as my memories had told me I was. My attempt to turn gracefully failed when a mutinous skate changed course without consulting me. Swerving uncontrollably, I’d run off the rink and into the refreshment area surrounding it, literally winding up lying across Nathan’s lap like a small child about to be spanked for some transgression. The Coke on the table in front of him went flying, scattering ice and broken glass in every direction.
The laughter from those nearby echoed a long time in my mind.
Then it got worse.
He was helping me up off his lap and back onto my feet and I was blushing like crazy and apologizing like crazier, when one of the wheels on my roller skates hit an ice cube or something in the mess I’d made and I fell down again.
This time, he managed to catch me and I wound up sitting on his lap. At 5′ 7″, I’m not a small girl and I’m still surprised that his chair didn’t collapse under the impact.
My face almost as red as my hair, I again tried to stand up. This time, his arm came around my waist, holding me down.
“I think you should really rest for a minute,” he said, half-serious, half-teasing. Then a big grin broke out across his face. “You know you’re a bit of a hazard to navigation, right?”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, almost in tears. “Um, did I hurt you? Did I splash any on you? Can I buy you another drink? I’m Juvia.” I was talking a mile a minute, my usual when I’m upset. My head was hanging in embarrassment and I was talking to my lap. I felt a finger under my chin, lifting my face up towards his.
I saw no anger, no upset on his face, not even what under the circumstances would have been a quite-justified mockery. To his additional credit, he was making a serious effort to keep his eyes on my face. That was a change from a lot of the boys I’d met in college.
“No, no and no,” he answered, “But, once we get those skates off, I think you could do with one. What can I get you?”
Yeah, smooth. But cute. He was taller than me by a few inches and lanky rather than muscular. And he had a really nice smile.
Did I mention that he was really cute?
“I’m Nathaniel – Nathan to my friends,” he said as he returned with my shoes and two more Cokes.
“Juvia,” I repeated. That led to a discussion of my name and the evening got rapidly better.
I hadn’t hesitated when he asked me for my number and had been quick to say yes when he called me two days later to ask me out.
Our relationship had followed a pretty normal course. We’d gone to restaurants, made snowmen on the college square, hit a couple of parties. We shared a love of nature and Nathan had introduced me to birdwatching. It even turned out that we were in some classes together. With hundreds of kids in some of them, who would’ve known? It did mean that we could work on homework together.
And things had progressed physically, too.
I didn’t have that much experience with boys. OK, darned little, but I could dream. I can’t remember who had held whose hand the first time, but it was my arm around his waist first. When, a long moment later, his strong hand slipped around mine, I realized why having both boys and girls in the world was a really good idea.
His hand was warm and strong. And, yeah, yeah, OK, it stayed where Mama would have wanted it to stay.
Eventually, I got the boy to kiss me. We’d done pretty well in the kissing department thereafter and the odd roving hand had felt good, to me at least, but it was time to up our game. So I asked him out for ‘something special’, refusing to give any more details.
I was waiting by the door when his car pulled up. I kissed Mama goodbye and almost skipped down the sidewalk to where he held the door open.
“So? Where are we going?” he asked me as we pulled away.
I named a new movie megaplex, one which had just opened on the outskirts of town. Nathan said he knew where it was, so we just made small talk on the way there.
As we arrived, the sign was announcing the feature event, an all-female-director collection. I saw Nathan’s shoulder’s sag and could read his thoughts. Oh, crap. 15 chick flicks, one after the other. Just kill me now!
“Don’t worry, baby,” I reassured him. “It’s not all bad.”
His head turned briefly towards me. His look bahis siteleri of why me? skepticism could have been used to cut granite.
“Trust me,” I said. “This one you’ll like.”
When we walked in, I waved the tickets I’d already printed off at an overly-pierced blue-haired girl at the entrance. She scanned them and smiled. “Domino? It’s in Theatre 12, last on the left.”
She leaned toward us and stage-whispered, “Good choice. It’s very artistic. Ivana Massetti directed it, you know? Don’t you just love her stuff?”
“Just getting into it,” I dodged, pulling Nathan away from her. Eeew!
“Domino?” he asked as we stood in line at the concession.
“Brigette Nielsen,” I said. “Heard of her?”
“Like six feet tall, with…”
He paused. No man in his right mind mentions another woman’s E-cup to his date.
I laughed delightedly, hugged him. “Yes, Nathan, ‘with…’.”
While I like chick flicks as well as the next girl, I didn’t want Nathan to be catatonic by the end of the evening. Having seen it before, I thought Domino would do nicely. OK, its plot was disjointed, the scenes were almost surreal at times and the acting wasn’t particularly good. On the other hand, it did definitely have ‘with…’
The theatre was amazing – well, amazing to anyone who hadn’t been in a ‘luxury theatre’ before. It was the smallest in the complex, capable of seating no more than 50 people. Actually, given the size of the audience that night, it could have been considerably smaller. Asides from Nathan and me, there were just two other couples. One was considerably older, both with grey hair and dressed very conservatively. The other looked like certified stoners, both almost nodding off even before the movie started.
“Come on,” I said, pulling at the boy’s arm and leading him to the very back of the theatre.
“Juvie,” Nathan whispered, pulling back on my arm. “Let’s sit closer to the screen. There’s lots of room.”
Dummy! I thought to myself. Who cares about the freaking movie?
As we walked up the aisle, I reflected that the term ‘luxury’ wasn’t an idle boast. Instead of cramped, grungy folding seats reachable only by wading through candy wrappers and ankle-deep antediluvian popcorn, the seats were new, comfortable and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, huge. Covered with what felt like dark brown leather, they resembled miniature sofas, easily capable of sitting three abreast. And they reclined at the push of a button.
I prodded one at the very back and wished my own bed could be as comfortable.
“This one,” I announced when we were at the end of the back row, in the corner. Sitting down abruptly, I was patting the seat beside me even as my hand dragged the boy down.
“See, silly?” I said. “It’s a great view back here!”
“Erm, I guess so.”
I shook my head inwardly. If anything was anything slower than that proverbial molasses, it had to be Nathan picking up on clues. Well, it goes with the Y-gene, I thought. One-track minds – until you actually want them on that track.
Sure enough, given space for three on the seat, Nathan sat on the other end, as if trying to stay as far away from me as he could without actually moving to another seat entirely.
The lights went down and the first advertisements started up on the screen. I ignored them but inwardly praised the dim light. I looked at my boyfriend sitting at his end of the sofa.
OK, I told myself. It’s the twenty-first century. I’m a strong, independent woman and I don’t have to let the boys take the lead. I can lead – I will lead!
Swivelling around on my bum and allowing my legs to hang over the low seat arm, I laid my head on Nathan’s lap, opened my eyes as wide as I could and deliberately blinked.
“Hi, baby,” I said softly.
Nathan’s eyes opened as wide as mine. He squirmed a little, obviously trying to get down low enough to kiss his own lap.
Unsurprisingly, that simply wasn’t going to happen.
His eyes kept darting to my chest now so prominently displayed and I giggled inwardly. So predictable!
I realized that, with my head in his lap, I could smell him. He was definitely clean, but there was an underlying odor, almost musky in essence. It was a man’s scent and I found it both strange and arousing.
Then the movie started, the famous EEG pulse line on a green screen. It made the theatre that much darker, which suited me just fine.
I swung my legs up and around, sitting up in the process, before coming to rest against Nathan at the right height for my head to come down on his shoulder. It took some effort, but I did my best to make it look as effortless, as sinuous, as a ballerina on opening night.
Impressions count, after all.
Turning my head, it was, as I expected, at precisely the right height for Nathan to kiss me. It turned out to be a really good idea, for his lips were soon brushing mine.
He was a good kisser. His tongue tip slid ever so bahis şirketleri lightly over my lips, back and forth, and then pushed gently forward.
I opened my own lips, met his tongue tip with my own. They started that little dance…
And stopped dead.
Of course – Nathan’s eyes had spot-welded themselves to the screen where a topless Nielsen (and, let’s face it, few women can do topless better than Brigette Nielsen) was lounging by a pool.
Many women would’ve been upset, but keep in mind that I had brought him here with at least some idea of having The Brigette work her preliminary magic…
So instead of being offended, I merely rested my head back on his shoulder and waited. The brief scene ending, Nathan shook himself in realization of his transgression. His head snapped down to mine. Expecting a frown, he was clearly surprised to find a tolerant and forgiving smile on my face.
“Um…” he started, stammering.
“It’s OK, sweetie. She’s pretty spectacular. Now shut up and kiss me!”
I thought it was a pretty good line. Old, but solid.
Dependable, too, for his lips again came down on mine.
His tongue swept over my lips, more firmly this time, passed between them and began to trace the front of my teeth. I felt a deep stirring within me.
I put my hand behind his head and pulled us together a little tighter – not too hard, but closer, as if to reinforce not only my acceptance of his kisses, but also my complete and open desire for more of them.
I felt his hand come to my face, his thumb sweeping gently along my cheekbone before slipping around to the back of my head and locking his fingers in my hair.
That’s more like it, boy! I thought to myself. I pulled back just a little and, very gently, nipped his lower lip with my teeth for a second. He took a deep breath beside me; I could feel his arousal growing.
Well, good! I pulled him in harder and felt his hand in my hair do the same to me. Our kisses became stronger, deeper, more passionate.
Nathan’s lips left mine and trailing a constant line of soft kisses, moved along my jaw to my ear, down my neck to my throat. It was delicious and I adjusted my position to make it easier for him.
In front of us, Nielsen was moving through her apartment, revealing for the first time her the tall black mannequin she kept there as a companion. It was a bizarre sequence.
As Nathan’s eyes flickered up to see her in what looked like a black latex outfit, I stood up for a second and shrugged out of the cardigan. I tossed over the seat in front of us before sitting down again beside Nathan and hitting the recline button.
I waited until it was about half down, stopped and tugged at Nathan’s arm to pull him into the middle before swinging my leg over so I was straddling him. I reached out, took his head in both my hands and, leaning forward, locked my mouth over his. His one hand held me by the waist. The other worked its way up and down my back before sliding down a bit and clasping me by the bum.
It felt good. I liked it.
I sat back just a little and whispered into his ear. “I want you, Nathaniel Masters. I like your hands on me. I like you touching me.”
I looked up, smiling my brightest, to see a smile that matched my own.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I know,” I whispered back before leaning in for more kissing. “Me, too.”
After a long time, both Nathan’s hands were still on my bum, squeezing and massaging my cheeks. I leaned back and smiled at him as pleasantly as I could. “We can do better than that, I think.”
He cocked his head to one side, perplexed.
I reached down grasped his wrists firmly and pulled them up and off my bum.
“Try these,” I suggested, shifting his palms to my chest.
The boy was mesmerized, his eyes as wide as I’d ever seen them.
I held his hands, pressed them into me. I wriggled a little to prompt some complementary movement on his part.
Nathan got the idea. His fingers flowed over my tank top.
His eyes opened wider and his hands pulled back suddenly.
“What…?” he asked in a surprised tone.
His eyes dropped to my chest. Even by the uneven and flickering light from the screen, the raised imprints of the roses under the green fabric was clear.
His smile grew wider as he stared. “I love it!” he said softly, “but what is it? I mean them? I mean, what…?”
Bingo – direct hit.
I smiled. Every girl practises her smiles, I think. This was the one I thought of as ‘provocative’.
I looked down towards the front of the theatre. Nobody was watching.
I leaned in, whispered again in his ear. “Why don’t you explore and find out?”
His grin, while it couldn’t get any wider, certainly became goofier.
He too looked down at the other two couples before reaching for the hem and lifting it enough to slip his hands underneath.
His ‘exploration’ felt heavenly.
“Is that your… I mean a bra?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Good guess,” I said, grinning.
His strong fingers swept over the flowers, sending my heartbeat skyward. He held the girls, lifted them, weighed them before returning to the two roses.
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