The Bra Salesman Ch. 08bybobrobertson©
Here's the next edition. Someone has been bombing my previous stories with weird anonymous comments, which I'm working with the webmasters to remove. But know that I do read comments and emails sent to me, so thank you to all those who have sent me encouragement. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!
Chapter 8: An Unwelcome Guest
Ok, so I was wrong.
I was sure that letting some ridiculously stupid emotion like love into the picture was going to ruin everything, and that allowing my hormones to run free and fall madly and foolishly in love was going to rot my brain and make me do something monumentally idiotic that would end this whole scam.
But it's been three days since I tried to confess to her, and I have to say it's actually been three days free of errors, problems, or any pesky reemergence of ethics or scruples. She still has no idea what a lying asshole I am, she still is happy to do whatever sexually perverted act I want to do to her, and after that brief glimpse of conscience I experienced I am once again finding it much easier to live with the guilt of being a lying asshole.
After work for the last three days, I have been going to her apartment where she has faithfully waited for me naked and anxious for me to go through our evening exercises. And by exercises, I mean I squeeze her gorgeous breasts and make love to her luscious body for hours.
See what just happened? Do you see what I mean? That right there is what I've been struggling with. Last week, I would have been grabbing her gigantic tits and fucking her wet cunt. But with every passing day, I am feeling closer and closer to her. I don't want to fuck her any more, I want to make love. And don't get me wrong, I'm still a crass asshole who wants to fuck her pussy. I'm just saying that the more time that I spend with her, the more sensitive and romantic I get. And for me, that is such a jarringly new experience that, as enjoyable it might be, a significant part of me still finds it completely revolting.
Historically I have not been someone known for grand romantic gestures. I have never rented some outlandish horse-drawn carriage through a crisp, chilly evening downtown that ended at a magical candlelit restaurant that serves an exquisite Sauvignon Blanc. I have not planned some quixotic weekend getaway at a quaint bed-and-breakfast near a quiet mountain trail tailor-made for a quintessential stroll while holding hands and using a bunch of words that start with "q." That's not the guy I am. I'm the guy that pretends to be a bra salesman and tricks a woman into fucking him continuously for a few weeks through bullshit exercises that will supposedly help her fit into lingerie. That's the disgusting prick I am.
But now when I go through several exercises where I can make love to her... I mean, where I can fuck her forcefully and vigorously, she has also revealed a fetish for bondage that allows me to break out the "super duper ultimate radical therapy" props that involve handcuffs, whips, nipple clamps, and dildos, which she absofuckinglutely revels in. She is this unbelieveably perfect mix of beauty, sexiness, naiveté, gullibility, and slutiness that has been ideally crafted for a scheming asshole like me. But now, more and more, I'm thinking of her as a gentle soul that makes me feel warm and undeservedly cared for.
So of course I don't want this to end. Ever since that night I tried to confess to her and didn't, I thought about saying something to her. Lots of times. A few weeks ago, the thought of lying to her didn't bother me a bit if it meant I ended up with my cock inserted somewhere inside her gorgeous body. But now, I hate that I lied to her and that I have to keep lying to her to keep this going. Of course, I don't hate it enough to actually have the gonads to do anything.
And who knows? Maybe I don't have to tell her after all. I've kept everything going up until now without any major incident, and I can probably keep this going for quite some time. Yeah sure, eventually we will stop rutting long enough to go out on some dates, and at some point she would introduce me to friends and family some of whom are likely to be, statistically speaking, not as unnaturally dense as her. And that means that they will want to kick the living shit out of me for what I've done to Tasha, and I most certainly deserve whatever asswhooping they care to carry out on my sordid derriere. But that's way down the road, no need to stir up anything now.
At least, that's the ridiculous story I keeping telling myself as I approach her apartment door and knock. She answered and I knew immediately something was wrong. She answered the door wearing a t-shirt and cut-off shorts. Granted, the t-shirt was too small for her torso, and I didn't know how the shirt fabric was able to withstand the pressure of her enormously bulging tits straining against her hardened nipples.
But as sexy as it was, she wasn't naked or in lingerie like she normally was. "Hi Albert! Come on in! Is it that time already? I'm sorry, I got lost in conversation with my neighbor Brittney."
I walk into the apartment and see a young woman in her mid-20s who in her own way is quite stunning. She had a pleasant face, silky red hair that was curled up in a pony tail, and a nice thin figure, a little thin for my taste but she definitely had curves in all the right places. Her breasts were not as spectacular as Tasha's but were nevertheless nice and round, and her long, muscular legs would fare nicely in a competition with any other woman, bar none.
This really caught me off guard, and I was not prepared to deal with any of Tasha's friends yet. Since she was friends with Tasha, I wondered if maybe she might be as gullible as Tasha. Ok, no one is as freakishly gullible as her. But maybe if I smile and act halfway decently, maybe just maybe I could work my bullshit charm on her. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not charming, all I have is bullshit. I'm an asshole who is really fucked now. Nevertheless I slap on a stupid smile and try to think of what the fuck I'm going to do.
Tasha continued to introduce her, "I've been telling Brittney how wonderful you've been with all the exercises you've shown me." I looked at Brittney as she turned to me with her mouth clenched sternly that let me know I was in even deeper shit than I feared.
"Yes," Brittney said in a voice that practically had a metallic edge to it, "Tasha has told me about the WONderful exercises you've been doing with her." That one syllable was said with an annoyingly mocking exaggeration as she stood up to greet me. Or confront me. Or knock my teeth out, I wasn't sure.
"Oh... great! I... uh... Tasha hasn't told me anything about you!" That's it, stall and get her talking. I need to know what and who I'm dealing with here. Maybe I can find some way to butter her up with compliments. Except now I'm thinking of buttering her protruding breasts. God, I really am a pig.
Tasha jumps in, "Brittney here lives two floors up from me. We met a couple years ago and have gone out to some clubs here and there." Tasha is so animated that she must not notice the way Brittney is looking at me with the same intensity of a prizefighter circling a dazed opponent.
"That's right. I hadn't heard from my building-mate in a while so I came down to chat with her and MY, what an amazing story she had to tell me about YOU." She jabbed her manicured finger into my chest without any force, but it clearly carried an implicit menacing accusation with it. I felt the threat she was giving me, or at least as much I could given that I was staring at her superb tits peeking out of her low cut blouse. Good Lord, you are up to your ogling eyeballs in shit here dude, will you fucking focus?
"Oh yes," Tasha smiled, "I told her all about what you've done for me. The way you measured me and all the great exercises that have helped me fit into my lingerie! Remember, she's the one last week who thought that you and Dr. Cooper were just trying to have sex with me. But I told her what you told me, and that explained everything." Oh Christ, Brittney is giving me a look that has all the warmth of a polar bear pissing on a glacier, whatever the fuck that means. "She said she couldn't wait for you to measure her as well and give her some exercises!"
I smiled with a gentle assurance, "Of course, I'd be happy to." Shit! Shit! Shit! How the fuck am I going to fucking measure her? What I did to Tasha when I first measured her would have gotten me thrown into jail by anyone with half a mind to... well, with half a mind. Of course, I was grateful that Tasha was too dim to realize that what I was doing to her was completely ridiculous. But looking into Brittney's eyes, oh she knows. She fucking knows. Shit!
"What would you like me to do first?" Brittney said to me. Now I have to figure out a way to do the same kind of "measuring" I did with Tasha that won't get me thrown into prison by Brittney. And I have no fucking idea how to do that.
Tasha jumps in, "Take off your shirt so he can measure your chest!" Oh fuck, thank you so fucking much for that wonderful fucking advice. Like she... hold on, is she actually taking her shirt off? I thought she was going to knock some of my teeth out, I certainly wasn't expecting her to actually take of her shirt.
"That's... thank you... uh... you...how about... mmm...." Way to play it cool, jackass. Shit shit shit, this is fucking bad. I mean, her tits are astoundingly breathtaking underneath her black lacy bra, but there is no way this is going to end well for me. I know she's just playing along with me and waiting for me to fuck up so she can call the cops. Or smash my face in, whichever is easier for her.
Wait! I've got it! "Oh, I... uh... I don't have any measuring tape with me." Whew, that's it. That's a perfect excuse why I can't proceed. There's no measuring tape here like there was at the department store. "I guess we'll have to do this another time." And in the meantime I can come up with a strategy. Like pack up everything I own and move to Thailand.
"Don't worry, I got some tape out for you." Tasha hands me some cloth measuring tape she obtained for me on my behalf. Fuck! Are you fucking kidding me? That's just fucking great. Thank you so very fucking much for ruining my one and only fucking chance to get out of this without me losing some part of my face. Fuck!
"Thank you, Tasha," I say with a forced grin. As I carefully pull the tape around Brittney's breasts, I look her in the eye, "Try to hold still, Brittney." I smile at her, but I don't think she's buying it. As I stretch the tape across her chest, the back of my hands press into her lace-covered bosom. I try not to make any noise when I read 34 on the tape, but I did have a stifle a high-pitch grunt of arousal.
"Remember, you get a better measurement with her bra off!" Tasha reminds me with a big grin on her face. Fuck! Jesus Fucking Christ! Any time you want to shut your fucking mouth would be just fucking peachy with me, ok? You are not fucking helping me here! Shit! Shit! Shit!
"Is that right?" Brittney gives me the kind of weird smile that a shark gives while circling a wounded dolphin. Huh? What the fuck? She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, and her pert, round breasts jiggle upon their release from captivity. Whoa, I was definitely not expecting her to comply with that request. This woman giving me the nasty sneer of hatred is really going out of her way to set me up here.
"Thank you," I say sheepishly and wrap the tape around her chest again. This time, the back of my hands press into her reddish nipples, now erect in the open air. This would be fucking fantastic except for the look on her face which says she can't wait for me to cross the line. Of course, I would have thought pressing my hands against her naked tits would have crossed the line already, but here she is obediently holding still. God, I can't even breathe right now, I'm so nervous.
"Yes, 34. Very good." Oh that was some fucking brilliant oratory right there.
"And the cup size?" Britney contemptuously asks me with sarcastic gentleness and sweetness. Which is really hard to pull off when standing topless in front of a stranger, but congratulations, she did it exquisitely. Yoo hoo for her.
"Uh... right." Shit, what now? This is when I grabbed Tasha's breasts and fondled her for my own sick pleasure. I guess I have to keep going with this, at least long enough to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do. And I have no fucking idea what the fuck I'm going to do, other than reach out and cup her large breasts in my hands.
As I softly press my fingers into the soft flesh under her breasts, I can see her tits jiggling. I brace myself for a slap against my cheek... but no, she's letting me dig my fingers into her soft skin. I don't understand any of this.
"So?" she says with a cynical skepticism that dares me to get this wrong and prove what a lousy fake I am. Ok this is too fucking weird. Clearly this woman hates my guts and is ready to pummel me, but so far she has taken off her top and let me fondle her breasts. I don't get it. Brittany didn't have to do any of this. She could have outted me without taking off a thread of clothing. She could have accurately declared me a fucking fake sleazebag at any time, there's no reason at all for her to go through all this. This makes no fucking sense.
Oh right, the breasts in my hands. I need a size. Well, if Tasha wears an F cup, then...... hrmm... "Seems like you're a C."
"That's right," Brittney said. Tasha squealed ecstatically and lightly applauded me. I looked closely at Brittney, who appeared to be slightly shaking her head. As in no. As in I was wrong. So why did she say I was right?
"Now measure her hoochie!" Tasha said to me. Fuck! Will you please shut the fuck up? You are not fucking helping me here! But of course I slap a stupid, pleasant smile on my face to let everyone know that this is all just normal business as usual for me. Jesus Christ, I am so fucked. I hope the news photographers get a good picture of me when they plaster my face on the evening news after I get arrested for being such a fucking pervert.
"Yes, please show me what it is you do." And with that, Brittney unzipped her shorts and dropped both her shorts and panties to the floor. As she stepped out naked from the pile of clothing at her feet, I tried to keep my face from becoming slack jawed. What the fuck is this? She clearly knows I'm full of shit, she hates my guts, and yet she has taken off her clothes and let me fondle her tits and seems willing to let me stick my fingers into her pussy? Seriously? Nothing about this makes any fucking sense! I have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on.
Brittney keeps staring at me intently as she called out, "Tasha, all this measuring has made me thirsty. Do you mind going down the street and getting me some flavored water from the convenience store?"
"Sure, no problem!" And with that, Tasha giddily pranced out the door and shut it behind her. Immediately she opened the door again, "Oops, I forgot my purse." She grabbed her purse hanging on the coat rack and then closed the door behind her again.
"So Albert," Brittney says in that same annoying mocking exaggerated way, "show me how this is done." And with that, she grabs my wrist and rams it into her crotch. She still has the shark-like smile, but I can't tell if she hates me after all or if I misread her and something else is going on.
"Alright, what do you want?" This shit is getting too fucking crazy. Of course, I can't help but slide my fingers into her pussy and feel her swollen vagina become moist with arousal.
"I can't believe you said I was a C. My D's are quite offended." If it weren't for that annoying voice of hers, I would be turned on having a beautiful naked woman standing in front of me. Ok, who am I kidding? Even with the annoying voice, I'm still turned on by her. I am such a fucking horndog. My fingers slide easily in and out of her as I press my thumb against her clitoris.
I repeated, "What do you want?" I mean, other than having my shove my fingers into your damp cunt.
"I want the measuring that Tasha got. Surely you can do that." She takes a deep breath that makes her entire chest rise. Damn, but she does have some really fine tits. I still prefer Tasha's, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate a beautiful pair of naked breasts when they're jiggling in front of me as I continue pressing my fingers further and further inside her wet pussy. Ok, get your brain in gear and figure out what the fuck is happening here.
"Why?" I know, it's kind of a silly question now that I'm actually finger-fucking her. But I have to know. This whole thing doesn't make a damn bit of sense to me.
"Because if you don't, I'm going to tell her that you're a lying piece of shit, that you're not a bra salesman, that this whole thing is a sham. And then I'll personally drive her to the police station to file sexual assault charges against you. That's why." She grabs my other hand and presses it against her bare breast. And being a warm-blooded heterosexual male, I naturally dig my fingers into her soft flesh and fondle her lovely tit.
I'm torn between being totally turned on with having my fingers in her pussy while I squeeze her naked breast and being annoyed that I... ok, I'm not that torn after all. But being overtly threatened with prison time is definitely downgrades my level of arousal. Not enough to stop finger-fucking her, of course, but definitely downgrades it. "If you know I'm a lying piece of shit, then why are you letting me...?"
"Look Albert, I've had plenty of guys who wanted to do a lot more than finger-fuck me, and I enjoyed wrapping them around my finger and persuading them do whatever I want. It is amazing what men will do for you, and buy for you, all for the opportunity to try to get into my pants. My apartment is filled with the wonderful generosity of horny men I've manipulated over the years." Now that she's smiling at me, I think I liked it better when she was giving me a nasty sneer.
"But with you," Brittney continued, "it's so much better than that. I know your secret, so you HAVE to do what I say, and I find it... I don't know, intoxicating to have a man I can order around and be forced to do whatever I want whenever I want. I think it'll be quite fun for me. So you'd better not disappoint me. Or else." She closes her eyes and gasps. Her entire body starts trembling as if she's experiencing an orgasm. Of course, I can't tell if it's because I have a gift for making women cum with my fingers or whether she's turned on by the whole power trip.
"But if you're friends with Tasha, then why..."
"Friends? Pfft, we're not friends. I know her from the building and we've gone out every so often. She's almost as attractive as me, and that helps attract the boys when we go to bars and clubs." Almost? Sorry lady, but she is WAY hotter than you. No point in going into that now, though.
"Fact is," she continued, "I she always was quite full of herself and I'm glad she's being tricked and fucked by assholes like you now." Like me? I would take offense at that, except I know she's absolutely right. "But that doesn't mean I won't tell her the truth and destroy your life completely if you don't do what I want. Understood?"
"I hear you." I look around the apartment, looking for some memento from Tasha that might brighten the room again.
"I think," she grabbed my chin and forced our eyes to lock, "you should be a little more respectful when you talk to me." It is too fucking bizarre listening to someone demand respect while I'm sexually gratifying her with my fingers shoved into her wet pussy.
But she clearly has me by the balls right now, so to speak, so I answer,"Yes ma'am."