No Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 13byTheScribe©
"What's up, guys?" Archie's voice crackled unexpectedly in the quiet aftermath of Nancy's whispered words. "What's the big problem?"
Imogene's eyes popped open at the sound of his voice, and she gaped at him in mild surprise. He was standing in front of them, bare chested, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and he looked slightly sheepish, like he had expected an emergency that hadn't materialized.
"No problem, baby," his mother replied casually. Her fingers released Imogene's nipple, and her hand slipped unobtrusively down the young woman's side. "I just wanted to get your reaction to Imogene here's modeling, that's all."
"Hell," he snapped in apparent relief, "if I had known that, I would have put on some pants. You sounded like the place was on fire or something."
"You're fine, baby; Imogene doesn't mind what you're wearing, do you, dear?"
"No, no, he's fine," she replied groggily; her focus was still impaled and riding the swells at the anchor road.
"You sure, ‘cause I can go change in a couple of minutes?"
She squinted at him because he was standing in shadow just outside the light. His broad chest rippled with hard muscle, and he was rubbing his head with one hand and holding the towel at his waist with the other. Despite his protestations, he seemed uncommonly at ease with his lack of clothing. Her eyes dropped, following the breadth of his chest toward his hips. His waist narrowed remarkably, trim and flat, with twin rows of sharply defined abdominal muscles marching in even columns toward his groin, and, below his waist, his narrow, sleek hips were hidden beneath the navy terry cloth of the towel. She opened her mouth to reply, but Nancy beat her to it.
"You heard the lady; no need to change, you're fine just like you are. Now, you come sit here on the couch, while Imogene and I go pick out something nice to model for you."
"Whatever," he replied with that slightly disrespectful tone youngsters use when they're trying to let you know they're straining to put up with you.
"Don't be nasty, buster," Nancy barked at him. "I got a feeling you're gonna like this a lot better than you think."
"You gonna start with the nighties, then?" he responded hopefully.
"You bet we are; Maxine's best, too."
"Alllllllllll right," he chirped excitedly.
Once more, Imogene allowed herself to be lead by the hand into the dressing room. "Have a drink," Nancy suggested upon closing the door behind them. She gestured toward the shaker Imogene had left on the dressing table. "I'll find something special for you." Imogene lunged toward the martinis like a drowning man grasping at a life-ring, while Nancy hummed her way through the racks of clothes.
"Here we go," she soon called out cheerfully from behind the third rack. In a moment she emerged holding a simple, but truly elegant suit. "Get out of that thing, and put this one on, honey," she said, extending the outfit toward Imogene. Imogene hesitated for an instant, balking at the idea of stripping in front of the woman, but quickly rationalized that she really didn't have much left to conceal that hadn't already been displayed. She slipped out of the top, and then reached behind her waist to unfasten the bow at the back of her chaps. Eager to hasten the process, Nancy knelt and quickly unfastened the little ropes securing the pants to Imogene's ankles. In a second or two the bindings were released, and the filmy material drifted to the floor. Nancy looked up at the naked girl towering over her, allowing her eyes to pointedly caress the younger woman's curves and niches appreciatively. "Wow," she breathed softly at the end of her visual tour when her eyes met Imogene's. "That's some figure you have, young lady. Turn around and let me look at you."
Imogene looked at her uncertainly, but she had come too far to back out now. "Whatever she wants," Maxine's words rang in her brain, and the girl slowly, reluctantly, rotated on her toes in a 360-degree turn. She blushed under Nancy's intense gaze, and her flesh seemed to be on fire.
"Hmmmmmm," Nancy whispered softly as the young woman completed the turn. "You look good enough to eat, baby."
"Nanccccccccccy!" Imogene squeaked in shock. She caught her breath and held it; her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Ohmygod, she IS going to make a pass at me, she screamed in silent protest, and she stiffened, steeling herself to accept the woman's advances.
Nancy looked at the stunned woman and laughed in a deep, husky laugh that seemed to rumble in her throat. "Oh, so that's what you think we're up to today, is it. An interesting thought, indeed; does that frighten you, my little sparrow? Does the thought of a woman's tongue licking that sweet little pussy of yours make you recoil in disgust, darling?" As she spoke, her hand rose and touched the girl's leg, on the inside, just above the knee. Imogene shivered involuntarily, and the fingers slipped higher, stroking the smooth flesh of her inner thigh, inching upward as Nancy spoke. Imogene's eyes widened in anxious horror, and Nancy's lacquered nails climbed toward her loins. Just as she spoke the words, "sweet little pussy," her fingers brushed through the dense curls that covered the girl, but then, while Imogene hung in tense suspension, suddenly they were gone and Nancy laughed again.
"Not just yet, honey," the older woman said softly, rising to her feet. "Maybe later, when you're ready, but not right now."
Imogene, visibly relaxed, exhaled, and her shoulders sagged in relief. "Take a drink, dear," Nancy urged. "Then put this on."
Imogene drained her glass and set it on the dressing table. She wiggled into the skirt, which was snug and short and was cut in such a way as to resemble a sarong wrapped around her hips. Nancy held the jacket for her and she slipped it on. It had been made like a man's morning coat with cutaway lapels and tails. It buttoned in the front with a single button at the waist and she tugged at the lapels, pulling the jacket tightly across her back just to be able to button it. It was a tight fit, because she was broad through the shoulders, and, when she had buttoned it, the lapels were pulled so far apart that the pink verges of her nipples were exposed.
When she was dressed, Nancy stepped back and gave her a quick inspection. "Stunning," she pronounced in satisfaction. "Now, go out there and knock him dead." She put her arm around the girl's shoulders and led her toward the door to the den.
The mention of Archie reminded her that a man, well, a boy really, was waiting just outside the door; a man-child wearing nothing but a grin and a towel was lying on a bed in the next room, waiting for her, waiting to watch her prance around nearly naked with a spotlight on her. She paled and slowed, digging in her heels as Nancy reached for the doorknob.
"Good grief, girl, it's just Archie; you better start getting used to him being around or you'll never make it to Jamaica."
Nancy's hand turned the knob, and the door opened a tiny bit. Imogene peeked through the crack. The boy was lying back on the couch, supported by his elbows, and he was swinging his feet back and forth like a kid watching a parade from the top rail of a fence. He looked harmless enough, she thought, even cute, like a little boy, and the observation reassured her.
"Cancun," she muttered.
"Huh?" Nancy answered.
"You said, `Cancun.'"
"Oh, yeah, right, `Cancun.' Whatever, honey, now you just get out there and strut." Nancy threw the door open and pushed the reluctant woman into the light.
Imogene stepped into the den with all the enthusiasm of a Christian stepping into a coliseum filled with hungry tigers. She hung back, fearful of progressing toward the couch and loath to distance herself from the sanctuary of the dressing room. She stood uncertainly in the first circle of light and tugged self-consciously at the hem of her short skirt. The effort required her to lean forward a bit, which, of course, caused her lapels to bow, exposing her breasts to the boy's view. She realized her error immediately and jerked upright, plucking at the material of her lapels to cover herself.
"Gee, Mrs. Justice," the boy called out to her innocently enough. "You look great; even better than you did before."
He sounded youthful, boyish, and his exuberance put her off her guard. She patted the fabric of her skirt with her palms and looked toward the sound of his voice. He was still lounging on the couch and was looking at her with almost casual indifference. Her spirits lifted; he looked manageable. I can do this, she thought.
"Do you like it? Your mom picked it out for me." She tried to disguise the nervousness in her voice as she spoke, hoping the reminder of his mother's presence close by would assure his behavior.
"She knows what she's doing, that's for sure."
"But, I think she forgot; it's not a nightie; she told you we were going to start with nighties."
"Oh, I know what she said; that's what she always says, but she almost never keeps her word."
"Really? You've done this before, then; watched women model clothes?"
"Sure, lots of times."
"I haven't ever done it; not like this." His matter-of-fact responses failed to calm her fears totally, and she couldn't keep her apprehension from showing.
"Nothing to it, really, Mrs. Justice. You just walk around and model what she picks out, and I clap and cheer, and when you're done, I tell Mom how much I liked it, and she invites you to join her bridge club."
"That's all there is to it?"
"Pretty much, Mrs. Justice," he replied easily.
"And, you just sit there and watch?"
"That's it, ma'am; I do whatever you tell me."
She shifted from foot to foot anxiously. His manner was reassuring, but...
"I, I, I'm not sure about this, Archie," she stammered.
"I know how you feel, Mrs. Justice. Most of `em are like that at first. You want me to move, give you a little more room? I'll go sit at the bar over there, if you want me to; not quite as good a view from there, but I don't mind all that much," he volunteered helpfully.
"I don't know," she replied indecisively, mentally measuring the distance between the couch, where he was sitting, and the path she was supposed to follow across the room. Plenty of room to escape if he gets too frisky, she thought, taking some comfort from the vast empty area between the couch and the hearth along the opposite wall. And, she reasoned, there's always mom; I'll just scream for help if he tries to grab me.
"Well?" he asked expectantly.
"No, no, you're OK where you are, I guess. You'll have to forgive me, this is all so new."
"No sweat, Mrs. Justice, I'll forgive you easy, but she..." and he pointed toward the doorway behind her as he spoke, "won't; she gets pissed if she's kept waiting long, and she don't ever get over it."
"Oh, shit," Imogene blurted in dismay; she had forgotten for the moment how readily Nancy's impatience asserted itself.
"It's OK," he said, smiling at her obscenity, "she'd be out here by now if she was pissed already. Hang on a sec, and I'll start some music." He lifted a concealed lid in the top of the end table by the couch revealing a control panel for the surround sound system. He punched a couple of buttons and twisted a knob, and, almost instantly, the room filled with the sound of Eric Clapton singing "Wonderful Tonight."
A shiver ran up her spine as the gentle words floated toward her from the speakers along the surrounding walls. Goosebumps popped up along her forearms as she remembered all the times she had heard those words and all the things she had done to that tune. It evoked powerfully erotic memories in her, and she never failed to thrill when she heard it played. Her pulse quickened, and her memories pushed the awkwardness of the moment into the background. She lurched forward unsteadily and struggled to walk toward the couch in a straight line.
It went pretty much as he had promised. She approached the couch, and he watched impassively. She passed unmolested, walking a little more quickly than Nancy had shown her, then slowed down when she passed beyond his reach. She reached the far wall and turned to retrace her steps, and he was clapping when she faced him again.
"Very good," he called out over the music, and she stepped toward him with more purpose in her step.
Her hips swayed with the music as she moved toward the couch, and she recalled Nancy's instructions. She put hands on hips and waggled her shoulders as she walked. The suit flowed over her like liquid silk as she glided across the room, shifting with the movement of her arms to cover and uncover, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her sultry charms. He clapped as she neared, and she felt as though her beauty lit the room. Let the dress do the work, she remembered, as she undulated past the reclining boy, and her long, bronzed legs flashed under her skirt and gleamed enticingly in the glare of the overhead lights.
He was clapping enthusiastically as she ducked through the dressing room door. She was exhilarated. She had braved the den of lions and had survived to live another day. Breathlessly, she turned to Nancy.
"Sounds like he likes you, kid," the older woman said smiling and handing a refilled goblet to her. "Turn around," she directed, and, while Imogene sipped her martini, Nancy unfastened the skirt in the back and worked the fabric over her hips and down her legs to her feet. Imogene unfastened the button closing the jacket and Nancy lifted it from her shoulders from behind. Imogene held one arm behind her for Nancy to remove the sleeve, and her drink jostled in her other hand.
"Careful, honey, we don't want to spill martini on one of Maxine's originals," Nancy cautioned.
"Oops," she giggled, considerably relieved that her audition was going so well, and steadied her hand by bringing the glass to her lips. She switched hands, and Nancy slipped the other sleeve off her arm. She turned to face the older woman, no longer mortified at her nudity, and took another sip of her drink. Their eyes met over the rim of her glass, and Imogene felt nearly giddy with her success.
"He's really cute and sweet, Nancy. You must be very proud of him," she bubbled.
"Proud?" Nancy repeated slyly. "I guess you could call it that, sure, ‘proud's’ as good a term for it as any. I'm glad you like him; I think you two are going to hit it off real good."
Imogene took another gulp, toasting her success, and drained her glass again.
"My, my," Nancy said, making a pretense of scolding, "you are a thirsty girl. Here, put this on, while I pour you another."
Imogene took the hanger from the woman's outstretched hand and examined the outfit eagerly. It was a garishly ornamented tube top in hot pink with ostrich feathers and what appeared to be Christmas balls hanging off various points all over it. It clinked and rattled as she took it off the hanger, and she shook her head in bewilderment. Underneath the top was a pair of matching, hot pink short shorts that proved to be no more than skin tight when she tried to put them on. With Nancy's help she managed to wriggle into the shorts and pull them up over her hips.
"Suck in your tummy," Nancy told her as she tried to work the zipper up in the back.
"I don't hash a tummy," Imogene protested a little drunkenly, and Nancy had to acknowledge the truth of her claim.
"Well, suck in your butt, then."
"Ok, I'll try." And, together they managed to wedge the girl's buttocks into the shorts and zip them up.
"Wuff," the girl gasped as the gap closed, "I can't breafe."
"Take another drink," Nancy encouraged, and held the clinking tube top over the girl's head, while she took another sip from her glass.
She raised her arms and slipped them through the oval bottom of the tube top. Nancy pulled it down, over her head and shoulders to her chest. Imogene giggled when her head emerged from the tight tube, and she shook her hair back into shape. She held her arms above her head while Nancy adjusted the top. Nancy tugged and pulled, and eventually got the top centered, so the dangling balls would not obstruct the movement of the girl's arms. She stepped back for a look, and screwed up her face in obvious disapproval.
"Too high," she observed critically. "Don't move, I'll fix it.” She tugged gently at the hem, but the top was too snug, and she feared that too much force on the hem would rip the top in half. "Be still," she commanded, and she slid her fingers between the fabric and the girl's hot skin. Her fingers brushed Imogene's breasts as she groped for a grip on the tight cloth. She pinched the cloth between her fingers and thumbs and began working her hands from side to side to lower the garment. Imogene held her arms stretched above her head and wiggled her fingers. Nancy's fingernails, sharp, painted talons, sawed back and forth across Imogene's nipples, which immediately stiffened.
"Oooooo," the girl whistled as her flesh tightened.
"You have sensitive breasts, my dear," Nancy observed calmly as she worked to position the garment. "That's nice."
Imogene blinked at her, leaving her arms raised, and she tried to think of a response.
Nancy's hands remained inside the girl's top, her fingers capturing the girl's tense nipples and squeezing them forcefully. She wiggled her fingers, and the girl's taut flesh rolled between them and stiffened more. She tugged at the rubbery, erectile points, alternating from one to the other, like milking a cow, and Imogene closed her eyes. Hmmmmm, she thought, as sensations rippled through her breasts. Yes, she did have sensitive breasts, two cupfuls of erogenous zone on each side, she admitted to herself, and her knees began turning to jelly.
"Hmmmmm," Imogene was astonished to hear herself moan, and she opened her eyes. Nancy was watching her face intently, and the manipulation of her nipples had taken on an almost feverish pace. Imogene's fingers entwined behind her head, and she arched her back, lifting her breasts toward Nancy's wicked massage.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, Nancy ceased the massage and withdrew her fingers. She positioned the top to just barely cover the tight projections of Imogene's nipples and patted her breasts in satisfaction. "There you are, pretty girl, all stiff and sexy; now, go out there and show him what you're made of."
Emboldened by Nancy's blatantly sexual stimulation, Imogene strode through the door with little of her earlier trepidation. She pause only long enough to pick up the rhythm of the music, then slowly began to slide with an undulating slink toward the couch.
Archie clapped and cheered, and when she had traversed the room and returned and was approaching the dressing room door, he whistled and called out, "More, more."
"He wants me to model some more for him," she squealed happily, after the door shut behind her.
"No, honey, what he wants is to see more skin, I think," Nancy corrected her. "Here, see how he likes this one."
Imogene giggled, "This is fun. Is this what you meant by having fun, before?" She took a couple of gulps from her glass, then unzipped her short shorts.
"You're getting there," Nancy answered.
Imogene was flushed with excitement when the dressing room door closed behind her and the spotlights enveloped her again. Two, four inch wide panels of nearly transparent voile hung from a silver band encircling her waist, one panel in the front and one in the back and each trailed to the floor dragging behind her like the train of a wedding gown. Her top was a truncated bolero jacket, which lacked any fastening mechanism in the front and was intended to be held together by hand as modesty required.
Archie clapped and whistled, and this time, on her return trip, she paused in front of the couch, just beyond the reach of his feet, and turned slowly, and, as she turned, she opened first one side of her jacket and then the other, offering glimpses of her full, rounded breasts to the enthralled boy. He gleamed, and she smiled seductively, and he drummed his heels on the frame of the couch and squalled deliriously.