Extra Large Combo with Everything


If only Winston knew, she thinks. If he could see me now, he'd come right back.

Still, Stephanie is left alone. Of course people are staring at her, but they seem to be keeping to themselves. Even so, being naked makes the day more interesting than it was. She begins to daydream about might happen, but soon falls asleep.

A hand on her bare bottom wakes her up; but whether it's real or imagined she never finds out. Reflexively, she turns over to a near sitting position to see who touched her, but no one seems to be that close. Many are gaping at her, and she glances down. Her legs are slightly bent and spread. Onlookers are enjoying their first glimpse of her bare breasts and pussy. She looks around again; no idea of who touched her. She turns back onto her stomach.

She does not notice when someone tiptoes away with both parts of her bikini. Nor does she notice when a man with a digital camera snaps several pictures of her sleeping form, and sticks around a while, hoping in her sleep she will turn over.

An hour later, two park rangers, Spencer and Garcia, roust her awake. She is still a little groggy as they lift her to her feet. "What's going on?" she cries.

"Not a nude beach, ma'am," says Spencer. "There are signs all over the place."

"We're going to have to take you in," says Garcia.

"No, no, I'll leave now, I'll put back on my-" she says, and then looks around her towel. The bikini is gone. "Where is it?"

"Where is what," says Garcia. They take her hands behind her back and slip on handcuffs.

Stephanie is very distressed at this point. The rangers have attracted a lot of attention, and now everyone is looking her way. She's not proud of her breasts -- she has always wished they were bigger -- and she's especially self-conscious about her tummy. And now everyone can see, and she can't even cover up.

"Let's go," Spencer says. Each ranger takes a hand and they march her toward the main entrance to the beach. It's quite crowded now, and onlookers gawk at her like rubberneckers at a freeway accident. Some guys yell crude things which the rangers chuckle at and she tries to block out.

"Where are you taking me?"

Spencer doesn't answer. On his radio, he calls another ranger to bring over the dune buggy. "Five minutes," the voice on the other end says.

Near the main entrance, Garcia unhooks her cuffs, and for a moment she thinks she's free to go; but he has only done so to recuff her hands behind a metal signpost. He leers at her naked body with impunity. He places a hand on her shoulder as Spencer readies a notepad and pen.

"Suspect name?" Spencer says.

"That's you." Garcia taps her shoulder.

"S-Stephanie. Stephanie Ross."


"Five-four." Couldn't they do this inside somewhere?



It is an optimistic underestimate, and she is mortified when Garcia gazes at her and says "put down one-thirty-five."

"Breast size?"


"Cup size. Your bra. If you own one."

"Thirty-four B," she says, offended.

Garcia fondles her breasts, appraising them. "Maybe a B. Maybe."


"None of your business!"

"We can stay out here all day. Waist?"


Garcia verifies this, and chuckles. "Ah, close enough. Doesn't matter." Her face turns red at the insult.


"Thirty-six," she says, weary.

"Is subject sexually aroused?"

Garcia cups her breasts again, twiddling her nipples with his thumbs. "She's not really hard right now... tough to tell. Don't know her that well. Oh, there they go."

Despite herself, Stephanie's body is responding to the situation, betraying her.

"How about down below?" says Spencer.

Garcia stands beside her, resting his hand on her pubic mound. He places his middle finger on her pussy lips, which are slightly moist. He moves his hand up and down, letting his finger graze her pussy as his hand lightly massages her mound. She can't stand to see all the onlookers staring at the scene, so she closes her eyes. Garcia's work is arousing her, and her juices start to flow.

"Yeah, she's wet," he says. He sticks a fingertip in for the first time and she gasps. "She's definitely excited."

"OK, that's enough," Spencer says. "Miss Ross?"

Her eyes open.

"Miss Ross, we're going to have to write you up on indecent exposure and lewd conduct. Our ride's here."

Garcia unhooks the cuffs hooking her set to the fence. They lead her to a fat-tired two-seater dune buggy painted lifeguard yellow. What's going to happen now? she wonders.

* * *

At Daphne's Daydreams, a lingerie boutique in the Galleria, three miles from Toro Beach, Tara McFarland rings up a purchase for a decent-looking meek man in his mid-thirties. He's married, and ventured in alone, saying this sheer outfit is for his wife. Tara hopes so. Most of the merchandise seems to go to secretaries, mistresses, or co-workers in the midst of furtive affairs.

Faithful or not, he has been unable to resist gazing appreciatively at Tara's body as she helped him pick out the red babydoll top and panty set. She has brown hair, dark eyes and an irresistibly cute personality that helps her immeasurably with her job. She wears an outfit entirely of items she sells: a pale sheer miniskirt over black thong, and a matching sheer camisole. Her small breasts are plainly visible; whenever a man notices, she can feel her nipples harden.

She hands him the signature red merchandise bag and receipt. "Thank you, sir... and good luck!" she adds, with just the hint of a naughty smile. He flushes, thanks her, and takes one last look at her slender body, almost completely revealed by the translucent outfit. He stares at her chest for a full second before tearing his gaze away and walking out.

Tara smiles. Customers like this, who get a thrill without pushing things too hard, are part of what makes her job so fun. Most of her shoppers are women, but it's the men who wander in that make things interesting. Dozens have propositioned her, asking what time she closes up. She suppresses a shiver as she turns them down; she knows they are tempted to strip her naked and fuck her where she stands. Oscar, a plainclothes security guard, escorts her out each night for mainly that reason.

In her fantasies, where she's safe from real-life harm, Oscar is not there to protect her. The man who she thinks is browsing is actually waiting for the right moment to approach her. She backs against the glass counter, cornered, as he tears at her sheer top. The delicate lingerie parts easily, and he stares hungrily at her bared breasts. Her sheer panties, all she has left, are moist from her fear-laced excitement. He rips those apart, and she is naked and completely vulnerable.

The man in her daydream drops his trousers, and roughly forces himself in her. With her boyfriends, she prefers some foreplay to make her ready; with this man, the first few thrusts are painful until she starts to lubricate. Then she grows excited very quickly, and comes, moaning, several times. He pays no notice until his climax, accented with a few hard grunting thrusts. His part done, he walks out, leaving her naked and heaving, gasping for breath.

It's a powerful fantasy, and has served her well many times as she lies in her own bed, fingering herself to climax.

Her fantasies have made Tara a little bolder in real life. Sometimes, on days she is sure the regional manager will not be visiting, she gathers up the courage to go without the thong, revealing her bare bottom and dark triangle of pubic hair under the see-through skirt. This both thrills and frightens her: even in the air-conditioned store, she sometimes has to dab nervous perspiration from her brow. Seeing Tara practically nude has made more than one man so obsessed he would not leave the store until Oscar shooed him out.

She enjoys strong men, especially those that protect her from peril. Oscar has appreciated looking at her body since the day she started, timidly emerging from the dressing room, wearing semi-sheer panties and a completely sheer bra. She was so worked up the first time she closed by herself, Oscar watching her work in her skimpy lingerie, that he seduced her easily. She has sex with him a few times a week now, sometimes right after closing, in the back of the store, just out of sight of the locked, gated entry. She likes to think he considers her safety extra important because of this. It's a good relationship.

A soft chime sounds as a brunette woman in blouse and slacks walks in. She's in her early 20s and usually carries a confident posture, but she is unfamiliar with Daphne's Daydreams and takes a moment to orient herself.

"Hi, my name's Tara. Can I help you?"

"I'm Joyce," she says, taken aback by Tara's attire. She recovers with a nervous smile. "I'm, uh, looking for a black leotard with full-length legs and sleeves."

"Yes. Body stockings," Tara says. "I'll show you where those are."

"It's my first time in a place like this," Joyce says, apologetically. "I don't have all the terminology down."

"Oh, don't worry about it. We actually have all sorts of different people shopping here. Here you go," Tara says, handing her a small package. "It should fit you fine, but you can try it on if you like."

"Oh, that would be great. It's for a party next weekend."

"There's a theme?"

Joyce brightens. "My friends are into this iPod thing, where you dress in a black silhouette, like the commercials."

"Yeah, with the solid color background! That sounds pretty cool." Tara grins. "So you dance around and stuff?"

"It's the 'and stuff' I'm worried about. My friends won't tell me exactly. They only say they know I'll like it."


"Funny thing, the Apple Store is just around the corner," Tara says. "Maybe Daphne's Daydreams could co-brand with them."

Joyce laughs. "I'll go try this on." She disappears behind a sheer dark red curtain to the dressing area. Tara straightens some stock as she waits for Joyce's opinion. For a few minutes she hears nothing. Perhaps she doesn't like it; bodystockings aren't for everyone. And Joyce does seem a little timid about intimate apparel in general. She has a nice body for it, though. Tall and slim, with a nice full bustline, even in the casual clothes she wore walking in.

"Tara?" Joyce calls out.


"My underwear is showing! Do you have one that's less see-through?"

"It's actually not meant for wearing anything underneath."

Joyce pauses. "Really?"

"Really. Try it without. It's best to see it now, while you have some privacy."


Joyce is quiet for what seems like a long time before speaking. "Tara? Can you come in? I don't know if this will work. It's really see-through in some areas!"

Tara takes a look. The diaphanous material clings to Joyce's tall, lean body, and hides nothing. It's always fun to see a pretty but innocent-looking woman trying on lingerie for the first time; realizing exactly how alluring she can look always seems to disorient her at first.

"I think you'll be a smash hit," Tara says. "You're right about how sheer it is. None of our outfits do much for modesty."

"It feels like it's riding up my butt." Joyce turns around to show her.

"Don't worry, there's no way for it to ride up," Tara says. "There's just a seam here so it can cling more closely to your shape." She smiles. "You've got a cute butt. It really shows it off."

With fingertips at her shoulders, Tara gently turns Joyce to face her. "Since the material hugs every curve, it gets stretched in a few places and becomes a little more transparent. Like here," she says, reaching back to touch Joyce's bottom with her fingertips. "And here." She strokes the outside of her left breast.

Joyce inhales sharply, almost as if to hiccup, as her body tenses up. "My, um, nipples are really conspicuous in this too." The urge to cover up washes in like a wave, even though Tara is the only other person here, and dressed just as scantily.

Tara caresses the outside curves of Joyce's breasts. "Naturally, it's going to highlight some of your most interesting features."

Joyce feels a surge of warmth at Tara's touch. Their eyes meet. Joyce reaches for Tara, who quickly stays her hands.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry," Joyce says, chagrined.

"No, no, not at all," Tara says, still smiling. "It's just that what I'm wearing is quite fragile. Just give me a chance to get undressed."

Tara carefully lifts off her camisole and lays it on a table. Smiling, she gestures Joyce to be patient. She shimmies out of the sheer skirt, and lays that on top of the camisole. She's teasing Joyce a little, making her wait. The moment she steps out of her thong, Joyce embraces her and kisses her on the mouth.

* * *

Winston drives home, parking his convertible in front. His neighbor Janie stops and waves as he pulls in. She jogs up to greet him. "Hi, Mr. Jeffries!"

Janie is still in high school, and the dictionary entry for "forbidden fruit" contains her picture. White terrycloth shorts hug her cute ass, and a clingy pink tee showcases a great pair of tits. Her mother makes her wear a bra, but she doesn't need one. Light brown hair with blonde highlights is tied into a loose ponytail.

"Hello, Janie," he says warmly. "I hear you had a big party last night."

"Oh, yeah. I'm 18 now! I can vote now; join the army, buy cigarettes... can't drink yet. That's about it."

Eighteen, Winston thinks.


"I hope we didn't bother you," she says, concerned. "We were kind of noisy."

"No problem," he says. "I was your age not long ago. I haven't completely forgotten what it's like."

"I know! It would have been cool to have you come over!" she says. "But my mom would have freaked. She totally doesn't like me hanging out with older guys. Even my 18th birthday, six people slept over, all girls."

"I can understand. Twenty-six is a little too old to be with high school seniors."

She shakes her head. "She still treats me like a little kid. 'You are not going out of this house dressed like that,'" she says, mimicking her mother's voice.

He gives her a bemused smile. She's leaning on his car, her free arm waving and gesticulating to help make her points.

She says: "Luckily mom's not home right now, otherwise she'd be giving me grief about what I'm wearing right now."

He takes this excuse to give her an appraising look from head to toe. Even constricted by her bra, its straps revealed by the tight tee, Janie's nipples valiantly poke forward, just enough to be evident. A few inches of tight bare belly are revealed between the shirt and her white shorts. Below, fantastic legs lead down to cute feet with painted toenails, in cheap beach flipflops.

"It's a hot day; I see no problem with what you're wearing," he says.

"I know!" she says, with the tone of indignant agreement unique to teenagers.

Winston is ready to say goodbye when Janie leans forward, conspiratorially. "Wanna see my brand new swimsuit? I can show ya."

"Aw, I don't think that's a good idea," he says, weighing the risks. The rewards are easy to figure out. He knows that in any reasonable swimsuit she will look spectacular.

"Nobody's home!" she says. "Come on, it'll take five minutes. Just cross over the back yard, and like bring a hammer or something. If anyone asks, I'll say I needed your help with something."

He ponders this. He has known her as a neighbor for three years, back when she was a clumsy, insecure freshman with braces. He has gone fishing with the whole family a couple times, and even picked her up from school once when her mother was hospitalized. He doubts she would be springing a trap.

"Okay. Ten minutes from now?"

"Yeah. See you, Mr. Jeffries!"

You can call me Winston, he thinks.

He fetches a hammer and warily steps into Janie's backyard. The coast is clear. When he reaches the back door she is waiting for him, and takes him inside. "Upstairs," she says, taking him by the hand. Her energy is infectious. They step inside a room he has never visited: her bedroom. "Wait here," she says. "It's really sexy. You'll like it."

He sits on the corner of the bed. Stuffed animals keep watch from bookshelves. Orlando Bloom smiles in a poster. An iMac, TV and portable stereo stand silent. Pajamas or a nightshirt drape over the back of a chair.

Janie is in the bathroom changing. It is quiet enough that he wonders if she has gotten cold feet, perhaps opened a window and escaped. But she hasn't. Her voice is muffled through the closed door. "Ready to see it?"

"Go ahead," he says. He doesn't want to be too loud, to be heard from outside.

"Here it is," she announces, and opens the door wide. She is nude.

Her buoyant breasts and swelling nipples make Winston's mouth water. Her slender waist and hips lead to a pussy that adolescent wet dreams are made of. She is exhilarated that she was able to work up the courage to do this.

He is mesmerized and says nothing.

"It's my birthday suit," she says. "Get it?"

He nods.

"You like it?"

He nods. He notices for the first time that she has undone her ponytail. Long, soft hair falls past her bare shoulders.

"Do you want me?"

His voice returns. "Hell yeah." It is half baritone, half growl.

She nearly leaps onto the bed and reclines on her back, all her charms offered to him. He leans forward to kiss her belly, and slowly moves higher. "What do you like?" he says.

"It's my first time," she says. "I haven't done it all the way yet."

Her admission surprises him; but by this time, there is no question of his following through. If she wants to be deflowered by him, he won't deny her. "It may hurt," he says. "Just say 'stop' whenever you need to. I'll be gentle. And slow."

His lips have reached her breast, just the lower swell where soft skin slopes up from the ribcage. The feeling is already electric; she shivers and moans. It is time for him to disrobe and he does so quickly. As he strips his jockeys, her expression shows a flicker of fear, but is quickly replaced by ardent desire.

He explores her tender young body carefully, lovingly. She has climaxed before, at her own touch and from a steamy makeout session when she was supposed to be in study hall; but with this man, giving herself up completely to him, her orgasm reaches a higher level of ecstasy. His insertion is tantalizingly slow, and every millimeter deeper unleashes new waves of pleasure.

He can no longer hold back, and fires steaming come into her virgin pussy. "My god, that was awesome," he says.

"Mmmmmmm," she says, beaming.

Their post-coital languor is interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening.

"Omigod, my mom's back! You've gotta get out of here!"

Winston hurriedly pulls on his clothes. There is the sound of a door opening downstairs, followed by footsteps. He is trapped unless he can hide or exit through the window. He chooses the latter, jumping ten feet to the back lawn, ducking and rolling. He is not caught.

Meanwhile, Janie is paralyzed by fear and has crawled under the covers. Her mother is coming upstairs, and opens the door to Janie's room. The window is open, the bathroom door is open, and her clothes are on the floor. "What are you doing in bed?" her mother says, before pulling down the sheet. "Naked? Janie, what's going on?"

Janie has no answer.

* * *

Winston is happy to be back in his own house. The doorbell rings. His neighbor from across the street, a 30-year-old man in sweats and a muscle shirt, is holding a DVD.

"Hey Harv," says Winston.


"Hey, W, wanted to get this back to you," says Harv.

"You liked it?"

"It was awesome!"

"What'd I tell you, man. Taye Diggs... hey, even I dig him. Anyway, thanks for bringing it back. Heading over to the gym?"

Harv scowled. "Yeah, gotta keep up."

"You're looking more cut than ever."

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