No Rescue from a Tumor Ch. 02

(In chapter 1, Kirsten brings a sandwich to Joe, a cancer patient undergoing an experimental treatment, and stays to comfort him. Oddly, she continues to comply with his requests in spite of her words to the contrary, and the inhibitions she used to always have. When we left off, she was seated on the couch in front of him, had just told him that she was not interested in public nudism, and then, when he'd suggested that she take off her bra for a minute, she did.)

I tried, but I couldn't take my eyes off Kirsten. I couldn't believe she'd done it. She'd actually taken off her bra right in front of me. As if she couldn't either, Kirsten's hands flew to cover herself, giving me only a moment to see her erect little nipples and dark areolas before they were squashed into hiding by her hands. And now she sat there, rigid, looking at me in confusion. But without wearing a bra.

"Don't stare," she commanded. Her nostrils flared out, but then she offered a pouting little glare, as if she knew that I wouldn't be able to resist staring, and was already resigned to it. She also didn't move to grab her bra, either. She just sat there, topless, hands pressed over her breasts, and bobbing her head ever so slightly, as if she was counting to herself, or something. Even with her hands covering her nipples, I could see her tan line. I could have seen it before, too, I guess, but it hadn't struck me as obviously as it did now that she did not have her white bra covering herself. The tanline ran down the inside of her shoulder and just below her collarbone. She obviously usually wore something much more modest than a bikini.

I realized that I had been holding my breath. I let it out as slowly as I could. It took all of my power to pull my eyes from her "If you're embarrassed by it, then why don't you just put your bra right back on?" I had to ask. Her tan line was obvious, even with her light complexion. She was showing me flesh that had never, or at least had very rarely, felt the sun. I felt like I had stood up too suddenly, and my brain swam for a moment.

"You said to keep it off for a minute." She replied, again in that matter-of-fact voice. Already, her attitude had calmed, but she still kept bobbing her head slightly every few moments. Her chest, hands included, expanded with each breath.

A warm, fruity smell struck me. I couldn't tell if I was imagining it or not, but I could smell body lotion. I took in her flat stomach and riveted my eyes on her belly button, admiring the way her navel disappeared into her abs. With that much exposed skin, it shouldn't surprise me that the smell of her lotion would be stronger, and it didn't. What surprised me was how aroused by her my body was.

Then her answer sank in, and something about it struck me as odd, but I was in full swing, now. I desperately wanted to see again what her hands were covering. "I didn't say to cover yourself with your hands, though."

Kirsten just looked at me. Her hands didn't move. Her head kept bobbing.

I shrugged, still happy to have gotten her to show that much. And I could still feel the bulge in my pants. But I didn't know what to do next. "So," I finally came up with, "tell me how it feels?"

Her response was immediate: "Embarrassing, immoral, a little bit erotic; kind of fun." Then she blushed blushed, like she'd just said more than she had intended.

There was another moment of awkward silence, during which I tried and failed to pull my eyes away from her body. Suddenly, she moved one hand to cover both breasts and scrambled to get her bra back on.

"Guess my minute's up," I thought, then I realized that she had been taking me literally; one minute without it. Her constant head bobbing had been her counting the seconds. That feeling of oddness came over me again, but I shook it off. If she had been willing to do it for one minute, literal or not, then maybe she would be willing to do it for a little bit longer.

Maybe.

I licked my lips and swallowed.

"Keep it off," I begged, my voice catching in my throat like an adolescent. Just then, the spot where they'd found the tumor on my brain started itching again.

Instantly, Kirsten stopped moving, both bra cups over her breasts, one arm already hooked in the bra and the other going in. She looked down at herself, but by the time she looked up again at me, she was already shrugging the bra off of her again. Like before, she quickly covered herself with her hands, giving me only a glimpse at her nipples. In the flash that I got, though, I saw that they were erect and hard. More than they were before. And I desperately wanted to get a real solid look at them.

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, like a fish out of water, trying to think of what to say, but she spoke first.

"So I thought you were the one who wanted to know what it was like to be a nudist," Kirsten reminded me. "Why are you so set on me being the one who's topless?"

"That's a good question," I answered. The thought of taking my own clothes off for her to see hadn't actually entered my mind before. The idea both scared and excited me. I hoped she wouldn't look down and see just how much it excited me.

"Would you like for me to take my clothes off?" I asked. Again, my voice caught, and I almost stuttered over the words.

"No," she sounded almost disgusted at the idea. "That's not what I meant." She looked down at herself, taking in her naked, almost exposed breasts, hiding behind her hands. Then she looked at me. I didn't notice her look at first, because when she looked down, so did I, and my attention lingered a lot longer on her upper body than her own did.

I suddenly imagined myself prying her hands away from her breasts, and I shook my head to clear it of the image. I realized then that I had leaned forward unconsciously, and I straightened. That was when I saw her look. She was flushed with embarrassment, but she also had her eyebrows down and her face closed up in confusion. She did not look angry at me at all.

"I just don't know why I'm doing this for you," she told me, glancing downward again. "You have the drugs messing up your mind, so, . . .," she paused before finishing. "What's wrong with mine?"

I turned my head away from her, so that I could only see her through my peripheral vision. Then I forced myself to concentrate on what she was saying. When her words registered, I shrugged my shoulders. I had been so excited and surprised, I hadn't really thought about why.

"Just ignore the fact that you are sitting here in my living room topless," I told her. "Just pretend that you are still fully dressed."

As ridiculous as my suggestion sounded, it seemed to work.

"Ok," she answered, simply. Then she relaxed into the couch, dropped her hands away from her breasts, and looked up at me with her cheerful half smile that she'd had when she first came in.

My breath caught in my throat when I got the full effect of her toned body and pert breasts topped with those hard, dark brown nipples. I turned back to her, but at first, I wouldn't let myself look down again. But that didn't last very long. Every time she breathed, her hard little nipples seemed to call out for me to reach out and touch them. I couldn't look at her without imagining my finger pressing against them.

But I did finally look. And she didn't seem to care at all.

Her breasts both stuck out from her chest, and her hard little nipples jutted out from them like tempting little eraser tops, so that I wanted so bad to reach over and touch one of them. Then my headache started getting worse, and I rethought my situation.

"Pretend," I clarified, "that you just came in, delivered the sandwich, and sat down. Nothing about the burn, and nothing about . . . anything that had to do with your clothes."

"What?" she answered. She didn't seem to care at all that I couldn't stop staring at her chest, though she did look down rather casually. "I don't understand."

I pretended to look out the window, but I was too enthralled by her naked torso to make it believeable. Her nipples, dark, erect, stuck out from perfectly round and equally dark areolas. Her breasts, sagging only slightly, looked so soft, creamy, and inviting that I could feel my erection growing in my pants and I had no doubt it was now obvious.

"So are you hungry?" she asked, casually, apparently willing to change the subject in order to avoid thinking about her nudity. "I know you like tuna."

I didn't care in the least about food, and I wouldn't have cared about it even if she hadn't been sitting in front of me with both of her breasts on full display. As things were, it would have been difficult for me to care much if the apartment was on fire.

Then I started thinking about her question. I figured that I should probably do my best to help her stay distracted if I wanted her to stay topless.

"Sure," I answered. "I'll go get it." I wanted to walk away from her. I tried to make myself move towards the kitchen. I just couldn't do it. Not with her sitting there like that. Then I noticed that her breasts were changing right in front of my eyes. Her nipples, which had been sticking out and hard, now were softening and shrinking. I wished that my crotch would do the same, and that distraction was the impetus that I needed to force myself to move.

I only took one step, but I also turned my head towards the kitchen, and then it was less difficult to keep myself moving. As soon as I was out of her line of sight, I adjusted myself so that my erection wasn't quite as obvious, and then I returned, with the sandwich in my hand. I have to admit, though, that I was quite a bit faster coming back with the sandwich than I had been when I was going to get it.

I really didn't want it. "You want a bite?" I offered.

She shook her head. Her breasts hardly moved, but I watched them anyway. Her nipples were completely soft now. I really wanted to know what they felt like. Mostly just to get my hand closer to her breast, I held out my sandwich.

She shook her head again, and I nodded. While my head was down, I saw her pajama pants, and I began to wonder if I could get her to do the same with them that she had done with her shirt. I thought about the problem, and unconsciously began eating the sandwich. I knew that anything I ate now could come right back up at any time, and the knowledge made it difficult to swallow.

I realized that Kirsten was talking. I tried to follow Kirsten's conversation, but every time she got a little bit animated, and her breasts bounced, I lost all track of what she was talking about. It really seemed like she was ignoring the fact that she was topless. A couple times she caught me looking too intently, and glanced down, as if wondering what I was looking at. It was an amazing thing for me to watch, and the pressure in my pants was starting to hurt a little.

Eventually, she got up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have been sitting here talking you ear off while you were sick and just wanted nothing more than a little bit of sleep."

"No," I told her. "Your visit has been great." It had been the best visit I could ever remember, in fact, in spite of my ever-growing headache.

She beamed. "Still," she said, standing up. "I still should get going and let you sleep."

"All right," I said. It was going to be sad to see those beautiful breasts leave me. "Thanks for the sandwich (I had eaten nearly half of it), and for, you know, the rest."

"No problem," she said, and started for the door. I moved with her, thinking of her shirt that I had hidden in my room, but then I realized that her bra was still on the floor next to the couch. Was she really going to just leave it behind? Was it going to be like some sort of souvenir, or something? I was afraid to ask.

When she put her hand on the door knob, I couldn't help letting my jaw drop. "Um," I ventured, as the door started to swing open. "What . . . about your shirt?"

She looked down at her bare breasts. "I saw you keep looking at it," she answered. "But, I don't see what's wrong."

Now, before today, I thought that I had Kirsten pegged as a pretty honest and open, but reserved type of girl. I never would have figured her for the type to walk around topless for a guy just because she felt sorry for him. I also never considered her to have any ability to pull off a practical joke or act out for one of those hidden camera shows. But I sure couldn't help looking around to see if there was some elaborate set-up going on.

She stood there, with the door open about three inches, staring down at her own breasts with as much intensity as I had been staring at them earlier.

"You're going to have to help me out," she said, perplexity in her voice, and still staring down at her chest. "I don't know what the problem is."

This time, her answer was strange enough to me that I forced myself to stop staring and actually think. It wasn't easy, and not just because of her bare breasts. My brain hurt, and my stomach was already starting to complain about the half of the sandwich that I had eaten.

I thought about our conversations, and about what she'd done for me every time I'd asked. No, I corrected myself. She hadn't done it when I'd asked. She hadn't even done it after my best arguments. But she had done it when I told her to.

So, was she playing some sort of weird domination, servant type of role play thing with me? I knew that some people did that sort of thing, but I never would have thought that somebody like Kirsten would have been into it. I wondered how many other guys she had done it for, and then I wondered how far she had gone with it . . . and how far she would go with me before admitting what she was doing and that it was all just a game for her. It wasn't feeling like any sort of game to me.

"Kirsten, let me ask you something," I asked.

"Anything," she responded. Her naked breasts hung down so alluringly, her ribs and toned stomach, her narrow hips and silly pajama pants. It was easy to believe that she really meant it when she said 'anything.' I couldn't concentrate when I looked at her.

"Do you think . . .would you ever, you think, be comfortable with letting a guy see you topless?"

She looked strangely at me, and I thought that I had messed something up with the game that she was playing, but then she smiled. "It depends on the guy, I guess." She laughed easily, like she'd told a good joke. "You know, if it wasn't for all those drugs messing you up, I'd wonder if you were about to ask me to do something naughty."

The way she said the word 'naughty,' while topless like that, sent a surge of testosterone through me like I'd never experienced. My groin hurt, it craved attention so bad.

"And what about, would you ever," I searched my memory for the phrase, "let a guy feel you up, do you think?"

"Whatever Jason told you," she replied, suddenly serious and bitter. "He's lying." Jason had been her boyfriend of a few weeks. He'd been interested in my sister, too, but I'd somehow been able to scare him off.

"Good," I said, as if that truly had been my concern. It made a good excuse, anyway, even though it seemed like I really didn't need one. "Step closer."

She obediently brought her beautiful breasts one large step closer to me.

"You've got something stuck on the front of your shirt." I lied. "Let me try to get it for you."

"Ok," she answered, and looked down at her breasts. I looked at them, as well, although I looked with a different intent. She didn't seem concerned about what I suggested. Apparently, her little role-play thing hadn't yet reached its boundary. I admired her beautiful chest for another few seconds, and then I went in the kitchen and found a wash cloth. I wetted it and brought it back.

Then I extended my hand, expecting at any moment for her to back up or slap my hand away or say something, but she didn't. She didn't even move or speak when I began rubbing one of her breasts with the wash cloth. I reveled at the idea of massaging her breast with only the thin washcloth between her and my hand, and I was mesmerized by how her soft nipples rotated up and down with my massaging. But she didn't say anything, so, after a minute or two, I upped the ante just to see what she would allow me to do.

"It's not coming off." I said, then I cleared my throat. "Can I try with my fingernail?"

She started to shake her head and reply, but I quickly caught myself. "Let me try to get it off with my finger."

"Okay," she said, and she continued to stand passively in front of me.

I then started rubbing the bottom of one of her breasts with a finger, right where it rose up from her rib. She didn't move or say anything, so I moved my finger further up onto the soft, warm flesh. Each time I rubbed my finger on her breast, I pushed slightly more aggressively, until I was making her whole breast move with each of my motions. She didn't move or say anything, but my crotch hurt so bad that I had to hunch over.

Something was definitely odd about how willing she was to let me do whatever I wanted - but I was a little too preoccupied to worry about what it was. I moved my finger up and deliberately poked one of her soft, dark brown nipples, and she finally stepped back.

"So that's the end," I thought, but then she stepped forward again.

"Sorry," she said. "But you kind of pushed on one of my . . .," she hesitated before continuing. "Boobs."

She was so casual about it, and she was so convincing, playing her part, that I realized that she must have decided to test me just like I was trying to test her. I suddenly saw what she was doing like some sort of sexual submissive form of the game of chicken.

Knowing myself, I figured that she would probably win, but I pushed ahead. If I was wrong, then oh, well. If I was right, then I would have to push my own limits as well as hers.

If she could play the game that well, I decided, then I would play it just as much as her. Plus, I wanted to know exactly how far I could make myself go before I got too embarrassed and chickened out. Or until my headache go so bad that I couldn't see straight.

"Well," I replied. "I don't know what it was, but I think I got it." Then I licked my bottom lip and spoke again. "But it looks like it got onto your pants, too, whatever it was." I didn't care about my headache or my shyness. I wanted to see what she would do.

She looked down. "Where."

"Um," I answered. "If you take them off real quick, I'll show you."

"Oh," she said. "I'm not wearing any shorts underneath these pajama pants."

"Or underwear?" I asked. It came out as I was thinking it. I hadn't meant to say it.

She shot me a look that said she was not happy with the question, and she didn't answer.

So I guess she'd gone as far as she was comfortable with. Which was a lot for me. She was still standing there topless right in front of me, and she had let me get a pretty good feel of one of her breasts. It was something that I would remember for the rest of my life.

It was going to take me a lot of reading to get myself to calm back down. Even with the headache.

Then I realized that I hadn't played the game correctly. I hadn't given a command. So, I tried again, playing the game by her rules.

"I just meant, maybe it was something showing through that I thought was a stain."

"Oh," she said, but she didn't sound convinced. Still, she didn't move away from me.

I swallowed, then I licked my lip again, and I gave a command. "Show me your underwear, and I'll see."

"Ok," she answered, and pulled open the elastic top of her pajama pants. She pulled it wide open, too. Not just a little bit. I got a good look at white panties with little multi-colored flowers all over. I nodded in appreciation, and she released the hem. Her pajama pants snapped back into place. Again, she'd just done what she had said she wouldn't.