Zita's New Apartment

"That's my girl," hummed Kell. She shook her shoulders in muted imitation of what I'd done for her before. Still, her breasts were looser than mine, and they swayed rather a lot inside her shirt. She was giving me a sly face, a smirk. It was like a dare and an insult wrapped up together. Like she was daring me NOT to do it. Like we both understood I was some kind of slut who was just dying to do it, and had only been waiting for her permission.

I sat staring at her, into her lovely, cold, devious eyes. I wasn't going to do it, of course. But why the hell was I even tempted? That bothered me. And why the hell couldn't I look this presumptuous...BITCH in the face without searching for which part of it - the lips? the slender nose? the delicate bone structure? - made her so damn hot? After that thought, it occurred to me that even if I wasn't gay, appreciating the sexual appeal of another woman - really feeling it, like I was - was a gay thing. Wasn't it? I mean, the closest word for the effect Kell had been brewing in me was probably lust. I can't say I wanted to jump into bed with her or anything, but her body, her physicality, intrigued me, enchanted me. As a test, I thought about sliding my palm gently over her cheek, her nose, brushing my thumb over her lips. I wasn't sure about the result. But damn her! I WAS going to do it, wasn't I? I suppose she had known all along. By this point, we had been staring at each other a long time, with each passing second making it worse. If I did it now, there would be no writing it off as a casual thing; it would be an obvious act of submission. She was establishing our pecking order, and I was about to set a terrible precedent. Yes, I was. I was about to do it after all. She knew. She saw it coming, in my face.

I looked down at my knees while I did it, shamed. I could see my boobs rolling about wonderfully. God my nipples were hard; they ached at the motion. I flicked my eyes over at Kell to see her reaction. She almost looked humbled. I had forgotten in my mental impotence the real power of my beauty. This knowledge breathed new life into my performance, turning me vampish and coy and prolonging the exhibition.

"That's really quite enough, Zita."

I was shocked. There she was, calmly regarding me like I was a poor hopeless slut. My coquettish dance petered out instantly. Had I really gone too far? Had I completely misunderstood the situation? Humiliation. Absolute humiliation.

"That was quite a show," she chuckled cruelly.

"I'm sorry..."

"Hey - no worries. You're going to corrupt me, though. Well, I suppose you're going to liven the place up."

"Does that mean you're giving me the room?"

"Here, let me take that." She was holding out her fingers for my top, which I was still clutching in my right hand. Puzzled, I gave it to her. She slowly folded it up and laid it on the cushion beside her, like she was putting it away in the dresser for a long time. "Are you hot? I am, and - yes, look, you're sweating." She meant the glisten newly spread over my breasts and arms and down my abs. When I saw it, I immediately thought of her body, and I have to say that recognizing the similarity was gratifying. "Would you like some water?"

"Actually, yes," I said gratefully.

"Would you mind grabbing us a couple of glasses, then? The water's in the fridge."

It seemed blatantly rude that she hadn't gone to get the water herself, but I hardly felt like I was in a position to criticize her (out loud anyway), so I was demure as I stepped around her couch into the kitchenette. From the corner of my eye, I could see her turning to watch me the whole way over. I felt my breasts bouncing their tight little bounces, my nipples rigid on the ends. How serious was she about that corrupting comment?

"The glasses are in the cupboard up above." I could tell from her voice that I was earning points by getting the water. She liked me, and now I felt that all the weirdness wasn't as much as I'd made out of it, that things were alright after all. I turned to look at her and she was openly ogling all my topless flesh. Or maybe she was she just zoned out. She looked tired. Her chin was set on the back of the sofa like a cat puts its head on its paw. Well, who cared either way? I'd already given it all up, nearly, so what difference did it make now where her eyes wandered? At least that's what I figured I ought to have thought.

I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach the high cupboard, and in that compromising position, I found myself wondering if Kell was interested in my ass yet. Did I want her to be interested in my fucking ass? Yes, I realized humbly - I did. Well, it was just a pride thing. Somehow, I was hooked on this quirky sexpot's approval. I didn't want her to like only my breasts; I wanted her to like all of me. So, before I could stop myself, I was pressing my butt backwards, putting a bow in my back. Once I had a glass in hand up above, I looked over my shoulder and oh yeah, Kell was taking her look. How could she not? The light, white fabric of the Capri pants was painted onto my bum. The tiny triangle at the rear of my thong was obvious in shape and tint between my cheeks. I looked ravishing. But my pause there brought Kell's attention up to my eyes, past the profile I was also offering of my left tit. I smiled so she'd know it was okay, there was no wierdness. I think maybe she gave me a smile back. It was hard to tell with her chin in the sofa.

As I went for the second glass, I was sure to give my bum a just a hint of a wag. That would have to earn a comment. But when I came back down with the glasses and brought them over to the counter facing Kell, she didn't say anything at all. She just watched me in this satisfied way as I stood there topless, waiting. Eventually, I gave up and went to the fridge for the water. I bent straight-legged at the hips, really presenting my ass in the most obvious way, but I was afraid Kell couldn't even see it because I was too short and the counter was too high. Just as I was about to close the door, I heard Kell rise from the couch and come over to the counter behind me, the one that made the border with the living room, where I'd set the glasses. I held myself down there, knowing that when she reached the counter, my ass would be aimed right in her face.

"Having trouble?" she asked.

"No, no," I said, coming up with the bottle and feeling absurd again. "Not at all." I hated her.

"What do you think of the kitchen?"

"Oh, I love it." I came over to her and began to fill the glasses.

"Do you cook?"

"Yeah, of course." Her glass, my glass.

"Are you good?"

"Well, yes, I suppose." I set down the bottle and took up my glass, but apparently my heart was beating hard and my hand proved a little unsteady. I did that thing where you lurch forward to dodge the spill - unsuccessfully - as water dribbled down my chin and onto my tit. I tried to laugh it off. Kell seemed intrigued but unimpressed.

"I'd love to try your cooking," she said. "Would you like to cook for me?"

"Sure, why not?"

"How about tomorrow morning?"

"Morning?"

"I want you to make me breakfast."

"Well...okay. I'll have to come by. I mean, my place is on Rutherford."

"How about I leave a key under the mat so you can let yourself in. I'll be up around 9, so if you can have it ready for then, that would be perfect."

"Uh - all right, I guess."

"You're so agreeable. We're going to get along famously."

"So I DO have the room, then?"

"I'd say you're settling in rather nicely already. Don't you think?" But she was looking again at my bare breasts! Why was I still topless, anyway? I mean, really?

"I did notice your bum, by the way. You cheeky girl."

Elation! Shame. Christ, I was losing all my self-respect. And it was too late: I was beaming. Positively fucking beaming at her. Her and her terrible pun.

"What a great smile." She took up her water and drank. Then she reached over with the glass. "Here, we'll even you out." And she poured the second half of it over the breast I had missed before. It was cold, and I jumped back in shock with a silent, dropped-jaw grin. "Thanks a lot," I said sarcastically.

She only smiled smugly, but that was enough for me. We were bonding.

Still I couldn't help thinking, where was the compliment for my ass? She'd noticed it, okay, but what did she think about it? That was the whole point, wasn't it? In fact, the lack of a compliment seemed conspicuous, and was giving me doubts. Maybe my ass was round and firm, but somehow just not as sexy as Kell's, which probably sagged a bit. I checked out her boobs again. I loved it that they sagged, a little. They reminded me of birthday hats; I could see them tapering evenly right to the very tips. In the bright light of the kitchen, I could detect the darkness of her nipples through the threadbare cotton of her T-shirt. My angelic breasts were worthless next to this harpy's quirky, saggy tits.

"You really do like them, eh?"

I suppose I'd had that coming; I hadn't even tried to be discreet. "Yeah," I said, opting for prompt and total honesty, which seemed the least embarrassing. "They're sexy."

"Oh get out."

"No, really." And I meant it when I told her: "I would trade you in a heartbeat."

That was too much for her. She gave a big honest laugh and an exotic smile I had never seen before. It was really nice. "Zita, honey, you're mad. Tell me they're sexy again."

"They're sexy."

"Tell me they're prettier than yours."

"They are; they're prettier than mine."

Kell pulled the bottom of her T-shirt up just enough for me to see the better part of her breasts. God, they really were lovely - starting to sag, yes, but still so pointy, so erotic, so feminine. Her nipples were extraordinarily dark and protruding. On top of her intensely sultry character, the sight of her naked tits was surprising and uncomfortably invigorating. Then she lowered the shirt and veiled them again. She was doing something between a hum and a giggle. "Do you still think so?"

"Yeah. You're gorgeous."

"Zita, Zita, you're too kind." She actually appeared bashful.

We basked in this good humour a bit as we leant on the countertop together. "So turnabout's fair play, right?" I asked.

"No. But go ahead."

"Well, you never said," I ventured. "What did you think of my bum?"

Kell frowned through her lingering joviality. "Fuck, honey, I dunno. It was pretty good, I'm sure."

Pretty good?

I thought I was stone-faced, but she seemed to be talented at reading my expressions. "Ok, fine, I'll take another look." She shooed me away from the counter.

I went to the fridge and pretended to look inside again, posing my bum as I had before, and swaying it back and forth, and glancing frequently back at Kell to see if I could gauge her reaction. She was tilting her head around like an inspector. "Pull down those pants," she said definitively. I hesitated for a miniscule amount of time before I slid the fabric down over my bum. My cheeks were totally bare now, of course, because I was wearing a thong, whose extraordinarily thin strip was buried in between them. Kell praised me for my beautiful skin.

Oh my god: I was biting my lower lip. I stopped.

"Zita, sweetie, be a doll and give me a look at that thong, would you?"

My eyes were wide with panic and thrill as I reached back and pulled my cheeks apart so Kell could see the crack of my ass and the tiny piece of fabric nestled there. This was not logical, this was not wise, but I didn't want to be stopped. I wondered about Kell's sexual orientation. I had no idea. And even more unsettling was my private confession that at that moment, for the first time in my life, I wasn't totally sure which possibility I preferred.

"Oh heavens, Zita - I meant turn around!" Her words chimed with derisive amusement. Holy shit. My heart pounded so hard it nearly cleared my throat. Of course she had meant turn around! I slowly let my ass cheeks back together, increasingly sure of my image as a depraved slut in that apartment.

Like an empty balloon, I stood and turned around. I couldn't look Kell in the face. I just let the Capri pants a little further down around my thighs so Kell could get her look at the front of the thong. When I did raise my head, her attention was focused on my crotch, as I'd expected, and I saw her eyebrows dart up flatteringly. "Exquisite," she said evenly. Then, after a few moments of consideration: "They look perfect on you. Just perfect." Her comment sounded sincere, but the next instant, she was utterly disinterested, fiddling with her empty glass.

I took a look at my crotch myself then, and suddenly appreciated Kell's discretion. My lacey white thong was utterly saturated with pussy juice. Apparently, I was wet like a swamp. As a consequence, the fabric had gone from slightly diaphanous to essentially transparent - and it had plastered itself around every fold and flap of my uncommonly prominent labia. So if Kell really had wanted to see my underwear, she'd been sorely disappointed - instead, she'd had a fine view of my mutinous cunt.

I pulled my pants up hastily and tried to secure the string around my waist. But in my nervousness, I couldn't make a knot. I threw a glance at Kell without really looking at her, and forced out a weak chuckle at my ineptitude - and implicitly at the other embarrassing thing, the one of which we would never ever speak. Oh, silly me, getting all wet like that from being topless in your kitchen. Har, har. Fuck. What did she think of me?

I heard her bare feet stepping gingerly onto the kitchen tile as I worked on my drawstring. I saw her long, shiny legs. She put one foot on top of the other, bending her knee, and leant her bum against the counter. "Zita," she beckoned. I looked up. Her expression was austere, and nearly succeeded in concealing her amusement at my predicament. "Pass me those application forms." Behind me, by the stove, was a thick stack of blank application forms for the apartment. I held onto the waist of my Capri pants with one hand while I took the sheets and handed them to her with the other. "And that pen?" she added, not yet taking the sheets. It was too awkward and stupid looking trying to pick up the pen with all that paper in my hand, so I chanced it and let go of my drawstring. It was okay at first, but as I reached out to Kell with the goods, my bottoms slumped all the way down to my ankles. It would have been embarrassing enough, but there I was on display again, showcasing all my humiliating arousal. I winced.

It seemed Kell just couldn't hold her tongue this time. "My oh my, Zita, God really did a number on you, didn't he?" She was gazing at my sex. "I see you're well endowed in more ways than one."

"Yeah," I croaked timidly. I started to stoop for my pants again, still holding the stationery.

But Kell caught my elbow and guided me back up. "Sweetie, I won't have it. Don't you ever be ashamed of yourself in your own apartment. Here we girls can be open with each other. Now please - allow me." But instead of taking the papers and the pen, she went around beside me, knelt down, and took my calf in her hand. I felt her lifting my leg up and I obliged, only understanding as it happened that she was sliding my pants out under my foot, and not up. Then she stood up full and looked me right in the eye with a dimple in her cheek before slinking around behind me to the other side and lowering herself slowly down and placing a light touch on my other calf. Stupidly, I lifted it without her help and she pulled my crumpled pants away. As she rose again, I felt one of her fingernails graze the back of my thigh.

"There, now you feel more at home, don't you? A woman should be allowed to be herself in her own kitchen." Kell said that just over my shoulder before she slipped in front of me and strode away. I could see the bottom rounds of her ass cheeks then, bare below her inadequate shorts. She had my Capri pants dangling off her index finger. "I'm so glad you love to cook, Zita. I absolutely hate cooking." She twisted her torso half way back so she could toss me a flirtatious smirk. Her tit in profile was sporting a pokey nub under her shirt. Had she enjoyed my display?

Did she think she was seducing me? It was a strange approach, bossing me around. And come to think of it, I was the one standing there all but nude in the kitchen. Was I trying to seduce her? Fuck no; I didn't even like her. Though I recognized her attributes. Unbelievable, that this self-assured, everygirl prick was acting like she owned me. Like her four extra years and saggy tits made her a queen.

"Come here, Zita. You need to fill out your application form. The landlady will need it."

I followed her warily into the living room, back among the couches. I became aware that the blinds were all open, and the room boasted a large bay window that looked onto the street. For some reason, I felt silly mentioning that. I felt silly being shy. So I just hurried to my chair, which had its back to the window, and sat. A teenaged boy was walking by as I did it, but he wasn't looking at the house and I don't think he saw me. Kell took a form and laid the pages out on the coffee table, but she stopped a moment to admire me. "There is not a flaw in you," she said. I had my thighs tight together but she was looking at them and my crotch anyway. I kept a thin wedge of pubic hair running up from my cleft. All my hair was naturally dark, and this little aesthetic feature was particularly conspicuous at the moment. "I like your haircut too." She winked. "I wax mine off. A little part of me misses it." She spread her legs on the couch, bowed her head, and put her hand over her mons. He shorts weren't much but a frayed seam where they passed between her legs. With her thighs so wide, I could see the creases where her legs began, and some of her butt. It seemed unlikely that she was wearing panties. And there was not a hair in sight. "Fedora says she likes it," Kell was saying, "but she keeps a really dense bush on herself, so I'm suspicious. I had to trim her the other day. Not too much - she wouldn't hear of it - but just to make it fashionable. She's going to find a great girl one day, for sure, but she needs to put a bit more effort into it, if you know what I mean. She's very attractive, and she's full of Mediterranean passion, but she hardly does herself any favours."

"So she's...?"

"A lesbian, of course. And you two can do whatever you like, but please be sure you don't sour the apartment."

"Oh, I'm not...I'm not a lesbian."

Kell's eyes widened. Then she offered a belittling, patronizing, sympathetic pout. She indicated my thighs, still pressed close together. "Now honey, that's hardly what your other lips are saying."

I shook my head despondently. "No, no, honestly, I'm really not-." But as I spoke, she wound her body up into this libidinous posture, and I couldn't help thinking how I wanted to press my nose against her sweaty flesh and take in her scent, how I wanted more and more for her to pull up her shirt again, so that I could peep a second time at her inexplicable cone-tits. "Well..." I said. What?!? I was back-pedalling? Did I understand what I was effectively admitting to? "I mean, I..." Our eyes locked. Her brows were raised. I wished I knew where she was coming from, what was the right thing to say.

"Well, we don't need labels anyway, do we?" Kell concluded. "I defy anyone to label me!" And she laughed. "But like I said, if you and Fedora have sex, please be sure to keep things amicable."

"Oh god."

"Please, Zita, there's no need to play virtuous. You've already flaunted your sopping wet pussy in front of me."

"I don't know how..."

"Well, I'll tell you how. You're an exhibitionist, and - newsflash! - you're a bisexual. Or maybe you're gay; you'll have to decide for yourself. But you do like ladies, Zita. Don't you? Tell me if I'm wrong, but you're getting off on being nearly naked here in front of me, right now, as we speak. You like having another woman's eyes on your breasts. On your ass. Oh yes, you practically begged for it, didn't you? I imagine you'll be taking frequent opportunities to treat Fedora to views of that beautiful figure, of as much of your splendid nudity as seems plausible. And I'll tell you, she won't be able to stay away for long, and you will not have it in you to say no. I'd wager you'll have had her tongue inside you within a week, living here, even if you balk at that idea now."