A Close Shave Ch. 02

Okay, full disclosure - I did bring a condom or two with me to Esme's apartment. But I was expecting at least a few safeguards prior to her seeing me naked for the first time. Safeguards like...an epic makeout session beforehand to get her mood up and her attention to detail down. Or the main lights out, with just a little bit of silver trickling in from a crack in the bathroom door. Or the fact that she'd be naked too, and therefore just as vulnerable as I am.

Okay, the idea of Esme being vulnerable was pretty laughable at the time, but still...I wanted safeguards.

But this? Being told to strip beneath the harsh, naked bulbs above the sink? With Esme giving no indication that she was going to take off her clothes"? Having just ended a ten-second makeout session by shellacking my boxers? Uh, yeah, this was not what I had in mind when I slipped those rubbers into my pocket.

"Oh...oh no," I said trying to laugh it off. "I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one evening."

Esme let out a half-purr, half-growl. She got a little bit closer to me, and then I got a lot closer to her as she grabbed my belt and pulled me in.

"I don't think you've embarrassed yourself nearly enough, sweet boy," she said. I looked down into her big brown eyes, which were clearly amused at the mixture of terror and arousal on my face. And just out of focus - where I still didn't dare look directly - I could see the deep shadow of her cleavage...

***

"Jordy. Hey."

I had been looking down the hallway when Esme opened the door to her apartment. I turned back to say hello...and absolutely choked on my greeting once I saw her.

See, Esme and I had coffee a couple of times since she that first day when she took my phone number. And we'd gone to get drinks at a bar where a band I really liked - and that she had winkingly described as "acceptable" - was playing. But I had only ever seen her wearing one of her work polos or the simple, looseish t-shirt she'd worn to the gig.

So when she greeted the door in a tank-top displaying what was essentially the Mariana Trench of cleavage, the part of my brain that I use for speech had to lend some extra cycles to the part of my brain that keeps me from just staring at boobs and creeping out girls.

"H...eyyyy," I said. Esme gave me the look that I was still getting used to - half-amused, half-annoyed - and let me dangle.

I held up the six-pack I brought with me. "This is beer you like."

Esme crossed her arms underneath her heavy chest, pushing her girls up and frying my brain even further.

"If you're going to be weird," she said, "I'm not going to let you in."

I just shook my head slowly, trying to adopt an expression that combined the sentiments of "I don't know what you're talking about," and "everything's cool, babydoll". I failed. Obviously.

"Tell me," she said, her tone confident without being sharp. And as it had so many times in the past week, the calm strength behind her demands pulled out more from me than I would normally give.

"I really like your...tank top," I said quickly, wilting beneath the heat that crawled up my neck.

Esme smirked. "Yeah. My tits are pretty great. Gimme." She took the beer from me, then led me into the apartment and told me what side of her couch to sit on...

***

"Let's go," she told me in the bathroom forty-five minutes later. "Clothes off."

For the third or fourth time that evening, I found myself freezing under pressure. On the one hand, I had no safeguards. I would be completely and utterly exposed...shortcomings and all. But on the other hand...

How the hell am I still hard? For a guy in my early twenties, my refractory period was atrocious. And yet my erection was stronger than ever, strong enough that I could feel it swell against my khakis with every beat of my heart. Something in the root of my horny reptile brain was responding very strongly to the idea of being stripped bare before this shortish, thiccish, curly-pixie-cut-bespectacled-post-goth-goddess. And that part of my brain was slowly putting the rest of my gray matter into an MMA-style chokehold.

However, it wasn't moving fast enough for Esme. She cooed as she slowly ran her hands up her stomach, curving them around her breasts and then hooking her fingers in the top of her tank top and tugging downwards a half-inch.

"Come on, sweet boy," she purred. She flicked her eyes downward to the cleavage I could no longer pretend to ignore, the tip of her pink tongue moistening her lips. Esme's eyes peeked back up at me over the top of her glasses. A cruel little grin tugged on the corner of her mouth, and the self-preservation portion of my brain finally tapped out.

Fuck yeah, I thought, my shirt already half-way off my head. I unbuttoned my pants and peeled them off smoothly...which is a big fucking lie, because they got caught on one ankle and I almost fell over freeing myself from them. Esme was laughing, but I barely noticed on account of the massive patch of darkness on my boxers that stretched from thigh to thigh, and reaching almost from the waistband down to bottom of the front-flap seam.

Jesus Christ, I thought, how the fuck did I cum this much.

Esme cleared her throat. I looked up at her. She tilted her head, then loosened her grip on the top of her tank top.

Holy shit. Do not fuck this up, get those fucking boxers off, move move move move.

I pulled them down, wincing at the gross wetness sliding over my legs as I stripped off my soaked undergarments and dropped them on my pants. I wanted to cover myself up, hold my hands in front of me or something, but I knew that would be against the rules. So I just stood there, blushing from the top of my chest to my hairline, cock bouncing up and down with every beat of my heart.

Esme ran her eyes the full length of my body. "Cute," she said. She let go of her tank top, allowing her hands to drop free of her breasts, leaving them covered.

Oh come on, I thought, I'm fucking dying here-

But then she was walking towards me, the Devil's eyes stealing my soul over the top of her half-rims, her presence, her attitude overwriting my thoughts with an erotic static that drowned out anything not related to my desire for her.

She stopped less than an inch away from the tip of my hardness. It twitched, reaching for her, and it took all that I had not to push my hips forward the tiniest bit to feel her against me.

"Very cute," she said, closing her eyes and pursing her lips slightly as she raised her chin upwards. I leaned down and forward to kiss her, closing my eyes-

"Hng." I let out a strangled little sound as Esme grabbed me by the root, her thumb pressing against the base of my shaft while her fingers curled around to the back of my balls. She squeezed just hard enough to gain total control of me, then pulled up slightly, forcing me onto my tiptoes. I opened my eyes, frantic, and found myself drowning in her liquid gaze.

"But it would be even cuter," she purred, "if you were shaved..."