Controlling Cassandra Ch 01

This story is collaboration and developed out of an encounter with my on-line friend Cassandra. We've gone to a lot of trouble to keep it authentic and accurate. Hope you like it.

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I paced the floor, agitatedly looking at my watch and willing the minutes to pass by more quickly. In fact, I hadn't been able to settle to anything since Cassandra had called me at work to tell me she'd been shopping for clothes on the internet. She'd insisted on coming round to my home that very evening to show me what had arrived in the morning's delivery and I knew I was going to enjoy the show.

I'd met Cassandra in the local supermarket where she works as a check-out supervisor. She's just the type: bubbly and energetic, good with people, seemingly patient on the surface and able to cope with the long and erratic hours. But that's not what attracted me to her when be began to chat on my ever more frequent visits to her store. I found myself shopping there only when I knew she'd be working on the store sales floor and deliberately fluffing the self-scan check-out just so she'd come across to help me. She'd stand close and tower over me; 17 years younger than me she's at least 7 cm taller, much more when she wears high heels. Slim verging on skinny, she has the most captivating green eyes, long dark hair and legs that go on for ever. So is that what makes her stand out? No, it's her clothes.

I work in recruitment and am spending 3 months in Canada trying to persuade experienced fashion industry professionals to move to England where I'm finding it increasingly difficult to fill middle management positions in clothes retail sales and distribution. But Cassandra has more appreciation and understanding of how to dress sexily and provocatively than anyone I've met inside the clothes industry. A college drop-out, Cassey (as she likes me to call her) is intelligent, highly perceptive of people and their behaviour and is frankly wasted in supermarket work.

Despite hours of eager anticipation I still jumped when the bell rang. Opening the door to my temporary home in the upper middle-class district of Calgary, I stood in awe as I looked up at the stunning young woman standing in front of me. Seemingly even taller than usual, her eyes shone down on me from under her strikingly imaginative lightning-strike face make-up, her hair glistened and she smiled sensually as he accepted my invitation to enter.

Cassey was wearing jeans and a jacket. But being Cassey it was no ordinary outfit. The jeans were a dark blue colour with patterns all over of very thin swirls and numerous small stars. Pale bleached lines traced up from where they ended just above the floor, flaring widely to cover whatever shoes she must have been wearing to stand so tall. Then narrowing to tightly encase her legs from her knees upwards to finally disappear under her jacket. This was made from a random patchwork of irregularly shaped swatches of brightly-coloured leather. The neck was zipped up high under her chin and the waist was tightly fitted. The front was almost flat as Cassey is not classically curvy. The hem widened out aggressively to finish just below her bum, but the sleeves were the most remarkable, flaring out from below her elbows to almost totally cover her hands.

I took Cassey's shoulder bag from her and offered to help her out of her jacket but she declined, purring "Not yet, sweet Julie, but soon." Then she leaned towards me and planted a long sensual kiss directly on my lips. I shuddered.

Of course, we made the usual small talk and she wandered around my home making polite and very astute observations about the owners' taste in furnishings and fabrics. But we both knew the atmosphere was highly charged and even though this was the first time we'd met in a totally private place we were not going to spend the evening discussing drapes and cushions.

Cassey followed me into the kitchen and we chose a bottle of cold white wine from the refrigerator and I poured two large glasses. My new friend swallowed half of hers in a moment then giggled, grabbed my hand and half led and half dragged me back into the living space. "Bring that too!" she insisted, pointing to one of the high breakfast-bar-stools, which I carried though and, guessing her intent, I perched on it and intently observed my bubbly bouncy companion.

Rummaging in her bag Cassey pulled out a high-capacity computer memory card and explained she'd just downloaded a liveset by one of her favourite Trance Music DJs and insisted I play it over the music system. The bass-line thumped in 4/4 time and Cassey began to sway.

"Hey, Julia, do you like the jacket then?" she enquired rhetorically, moving her arms away from her sides to draw more attention to the distinctive sleeves. She'd known straight away that I did by the look on my face as I opened the front door. But I was more interested in the whole package than just the jacket.

Cassey danced and twisted seductively to the intense and atmospheric music as the sound developed and evolved with an underlying powerful emotion. My private dancer then took hold of the zipper of her multi-coloured jacket and began to pull it downwards. Little by little. And very slowly.

As the high neck parted I saw she had a wide green choker around her neck, seemingly assembled from numerous tiny crystalline beads threaded onto wires.

As the zipper continued its downward journey, more bare skin emerged until, from my vantage-point perch, I could see the beginnings of her top. Also green but this time quite shiny and apparently made from metalised stretchy fabric. All the time Cassey looked me in the eyes and each time I dropped mine to admire the evolving show, hers were still focussed on mine when I looked back up. Until, that is, she'd completely unzipped the jacket (this had taken at least two minutes so far, with frequent stops to gyrate to the music).

Cassey held the jacket closed, pouted and purred: "Do you want to see what else I've bought, Julia?" but instead of opening the front she turned her back towards me and, looking over her shoulder and shaking her long dark brown hair, she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders.

This was no longer a fashion show. This was a strip-tease. Cassey knew it and knew exactly how to enact both parts of that evocative hyphenated word.

From the back I saw that her newly acquired clothing was just a tight, elasticated, shimmering club-dancewear tube top with no shoulder straps. No more than 25 cm deep, it began just below her armpits and ended at about 20 cm above the top of her jeans. How could this be? OK, Cassey is tall and skinny. Why so much bare back? Simple. Because her jeans were the lowest-rise style I had ever seen. They finished (or started) well below her coccyx exposing the tops of lovely smooth ass-cheeks and several centimetres of perfectly neat bum-cleavage. I shifted awkwardly on my high stool, trying not to acknowledge the beginnings of arousal building inside me.

Cassey looked over her shoulder at me and smiled her bubbly smile but her eyes conveyed something deeper. She hooked long fingers under the bottom of the tube either side and pulled it down, smoothing out any slight rucks and covering only a little more of her long curved back. The unblemished smoothness of the material only confirmed that she wasn't wearing a bra and my mind raced ahead to try to imagine the sight that awaited me when she eventually turned around.

Cassey delayed the moment as long as plausible then, with her arms crossed in front of her, slowly turned around.

"Well go on then!" I pleaded, and Cassey opened her arms.

As I'd anticipated, Cassey's breasts were perfectly outlined by the contours of the clinging glistening fabric. I'd seen her before in skimpy and tight-fitted clothes, only when we'd gone out to bars and cafes. Not even Cassey dresses so alluringly when she's working, but when she goes out she dresses like a hot slut. Not because she is one but because she simply enjoys wearing those styles of clothes and has the self-assuredness to be what she wants to be not what others interpret that to be. And she likes to tease me. But I'd never really been able to make out the shape and size of her boobs. This time there was no doubt. The stretchy tube top clung over, under and around a pair of perfectly symmetrical breasts, not very large but beautifully curved and with quite small but very noticeable nipples jutting out from dead centre and poking tight peaks in the fabric.

My eyes were fixed, but I sensed the expression on Cassey's face confirming that she was having the desired effect on me. Yes, the effect was desire.

She turned sideways-on so I could admire her form in profile. Her new top was unlikely to be substantial enough to be distorting the shape of her breasts so I had to conclude they were firm and completely self-supporting with no droop at all, as you might expect of a lithe, slimly-built 22 year old. And her areolae around nipples swelled discernibly beyond the rounded curve of her small boobs.

Her new top had several short cuts deliberately slashed into the material across the centre down the front affording me a tantalising glimpse of wide, shallow but none-the-less very alluring cleavage as well as two longer gashes below her breasts though which I could see more smooth skin. But not as much as I could when Cassey grasped the hem of her top and pulled it upwards over her upper body (slowly, of course) and over her face. When she could see me again she stopped with her arms held high above her head. She must somehow have known just how much I enjoy seeing a woman in that position. The taughtness of her muscles pulling her naked breasts higher still on her chest, flattening them more and forcing her smallish but perfectly neat nipples and rounded areolae to point more forcefully forwards in small protruding cones. It was all I could do to stay seated and not step forward and take an inviting nipple into my mouth and suckle on it.

Cassey slipped the top off and tossed it onto the sofa beside me, lowered her arms beside her body and relaxed.

"You've been wanting to see these for a while haven't you, Julia? Like them?"

Cassey's boobs are much smaller than mine but so well defined. "Love them," I replied, "They're beautiful," feasting on their aesthetically pleasing appearance but now wondering what they felt like too.

Forcing myself to look lower I admired Cassey's neat 'innie' navel that I had seen several times before (Cassey's slutty going-out clothes rarely cover her midriff), but never adorned to attractively with a long dangly eastern-ethnic design decoration swinging from a piercing ring and matching her beaded choker. It swayed as Cassey gyrated her body and rocked her hips to the beat.

As the music moved onwards at a constant intoxicating beat my attention moved down to Cassey's jeans. They seemed even lower at the front than the back, the waistband dropping well below her flat tummy and exposing the prominent bones of her pelvis. My eyes followed the small angled creases leading towards her pubic mound that was only just concealed. We're talking seriously low low-rise jeans here. I had to conclude that, if Cassey had kept a full bush of pubic hair, then more than just a few small curls would surely now be visible. Their complete absence suggested at least a neatly trimmed pubis, or more, or do I mean less?

Cassey downed the rest of her wine, moved her hands to the two simple fasteners at the front of her jeans and moved her self much closer to me. I looked into her green eyes, which seemed to smoulder with deep desire. I studied them. Every perfectly-mascara-ed eyelash, every neatly-plucked eyebrow hair, every pore of her young, taught, crease- and blemish-free skin around her expertly made-up eyes attracted my attention as I admired her intently. She blinked slowly and deliberately then looked downwards, taking my gaze with her, willing me to watch as she slowly unfastened her jeans.

Cassey stood back a little, directly in front of me, and slowly gyrated her hips. Each complete side-to-side movement was precisely timed to 8 beats of the thumping music. And with each movement she gradually eased the waistband of her jeans a little lower. My eyes darted from her flat abdomen to her slim contorting waist, up to her firm and captivating breasts, up to the choker around her neck, then back down again feasting on bare flesh, erect pink nipples, the slight but distinct curves under her boobs and the swaying jewellery speared though her navel.

As more raised pubic mound and broadening hips came into view, so did the narrow dark green waistband of an unbelievably low and skimpy g-string or thong. Cassey obligingly turned her back to me so I could see the point where an equally narrow strip of fabric was stitched to the waistband and immediately disappeared between the cheeks of her nearly-exposed ass. Cassey gyrated some more and pulled the jeans down further down over her bum, which she wiggled and thrust towards me. It took all my self-control to stop myself from reaching out and either caressing or even slapping the smooth curvaceous flesh that Cassey had so wantonly and confidently bared for me. My teasing private slut-dancer turned back to face me and stood up straight. She clasped her hands behind her waist, pulled her shoulders back, arched her spine and curved her whole body away from me so her breasts pushed outwards from her chest. She thrust her hips forward so her jeans peeled downwards off her pussy mound and slipped down to her thighs.

I stared amazed as only the tiniest narrow triangle of green material struggled to only just conceal the crack of her pussy and no more. My earlier question was now answered too. I could see that her mound was indeed shaved completely smooth and it swelled provocatively from either side of her tiny, ultra-low, almost-non-existent g-string.

Cassey rocked her pelvis so that her jeans slid lower down her thighs then stood still for a moment with her hands on her hips, looking at me but saying nothing.

I spoke first: "Cassandra you're a wicked slut! Where on earth did you get that?"

She just smiled and purred: "We're not here to talk about shopping, are we Julia. That's not why I asked to come round and that's not why you invited me in, is it. I'm here to show and you want to watch. Right? That's what we agreed. Then watch."

The music had moved into a slightly softer tune, a love song with female vocals signing quietly. Cassey moistened her lips with her tongue and tilted her head forward a little so her hair fell onto her face and she had to look up at me from under her slightly drooping, dreamy eyelids. She parted her knees as far as the jeans around her knees would allow and made slow humping movements from her waist. I knew from her expression that she was enjoying the sensation of the g-string working its way deeper into her slit. She closed her eyes, parted her lips and sighed a long deep sigh, then snapped out of her almost trance-like state and sunk back onto my sofa.

"Help me get these off will you please?" Cassey proposed, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her jeans and sliding them down her hips.

I slid off my perch, welcoming any opportunity to get closer to Cassey or even to touch her. She lifted her feet off the cushions and held them at my waist height. With her knees apart I couldn't help but look at her swelling pussy mound and the tiny triangle of damp green material that had nestled itself deep into her opening. Cassey saw me.

"You'll get a much better view of her later, if only I can get out of these!"

I could see her problem. Although her jeans were widely flared at the bottom they were tight above her knees. Cassey still had her shoes on although all I could see of them so far were the soles and their very small diameter pointed heels. I grasped the bottom of one trouser-leg and pulled as far as I could then the other. Repeating this as Cassey held her hands behind her knees to take the weight of her legs, I gradually eased her jeans over her feet. With I final pull I succeeded and fell backwards, collapsing in a heap of denim and making us both giggle childishly. The laughter was really just to conceal our nervousness, as we knew the erotic temperature had just risen ten degrees. As I sat on the floor between her feet, Cassey moved her hands apart, spreading her legs wider and parting her pussy lips so that the triangle of her g-string effortlessly slid further into her cunt-gash. Cassey moaned quietly and closed her eyes for a moment as I savoured the sight and aroma of her near-naked pussy.

Suddenly Cassey closed her legs, trapping me between her feet. It was only then that I really noticed her footwear. She had on a pair of ultra-high heeled shoes made entirely from plastic. The soles must have been 5cm thick and the heels easily 15 cm high, conical in shape and tapering from 8cm diameter to less than 2. The soles and heels were basically clear but with mutli-coloured neon swirls embedded into the transparent plastic material. Single straps around her insteps and behind her heels kept them on and Cassey's toenails were painted emerald green to match her fingernails and her eyes.

Cassey stood up and offered out a hand to pull me to my feet. We stood facing each other, she looking down on be from her raised vantage point. I tentatively reached out to touch her waist but she reacted to the swirling music and spun away from me. Standing out of reach, Cassey maximised the stunning effect of her high shoes by posing provocatively in just her g-string, pouting and constantly throwing coquettish glances at me. She moved her hands to her shoulders, only to immediately move then downwards over her body, caressing her breasts on the way down and especially her nipples causing then to peak into an even more erect state. Lingering on them for another eight rhythmic bars of the trance-music, she then slid them more quickly down her torso, playing with her adornment over her belly before slipping two fingers under each side of her g-string.

I watched captivated as I anticipated her next move, expecting her hands to continue downwards to peel off her g-string. But no. Instead, Cassey pulled her hands upwards, dragging the narrow waistband of the string up onto her hip bones, then higher still until it was pulled taught and cut into her lean flesh.

Cassey gyrated and rocked, bucking, rotating and swaying her hips. Her small boobs moved to the rhythm but, as arousing as that was to watch, her pussy attracted all of my attention. And hers.

Cassey moaned loudly, sighed, cried out and breathed deeply but waveringly as she pulled the narrow band between her legs deeper into her parted pussy and hard against her ass-hole. The engorged flesh of her mound spread widely either side and the darkening colour of the green material betrayed the wetness of her cunt. There right in front of me, Cassey was clit-frigging herself with the tiniest excuse for a pair of panties I could never have imagined. She was getting off on the sensation of the rubbing, rasping movements as it easily slid over her bud that by now was copiously lubricated with her exuding natural juices, whilst brazenly exposing herself to her exhilarated horny audience of one. Me.

I was speechless, but Cassey still knew exactly what I wanted. She turned her back to me and bent down, pushing her bum out whilst spreading her feet (in those awesomely high shoes) much wider apart on the floor.

My exhibitionist friend dropped her head and looked at me from between her knees, presumably to ensure I was till intently watching the show. I was. In fact my eyes and my attention were transfixed on Cassey's ass and her g-string. The narrow strip of green material ran exactly down the centre between her cheeks, pulled tight and hopelessly failing to conceal the clean pink bud of her ass-hole. It then traced a thin line down to her pussy where it all but disappeared into the perfect swollen pink inner lips of her cunt. The wet triangle began to spread only just beyond the opening of her vagina, concealing her clitoris and its hood but little more then tracking up the beginnings of her smooth pussy mound. Cassey placed her hands on her bum cheeks and pulled them further apart so I could get a better view. "Is that good, Julia? Is that pretty? Is that what you want to see?" I didn't answer with words but Cassey would have been able to hear my shallow breaths as I struggled to inhale though a dry parched mouth. All I could manage was: "Mmmmmmmmm"