Being Thorough Pt. 02

Something unmistakable nudged against my lower back, just above my buttocks, and a sharp thrill shot through me because I knew I had put that there. Not the ebony-skinned cheerleader. Me.

"Watch," he told me.

I looked down and watched his hands as they grabbed, kneaded and squeezed my small, sensitive tits. There was something alarmingly arousing about the sight of someone's paws all over a body part you had been told was a strictly forbidden no-go zone for everyone (including, for the most part, yourself) since before you were even old enough to actually have developed that body part.

He just laid claim to them, and I let him.

"Bad girls smuggle items in their bras or taped into their cleavage all the time, did you know that?" he asked me casually as his kneading got even more vigorous and rhythmic. "It's because they think security personnel wouldn't dare to touch or even look too closely there."

Just before the touch crossed from intense to painful, he stopped and instead began to gather the fabric of my shirt, pulling the seam up like a theater curtain, baring my tummy bit by bit.

"But you are really not a bad girl, so I am hardly worried," he said as he let the tips of his pinky fingers ghost across the skin of my newly naked belly. My abdominal muscles jumped and twitched in spite of me.

"And even if you were a bad girl, I'd absolutely find you out."

Almost casually, both of his hands slid underneath the bunched fabric of my shirt and up to my bare breasts. He cupped them skin to skin.

I tried to swallow the whimper but couldn't. Not this time. So many sensations at once. I had never felt this deliriously soft, never been this overwhelmed by my body and its reaction. His hands were big, warm, and unyielding as he massaged my second most delicate parts, weighed and molded them in his palms, roughly grabbed at them until my flesh spilled out between his fingers, even gave them little slaps that made me stand on my toes as if I could get away from the feelings that way.

"Don't close your eyes. Watch," he ordered again, and I opened my eyes that had previously been screwed shut to observe his fingers as they moved underneath the fabric of my shirt. He was watching, too, over my shoulder.

I could see clearly how he used his thumbs and forefingers to circle and pinch my nipples. Hard. Once, twice, then letting up, gently petting them only to catch them again and pull them up and away from my chest.

I was a string instrument, and he plucked me expertly.

I rocked forward to ease the sensation, but he barked a "stay still" at me and obeyed, soundlessly cursing when he tugged on my nipples again and again, with soothing rubs around my puffy areolas in between. While his thumb and index pinched and rolled and pulled my tips, his palms and the other three fingers kept kneading the fleshy underside of my boobs in a steady rhythm.

"I wonder what color they are," he told me. Overt arousal dripped from his voice. "Just a shade darker than your lips, maybe? Like two ripe little berries?" He gave them another pinch.

"Lighter," I breathed. "Pale pink." Depending on the temperature, my nipples were actually almost the same shade as my skin. I had always envied the girls with the dark rose tips.

"Pale pink, huh?" He nuzzled my ear with his nose. "Not when I'm done with them, they're not."

I inhaled sharply. Suddenly there were direct lines, nerve pathways that lead directly from my nipples to my clit, and they glowed like the coiled filament in a light bulb, setting my entire body alight.

I had heard of women who had orgasms from having their tits and nipples fondled. I thought they were an urban myth.

I'd been wrong.

"I think I'm going to cum," I told him quietly. I could feel the tension rising unstoppably in my core.

"No, you're not," was all he said and flicked my tenderized buds with the side of his index finger until I begged him to stop for the third time. Both my legs and my arms, which were still raised up in the air, were shaking like crazy.

He cupped my breasts again and pulled me against him once more, letting me feel the strong wall of his chest and stomach and his erection against my butt, pressing his palms against my stiff, sore nipples until they tingled.

"You writhe around quite a lot there, Miss," he said into my ear. "Didn't we agree that you would stay nice and still during this procedure?"

"I'm so sorry," I babbled and writhed on purpose, just once, to rub my backside against him. I heard him hiss in a breath before he caught himself.

"I guess there's no helping it. I'll have to take you in to the office tomorrow. It's in the basement of the admin building no. 2, room 14B. Be there at 6pm sharp. I'll file a report for obstruction, you agree to a proper search, and if you come out clean, we'll forget all about it."

I'd rather forget my own name than forget a single second of this but I played along.

"Alright," I agreed. "Can I go now?"

He clicked his tongue. "I'm afraid there is one more thing."

I was almost relieved.

He took a step back from me. "Turn around."

I did.

Eyes dark with ardor, color in his cheeks, unapologetic bulge in his pants which he was kneading with one hand. So fucking sexy I couldn't even look at him long.

"Feet apart."

I set my feet hip-width apart again, feeling once more how bare my underside was, and how drenched. At this rate, I would drip onto his precious space foam mat within the minute.

"Lift your skirt up to your waist."

I did as told, happy to be allowed to lower my arms now.

Slowly, not only to be coy but because the material of my skirt was on the sturdier side and didn't girlishly flick up like Marilyn Monroe's did on the subway grate, I peeled up my garment. I didn't dare to watch him watch me and kept my eyes focused on my own hands, but I heard an appreciative hum that told me he liked that which I was uncovering for him.

My thighs, definitely on the thick and strong side, looking quite nice sheathed in my anthracite-colored panty hose.

The triangle of my pubic area, covered in pubes which I only trimmed around the bikini zones.

My private parts between the two, which were drenched, swollen and beyond needy.

"Higher," he instructed until I had the material bunched up just below my navel. "Good. Keep it like that. Just like that. Don't move your hands now."

I gasped silently when he went to his knees in front of me and inspected the area between my thighs very closely. His nose was almost pressed against me. His hands came up to clamp around my knees, which I was thankful for because they felt so rubbery.

"That's it," he said, talking low to himself. "Oh fuck, look at this."

When he leaned in farther and buried his face in the apex of my thighs for a long moment, I almost sobbed from mental and physical overload. The sensation was dulled through the panty hose but I could have sworn he had licked me.

Something in my brain came loose at the mere idea of it. My head fell back and my eyelids fell shut.

"You are so fucking sexy," he repeated the words I had previously left unsaid about him, breaking his character out of sheer horniness. "Look at you. No panties, just like I told you, and your legs, and your panty hose all soaked... fuck me."

God, I wanted to. But he had told me to stay still and hold my skirt up for him, so that's all I would do.

"You wanna cum real badly, don't you?" When he glanced up at my face, I nodded once. His expression turned all wicked, which made him only more attractive. "Of course you do. I can see it in your eyes, and I can smell it in your cunt."

A shiver rippled through me when he said that word with that voice.

"But you've been almost an hour late today, Isobel."

Casually, he lifted one index finger to my pussy and poked it through the fine web of my soaked panty hose, causing me to flinch and sending a zap of pure electricity up my spine. Just like yesterday, he traced my slit forward and back, forward and back, from my sodden entrance to my engorged clit that was peeking out from its hood at the front. His fingertip might as well have been a Wartenberg wheel. I gnawed on my lower lip to stifle my noises.

"I don't think that you should be rewarded for tardiness. Do you?"

I couldn't answer. I couldn't think. His finger was some sort of magical instrument of torture.

"I see that you have nothing to say for yourself," he observed happily and played with my clit.

Not enough. Not enough!

"Please," I hushed out, my throat suddenly tight with tears of frustration because I wanted to cum so badly I was about to cry.

'Please', said with utmost desperation, seemed to be the magic word.

All at once, he shot up to his feet, reached under the waistband of my skirt and dug around there until he found the elastic of my panty hose. He pulled it down at the front, ripping and stretching the elastic fabric beyond its capacity and jostling me around in his hurry. When the hose was just low enough to bare my wetness and my sticky curls to him, he reached a hand into the gap and cupped my pussy.

I startled and squeaked an "ah!", but before it was all the way out of my mouth, his hand, now coated in my juices, was gone again.

He opened his own pants, not even fumbling with his button or his fly, and pulled his cock out.

I had never seen one up close. It seemed angry, and possibly painful, and too big to comfortably fit into me -- into any of my holes -- but all of it just stoked the heat in me. The shiny wetness at its purple-hued mushroom tip and the bulging veins running down the shaft were mesmerizing.

He wrapped his coated fingers around himself and started to masturbate, lubricated by me, groaning and cursing under his breath. His movements were jerky, almost violently so, and quickly getting worse.

"I'm clean, Isobel. Are you clean? Are you on birth control?" he asked me without slowing down, a desperate note in his voice.

"Yes, both," I told him.

"Fuck, good."

I wasn't sure if he was commenting my answer or the feeling of his own hand against his cock. He seemed almost out of his mind with lust. I drank in the sight of him.

"Tilt your hip, Isobel. Show me more of your cunt."

"Oh, God," I breathed and did as I was told, lifting my pelvis up, and he echoed my words back as he stared at my middle.

"I'm gonna cum on that cunt, Isobel," he almost snarled. "Gonna put my cum all over those fat lips. And then you're gonna pull up that panty hose and walk away, with your pussy still needy and horny and filthy with me. Do you understand me?"

Even as my muscles clenched on empty air and cried at me, I nodded. What else could I do?

"Such a good girl," he praised, groaned, jerked himself faster still. "Fuck, let me-"

He reached for me, slid his free hand under my shirt and to my tits. I bit my tongue when his fingers latched on to my still sore nipple once more, reigniting the light in that wire that connected it to the pulsing nub between my legs and making it send out sparks.

"Watch," he told me for the last time, stuck his cock into the gap between my crotch and the panty hose, rubbed himself on my most sensitive flesh once, twice- just once more and I was sure I could--

Warm wetness spurted against my pussy lips. The sensation made me gasp and moan along with him.

"Fuck, Isobel. Oh, my God." It sounded like he wanted to shout and roar and barely managed to keep his voice down. Fuck, I wanted to hear him roar, though.

The grip he had on my nipple tightened, and he wrung a second and third spurt from himself with vigorous, almost brutal twists of his wrist, painting my pussy lips, my pubes, the crease of my thighs, and the lower swells of my buttocks with his cum.

He had said to watch. So I watched. Every little flick of his hand, every jolt and jerk of his cock, every milky drop that landed on me or fell, wasted, to the ground.

He gasped for breath for a long while and kept rubbing, more and more slowly, until his balls were empty and I was as messy as I was ever going to get. His whole body shuddered. It was as if he was holding on to me for support so he wouldn't tip over, and I bathed in that feeling even as I shuddered right along with him.

As his cum mixed with the moisture from my weeping pussy and started to slide down the insides of my thighs, he took a step back and put his softening penis back into his pants, then motioned for me to straighten my soggy panty hose just as he had instructed.

I did, closely observed by his greedy eyes, and shivered when his still warm cum made wet noises against my twitching pussy. I had to fight the urge to pull my hose up harder, to pull the seam into my slit and rub myself on it until I climaxed. The temptation was great. I was so close, I wouldn't have taken more than ten seconds.

"Do as I said and I'll go easy on you tomorrow," he promised. He hadn't missed my struggle. He couldn't have. His eyes saw everything, including my thoughts, and at this point I was entirely obvious, an open book whose pages were filled from top to bottom with the words 'horny and desperate'. In capital letters and in several different languages.

"You do not want to know what happens otherwise," he added and shot me a scalding hot look that dared me to be naughty and find out anyway.

Why did his brand of meanness turn me on so much?

I finally let my skirt fall down again and smoothed the stubborn material across my thighs and ass. For now, it hid all of the things that were going on underneath it, but I did not know for how long. If I walked around, eventually, gravity would do its thing and the combined fluids would drip farther down my legs.

I sighed. Even that wasn't an unpleasant idea. God, I was all twisted and perverted, standing here with my soggy pants and my pussy soaked in his cum and happy about it, and he was the only one to blame.

"Can I go now?" I asked, unsure how I would make it to the next bathroom unseen.

Knowing that, if I told him about this worry, he would smile evilly and just say 'good'.

My core clenched once more.

"Tomorrow. 6pm, admin building no. 2, basement, 14B," he reminded me, already turning around to put disinfectant on his hands again. As if nothing had happened.

I laced up my boots and repeated the information to myself silently. I wouldn't have needed it, though. They had seared themselves into my brain the first time he gave them to me. I wouldn't even be a second too late tomorrow.

"Oh, and Isobel?" he called just as I was leaving.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder at him.

"Leave the panty hose at home tomorrow, too, or I will use it to tie your ankles to the office table."

He watched the effect those words had on my body even as I fought for countenance, and smirked.

Picking up my backpack at the end of the x-ray machine, I hurried toward the nearest restroom as fast as my jelly legs would carry me.

On the way, I tried to decide whether I would wear my white or my burgundy panty hose tomorrow.

FIN

Hello! So, this got much longer than planned -- which is to say that I didn't even mean for it to exist at all in the first place. It's been my policy to not do sequels of things that I have already posted because it kills me to not be able to change around things in the previous bits anymore while I write... but hey. Rules are made to be broken, eh?

In any case, forgive me if the first and second chapters, when read together, are a bit uneven and the character's personalities seem somewhat different from one to the next. Then again, it's basically textbook PWP, so who cares about personalities and such, right?

I hope you nevertheless enjoyed reading this. Do tell me your favorite panty hose colors and stay tuned for "tomorrow", aka Cavity Search Day, our new collectively favorite holiday of the year! (Yes, it's already written and will be uploaded soonish!) J xo cydia