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"Here's some tea," I said, and offered her the cup.
She smiled, and stood up to come take it from me. As she did, I couldn't help but notice - again - how much I wish I had what she had. To me, she was perfect. Long, brown hair fell across her shoulders and down her back. Her perfectly toned body and teardrop shaped breasts that hung in a dark flowered bra seemed to defy gravity. Her matching panties sat low across her hips, pulled across a thin, flat stomach. My mother had always kept her figure and, even pushing forty, no one would ever know. On more than one occasion she had been confused for my sister, but most of the time very few people recognized us as related at all.
"Thanks, sweetie," she said, and I finally heard the congested tone of her voice. She was at the beginning stages of a cold, and the bath was probably a very good idea. Involuntarily I took a step back while holding out the cup of tea so that I didn't catch whatever she had.
"Probably a good idea," she said. "Nothing feels better than a hot bath and a hot cup of tea. You should do this too."
"I'm feeling okay," I said.
She smiled as she took a sip. "Who said anything about needing to be sick to enjoy a hot bath and cup of tea?"
She winked, and then closed the door. A moment later I heard the water swishing around again, and then the faucet turned off. I returned back to my room, hunting down anything I might have left out that would incriminate me.
I felt a bit of the rebellious nature rise inside me once more. I didn't know what I was afraid of, after all. My mother wasn't the type of person to freak if she caught me with a sex toy in my room. Hell, she might have even congratulated me for loosening up a little!
Come to think of it, maybe that was the reason why I didn't want to let her know. My mother had always tried to get me to "learn my femininity," use it as a tool for getting what I wanted out of life. As I put the cards in boxes and the stuffed toys into my closet, I happened to look up to see the hanging clothes that my mother had given me over the past couple years to "encourage" my feminine side.
Thing is, my mother couldn't seem to understand that flattering, sexy clothing wasn't entirely school-appropriate, and even if it was I simply couldn't wear the clothes she thought were "so cute." My mother's natural curves had conditioned her to look for clothing that emphasized breasts - breasts that I didn't really have. I looked at myself in the mirror, and frowned at the skinny girl in glasses in a plain white undershirt. The small, soft mounds on my chest barely seemed to register even when I turned sideways.
The only useful thing about them, it seemed, was my extremely sensitive nipples which seemed to grow hard the second they were touched, even by the t-shirt. Right now, for instance, they were jutting straight out, hard, and aroused. In fact, it was the only reason why I needed to wear a bra at all, or else I'd walk around feeling a nipple buzz and projecting them for all the world to see.
Knowing that I was going to probably regret it, I pulled off a set of bra and panties lingerie that my mother had gotten me for my previous birthday. On the hanger, they looked promising, even enticing. The panties had a mesh lace in front with a stretchy sheer fabric across the ass, and the matching bra mixed the fabrics so that the breasts were encased in a thin, sheer nylon with lace patterns across the nipples.
When I had opened the present, my mother squealed with delight, clapping her hands together like a hyperactive cheerleader. "Oh Shanny, they'll look so gorgeous on you!"
Despite my mother's enthusiasm, at the time I was hit with an instant bout of depression. I hadn't even tried them on, and yet I knew that they wouldn't fit. Somehow, without even giving them a chance, I knew that my tiny, skinny body would make even something this beautiful look like a mistake.
"Michelle," one of her friends said in a scolding tone. "Is that really appropriate?" My birthday party was attended by most of her friends, not mine, something that I was quite grateful for now that I had just unboxed some pretty sheer lingerie.
"Oh please," my mother said dismissively. "She's eighteen now, and it's about time she started making the move into womanhood." She shimmied her shoulders to emphasize the word "move."
Her friend rolled her eyes.
"Besides, a girl should look and feel sexy, even if no one else knows why," my mother continued.
"Thank you! I can't wait to try them on," I lied, pasting a fake smile on my face.
"Do it now, do it now!" my mother squeaked.
My heart jumped into my throat. "Maybe later," I said, looking around. "It would be rude to leave everyone now, don't you think?" I whispered conspiratorially to her. She smiled and nodded, seeing my point. I could see she was a bit disappointed and probably wouldn't let it go later on.
To my surprise, however, she did let it go. In fact, she never brought it up again. The lingerie hung in my closet since my birthday, never seeing the light of day... until now.
I took the hanger over to the mirror in my room, and removed some of the clothes that were draped over it. I rarely used it, so it had become something of a clothes rack. Standing in front of the mirror, I held the bra up to my white t-shirt, trying to imagine what it might look like. Similarly, I held the panties up, but with my current underwear covered in unicorns and faeries it was too difficult to imagine anything sexy about them.
"Shannon?" my mother called from the bathroom. I hung up the clothes on the mirror and went out into the hall.
"Yes?" I answered.
"Honey, can you make some soup for dinner? I'm just going to have a little bit and then go to bed."
"Sure," I said.
"Thanks, baby," she called after me.
An hour later my mother was tucked into bed, fed with some canned chicken noodle soup, and I was standing back in front of the mirror with the lingerie. I had never tried them on - had never tried on any lingerie, in fact - and I didn't understand what the big deal was. Yes, they were pretty, and the fabric felt good across my fingertips, but after all it was just underwear.
I put the hanger back into the closet, and thought about my hidden VCR and the treasure within. I debated about whether or not to risk setting it up, as I hadn't dared do it when my mom was home before. I was feeling an itch, though, and felt a strong desire to scratch. I chewed on my lip for a couple of minutes.
"Fuck it."
I went to my bedroom door and peered down the hall to my mother's room. The soup and some cold medication had done the trick, and she was out like a light. I closed my door and began connecting the VCR back up to my TV.
I threw myself upon my bed, almost giddy with excitement. Before I had even hit "play" on the remote, I was already touching my pussy lips through the cotton fabric underwear. I thought about the lingerie in the closet, and confirmed that I didn't need it. I liked the feeling of fresh cotton against my skin. I loved how soft it felt, and it made me feel comfortable.
Even through the cotton, though, I felt my lips had distended and a hot dampness surround my fingers. I was more primed and ready than I had thought.
The screen came to life, but this time instead of a girl talking to the producer, my father's face filled the screen in a close-up. He sported a goofy grin, more than a little smarmy, and he cocked a wicked eyebrow towards the camera.
"You ready for this next one, Rod?" the producer asked.
"Always," my father drawled.
"What kind of woman do you think is next?"
My father thought for a moment, looking up and to the side as I've seen him do so many times when he was thinking. "I think you've got a redhead waiting back there" he said, finally.
The producer laughed. "Well, you're partially right," she said. "Come on out!"
The camera started off at the floor and began to pan up. Four-inch stilettos on impossibly tiny feet began to walk towards the camera, and slowly panned up two of the thinnest pairs of legs I'd ever seen. The camera pulled back to reveal the girl, and I gasped.
A skinny, flat-chested punk girl with a bright red mohawk sitting on an otherwise shaved skull sauntered into view. Aside from the stilettos, the only thing she wore was a black bra and panty set, attached to a garter belt to sheer nylons. Well, that and an ivy vine tattoo that crawled up from her ankle and wound around her leg all the way up to her shoulder. It was a gorgeous tattoo, and it was bad ass.
The part that grabbed me, though, was that the girl was as skinny as I was, with a chest about the same size as mine, but all attitude.
Everything I had ever thought about myself being unsexy because I was skinny suddenly went out the window. This girl commanded every step, worked every sexual muscle in her body. Cockiness echoed off the floor with each step, and pure sexuality surrounded her like an aura.
No other girl in the video had had such a commanding presence, and even my father seemed taken aback by this girl's confidence. Every movement she made was driven and purposeful, even though she moved slowly across the room. There was nothing soft or demure about her; the was practically feral.
She slinked next to my father and sat next to him, crossing her legs seductively. My father dwarfed her, physically, but he recoiled in just the slightest way when she reached for him. She draped her hand across his bare chest, and slid it down his tight abs, smiling at the sensation. When she finally got to the meat inside his briefs, she growled.
"This'll be fun," she said. Coming from her, it sounded almost like a torturer preparing for an interrogation. Her hand seemed microscopic compared to the bulge underneath. She looked at his face and smiled, leaned into him and took his lower lip in her mouth. She bit the lip, a little more than playfully, and then in a slow, exaggerated movement she stuck out her tongue and licked under his chin back up to his mouth.
When I saw the tongue stud, I shuddered. How could she find room in her mouth for his cock with that in her tongue?
Then it hit me. "Ohhhh," I said out loud, comprehension dawning.
She pulled away, slightly, still keeping her hand on his cock, but with her free hand she pulled the bra aside and exposed a nipple. Grabbing the back of my father's head, she drew him to it, and he sucked, tugged, and pulled at it like a man obsessed.
I stared, dumbfounded. This girl not only was completely in charge, but she had none of the features I thought you had to have to get a man to want you, and he was loving it.
I had been convinced that no man would ever want to come near my chest, skinny and underdeveloped as it is. Yet now, everything I thought I knew about what sexy could mean was tossed out the window.
"Yes! Bite it, take it in your teeth!" she hissed, and he did. Her hips jerked forward, and it didn't look fake to me at all. I raised a hand to one of my breasts and tweaked the nipple as hard as I could stand, hoping to mimic the pressure he was placing on hers. I didn't get anywhere close to it, though, as my breasts were far too sensitive for that kind of abuse.
I did feel a strong connection with my pussy, however, and once I released my nipple a strong pleasurable sensation enveloped it. Curious, I pinched again, a little harder, and upon releasing it I felt an even greater sexual relief. Also again I felt a strong rush between my legs. This was new!
The girl's bright red hair - spiked, naturally - jerked with her head whenever he struck a particularly "good" spot on her chest. She kept his head pressed to her chest, refusing to let him extract himself.
Once more I marveled at the girl, how she was able to use her breasts even though she had none to speak of. I ripped off my t-shirt, exposing my own tits into the air, and felt them with both of my hands. For the first time in my life I was bigger than "the sexy girl," and it confused me. All my expectations were now changed, and I stole a glance at the lingerie in the closet with a new curiosity.
Suddenly the punk girl stood up and stepped in front of my father, her legs spread apart and looking straight at the camera. With a swift motion of her hand, the bra sprung open, revealing... nothing. Her body was tight, muscular, and very thin. Once more i saw strong similarities with her body type and my own.
She looked down at the reddened area surrounding the manipulated nipple, encircled it with her thumb and forefinger, and gave the camera a sneer.
Once more I pinched my nipples - both of them, this time - and held on for as long as I could stand it. When I let go, I had an overwhelming desire to have them sucked on as the pleasurable sensation flushed through my body like a tidal wave. I was convinced that if someone has started sucking on my tits right then I would have come without ever touching my pussy. I wished that I could reach my nipples with my mouth, but there was no way. I huffed in frustration.
Punk Girl turned around, and shifted her weight so that her impossibly tiny ass perked into two little bubble globes, split by the thinnest of thongs. She pulled my father up off the bed and placed him next to her so that the camera could see them both. There, compared to my father's large frame, she appeared practically Lilliputian.
Even so, she was nowhere near intimidated. "Oh, you are so in trouble," she said, again with a sneer.
Her hands reached up his thighs, and he took a step closer. One hand snaked in between his legs and cupped his ass, then violently pulled him towards her. She pressed the bulge of his cock against the side of her face, forcing it into his cock before closing her eyes in joyous rapture. Each movement was sharp, then luxuriously slow, a stop-start cadence that kept my father off balance.
Still holding his ass, and keeping his pelvis practically immobile, she yanked down his underwear. If her face hadn't been pressed up against him, his dick would have sprung free, but it just pointed straight down as it pushed strongly against her cheek. She never opened her eyes. Instead she immediately began rubbing her face into his groin as if she were washing it with his flesh.
With her free hand, she took hold of his cock and pulled it aside, lathering his balls with her studded tongue. The camera zoomed in closer to get a better look at what she was doing, but her movements were too erratic to follow any kind of true pattern. She licked him all over his balls, getting everything so wet it practically drooled when she moved on. She began to bathe the base of his cock with her tongue next, working her way from the bottom.
This is new, I thought to myself again, one hand staying on a breast and lowering the other between my legs. I was beginning to ache, wanted to be touched in the worst possible way. I was determined, however, not to do it until she at least tried to take him orally. I knew the anticipation would be worth it, even if Punk Girl had no chance in hell of fitting my dad's cock into her mouth.
There was no denying that she was incredible to watch, however. She constantly changed up her pace, alternating between fast and slow, tracing her way around the circumference of my dad's prick until she started approaching the head. My hand hovered above my clit, ready to extinguish the fire there with a single press of a fingertip.
For all the vigor that she attacked the shaft, it was nothing compared to what she did to his head. She kissed and licked the knob with gusto, the shiny stud flashing wet in the studio lights. When she was done, a single trail of saliva draped from the tip to her tongue, which she held out in front of her.
Finally, she opened her eyes. Never looking at the camera and focusing intently on the head, she began to close in on it. Her tongue rested on the underside of the glans and then slid forwards as her mouth began to open to take him in.
I touched my clit at that moment, but almost instantly stopped.
I watched as Punk Girl, the skinny little bitch smaller than me, began to absorb my father's cock into her mouth. Her jaw opened, and seemed to keep opening, and in what seemed like a heartbeat the head disappeared behind her lips. So far only one other girl had gotten this far, and had a tremendous difficulty in accomplishing this milestone. Punk Girl, however, was completely in control.
The first inch of my father's cock past the head was now gone, then another, and another. Punk Girl had no signs of slowing or stopping, though, and before long she had taken half of my father's cock into her throat. I watched in awe as this girl made the impossible look easy.
Another inch, then one more. She was now three-quarters of the way down. In the first sign of any struggle, she squeezed her eyes tight, hitting some internal blockade. She wrapped her free hand around her lips, and began to pull back off the giant penis. When she finally was able to come up for air, I gaped at the amount she had managed to accomplish. Her fingers, still situated around the base of his cock, told an amazing tale.
Remembering that I had hid the dildo under my pillow, I fished it out and looked at it in amazement, mentally comparing the size of the object in my hand with how far Punk Girl had gone. I fumbled for the remote and paused the video, which jumped between frames in that annoying way that VHS tapes did from time to time.
I held the dildo in my hand, completely forgetting the horror and awkwardness of only a few hours ago. I mentally checked off rough inches from the head down the shaft, stopping to where I guessed Punk Girl had bottomed out. I estimated that she had managed more than seven inches, but given the girth of the cock, it was a truly impressive feat.
Dropping the dildo I reached for the remote one more time, and pressed "play."
As shocked as I was at her ability to take him as far as she did, what happened next floored me. She took him in her mouth once more, but now having felt him inside her throat, she knew how to gauge her limits and began to deep throat him back and forth.
It was like deep-throating one of those really large beer cans.
In what was apparently a superhuman ability in muscle control, this tiny girl had complete mastery over my father. I watched as his ass muscles clenched and squeezed, but her arm kept his pelvis secure so that he didn't buck into her throat and choke her.
I resumed playing with myself, stuffing my hand down my panties. I stole a glance at my underwear and watched the fairies and unicorns dance across the back of my hand. Before, I had pretended that I was making the fantastical creatures move playfully across the cotton, but now such "girly" fantasies seemed out of place. I looked back at the screen.
Punk Girl - as she would forever be known in my head - was like me, but she wasn't like me. Put us side by side naked, and we could have been practically twins if it weren't for her wild hair. Side by side, though, and you would see day-and-night differences. She was all attitude, and I was a complete mouse.
I began to feel anger rising inside, mixed with the unbridled horniness. Why hadn't anyone told me I could be like that? I thought, as if it was something that anyone could have taught me. Or that I would have listened, anyway.
I kept looking back and forth between Punk Girl devouring my father's cock and my own hand underneath my underwear.
My cotton underwear. With unicorns and faeries.
I tried to imagine Punk Girl in white cotton undies with unicorns and faeries. I just couldn't do it. She was beyond such girly things.
