Solé couldn't keep herself upright. She had thankfully made it from the bathroom down the hall, and just had time enough to unnecessarily protect her modesty by clutching her towel to when it just barely met at the corners. She was out of breath, as if she'd been running for the phone. In reality, she had been racked by the most intense and direct arousal she had ever experienced.
Two fingers of her left hand worked unflaggingly at her entrance and on her clit, while her right hand helped her cling to the door jamb. Tears flowed from her eyes as her knees buckled and her thighs quivered. Solé couldn't contain the strangled wail that launched from her throat the instant she came. Her blunt nails scored the croun moulding as first her towel then her body succumbed to gravity. Her jaw clenched as she hit her knees, chest heaving and neck and shoulders bowed in seeming defeat.
As she caught her breath, a face appear unbidden, again as it had for the past few weeks, in her mind's eye. The man from so many nights ago who stopped for directions. And as it had been since that night, Solé heard the whisper of his voice in her ear. "Come again, pet. Once more for me."
It was torture. Blissful torture of the most decadent kind. Her back arched as both hands flew to the door frame. She rose on her knees, her spine curving forward and her head lolling back as the feel of hands caressing her sent her over the edge again. The sound of a door opening and closing downstairs had her freezing stock still.
"Solo, you ready?"
"SHIT," she exclaimed under her breath. Her best friend Eric had arrived unacceptably early as usual. Solé cursed her luck. She would end up with a pair of friends who while accepting her flaws and all had their own nearly bothersome quirks.
"Uh, yeah," Solé managed as she wobbled to her feet and shook off the fleeting surge of inexplicable rage she felt. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be down. You know where everything is."
Solé clutched her towel to her chest as she leaned back against the door jamb and finally caught her breath. In her orgasmic frenzy she had forgotten the reason why she had closed the shop early for a Saturday and had been in the shower at six in the evening. Eric and their other good friend, and his sometimes lover, Breely had gotten her tickets to a very nice evening of music with the New York Philharmonic for her birthday. And now one - or both - of them were downstairs meandering around her kitchen while they waited for her. She could hear Eric muttering quietly.
"Did she not know we were coming," he asked almost incredulously.
"Shut it," Bree hissed. "I'll go see what the hold up is."
Solé rolled her eyes and felt her shoulders sag as she heard Bree climb the stairs to her apartment above the coffee shop. Pushing off the doorframe, she scurried to at least look like she hadn't been knuckle deep in herself for the last half hour screaming for mercy. She dashed past the vanity only sparing herself a hurried glance as she reached her dresser and yanked open her panty drawer. She pulled out a black bra with green and gold thread detail and matching panties, her birthday gift to herself.
While wandering the mall one day not long after letting her mysterious visitor vanish from her door, she had the sudden urge to make a very out of the ordinary lingerie purchase. She would be the first to admit to being a 'no-frills' girl who preferred her underwire sturdy and her panties comfy cotton, but she would add that she wasn't immune to nice things in severe moderation, with the addendum that the only people who would ever see her in her underwear were Bree and Ric, and that they didn't warrant spending more than $10 a pair. Of course they would both scoff, Bree as the supportive best girlfriend, and Ric as the typical male sidekick who made a running joke of having slept with his best friends.
As she slipped on the lacy frills, she felt and heard Bree behind her.
"My god, woman! The fuck have you been doing all this time?!?"
Solé dipped her head, a mischievous smile on her lips as her mind jumped to answer with a quip most unlike her. That had been happening a lot lately, from the underwear to her new extracurricular activities, she had been slightly out of character for the past few weeks. She chalked it up to the change of weather and the Indian Summer the city was in the midst of, and tried to block out all the tempestuous thoughts of the man who nonetheless plagued her fantasies. So instead of responding to her question, Solé turned and smiled warmly at her friend.
"Bree, you look gorgeous!"
And she did. Bree was wearing an elegant red off-the-shoulders floor length cocktail gown that she held up close to the hem in an exasperated pose as Solé moved to hug her.
"Jesus, put some clothes on before bonehead races up here. You know he has keen senses for when half naked girls are hugging."
"Ya vol, mien damen!" Solé turned with a mock salute and click of her heels before sitting down on the bed, suddenly at a loss.
"What now?"
"I just realized this thing is truly formal, and I have nothing acceptable to wear." Solé looked over to her modest tea-length retro dress that hung from her closet door.
"You can wear that. No problem! What're they gonna do, kick us out of New York?"
"They might."
"Ok, so you can borrow something of mine."
"First off, there's no time. Second, come on. You really think these things are gonna fit in something you wear?" She hefted her lace clad breasts for emphasis.
"To be honest, I've always held hope for a little asmosis action." Bree sat down in the chair across from the foot of the bed and fluffed at the skirt of her dress.
"It's OSmosis, and anytime you wanna hit the slab, honey, say the word."
Solé climbed over the bed as bree propped her feet on the footboard chest and made her way to her tiny closet. She heard Bree humming the chorus to Like It's Her Birthday and let out a frustrated groan.
"For the love of Pete, Breely, anything but that!"
"What, Scar? It's not like age is kicking your ass or anything. Ooo, wait, hey what's that?"
Solé stopped shuffling hangers from one side of the rack to the other, looking at the long forgotten garment bag.
"Oh, that bridesmaid dress, probably. Haven't seen this thing in a while."
"Well, whatever it is should be appropriate. God knows you haven't worn it around here. Pull it out and put it on. We got a show to get to."
Solé lifted the garment bag from the closet with a little more care than was necessary, placing it on the bed before unzipping it. What spilled out was nothing short of true beauty. A gossamer confection of three shades of deep green, gray and black that on Solé would lightly sweep the floor.
"Whoa, Solo. When and where'd you get that? Been holdin' out on us, I see." Bree had sprung to her feet to stand by her friend and gaze at the dress.
"I didn't buy this," Solé whispered taking a wary step back. Bree picked up the feather light gown and held it up to herself.
"Shit, well whoever did has excellent and expensive taste." She turned back to Solé. "You sure you didn't buy this and forget about it? Some retail therapy after the uh..."
"Unpleasentness? No." Solé cut Bree off before she could finish the sentence. "I doubt I could even happen to run across a dress like that on a whim, let alone afford it." Solange still stood slightly away from the bed and the dress, as if it were a python materialized out of thin air ready to grab her.
"Ok, well whatever. We gotta scoot. So throw on the frock and haul ass." Bree stepped around the footboard chest and made for the door. "Hustle, Lolo."
Solé made a face and flipped Bree off as she left, her gaze going once more back to the dress.
"Who would call this a mere dress," she wondered aloud as she tentatively picked it up. No tags, she noticed, so no real way of knowing when, from who, or how it ended up in her closet. It looked to be strapless, but she couldn't find a seam, button, or zip to tell her which way was the front. After turning it carefully in her hands for a minute she placed the gown back on the bed, nearly ready to give up and throw on her retro dress. As she turned back to her closet door something caught her eye. At the angle the gown was laying, it seemed to catch the last rays of daylight and sparkle with silver and gold. And then she saw the bodice.
A sweep and gather of fabric from the shoulders down to the corseted decolletage. Solé looked down at herself and back at the dress.
"Shit, I can't wear this," she said a bit louder than she intended.
"Whatever it is, you can wear it, and you WILL, Bink! Don't make me come up there!" Eric had apparently gotten impatient of waiting for her. He was the only one she ever let use the nickname her uncle had given her without some sort of backlash, and he only used it when he meant business.
"Fine! Fine...," she turned two confused circles before deciding on the black tie wrap heels sitting in a box at the back of her closet. Shoes in hand, she flopped on the bed, careful not to disturb the dress. She figured putting on stockings, slip, and shoes first would minimize wrinkles. Solé had to smile to herself at that. Her Nana and Mom would be proud of her. Never cross your property line without stockings, slip, and underwire.
Solé gathered up a stocking, luxuriating in the feel of the sheer material in her hands as she extended her leg to slip it on. Satisfied with the fit, she reached for the other stocking and moaned in exasperation when she had it halfway on.
"UGH! For fuck's sake, you gotta be kidding me!" Her bellow met with the sound of metal falling on porcelain. "I'm fine, we're fine," she shouted as she heard footsteps approach the stairs. "Just a run in my stocking. No big. Be down in a minute."
Solé scrambled around for a minute mumbling curses as she tried in vain to find her back up pair of stockings. They were seamed and very informal, but she figured the dress would cover it, and if need be she could cross her legs. After searching the places the stockings should've been unsuccessfully, she gave up with a resigned sigh and a mental apology to Ma and Nana as she hopped up to pull her in tact stocking off and grab her bra slip.
Solé carefully pulled her slip on, mindful as always of the fullness of her hips and how she moved to get into the thing. While she wasn't model thin, fate and genetics still seemed to bless her with an hourglass figure, which she jokingly referred to as having extra minutes. With Greek warrior calves, thighs that touched, a more than soft belly, a generous bosom, and broad wingspan, Solé considered herself zaftig, regardless of what the committee of Big Girls said.
Having done the snake dance of the slip, Solé adjusted the strapless bodice and sat to put on her shoes, careful not to rub her skin too much when wrapping the lace ribbon to avoid ashing up her ankles. She stood and went over to her closet mirror, admiring the slight cling of of the slip and the added height of the heels. Giving her reflection an appreciative nod, she turned to the bed and gathered the dress, still a bit unsure how to get it on. Deciding to try the overhead approach, Solé gathered as much of the dress as she could without wrinkling it and hovered it above her head, hoping gravity would do the rest. Luckily, she didn't have to work hard at all, as the dress cascaded over her in a quiet whisper of silken fabric.
Solé gave a sigh as the dress brushed lightly over her skin, turning right and left to admire how the dress fit her almost perfectly, and ponder exactly when and how it found it's way into her closet.
"Solange, LET'S GO!! You got three minutes before I come up there myself!"
"Yes, Father. Very well, Father. On my way, Father," Solé teased with only a hint of sarcasm. She absently patted her head, belatedly realizing she'd done nothing with her hair formal enough for the outfit she wore, however unexpected, nor the occasion.
"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered snatching the heavy brush from her vanity and hurriedly dragging it over her hair. Solé gathered her hair behind her ears, sectioning across the crown to leave the back half of her hair flowing and clipping the front with a plain gold barrette with intricate engraved swirls on the upper clasp.
Satisfied that she had done her best, Solé spun once in front of her vanity before pulling her bedroom door closed behind her and making her way down the stairs.
Two fingers of her left hand worked unflaggingly at her entrance and on her clit, while her right hand helped her cling to the door jamb. Tears flowed from her eyes as her knees buckled and her thighs quivered. Solé couldn't contain the strangled wail that launched from her throat the instant she came. Her blunt nails scored the croun moulding as first her towel then her body succumbed to gravity. Her jaw clenched as she hit her knees, chest heaving and neck and shoulders bowed in seeming defeat.
As she caught her breath, a face appear unbidden, again as it had for the past few weeks, in her mind's eye. The man from so many nights ago who stopped for directions. And as it had been since that night, Solé heard the whisper of his voice in her ear. "Come again, pet. Once more for me."
It was torture. Blissful torture of the most decadent kind. Her back arched as both hands flew to the door frame. She rose on her knees, her spine curving forward and her head lolling back as the feel of hands caressing her sent her over the edge again. The sound of a door opening and closing downstairs had her freezing stock still.
"Solo, you ready?"
"SHIT," she exclaimed under her breath. Her best friend Eric had arrived unacceptably early as usual. Solé cursed her luck. She would end up with a pair of friends who while accepting her flaws and all had their own nearly bothersome quirks.
"Uh, yeah," Solé managed as she wobbled to her feet and shook off the fleeting surge of inexplicable rage she felt. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be down. You know where everything is."
Solé clutched her towel to her chest as she leaned back against the door jamb and finally caught her breath. In her orgasmic frenzy she had forgotten the reason why she had closed the shop early for a Saturday and had been in the shower at six in the evening. Eric and their other good friend, and his sometimes lover, Breely had gotten her tickets to a very nice evening of music with the New York Philharmonic for her birthday. And now one - or both - of them were downstairs meandering around her kitchen while they waited for her. She could hear Eric muttering quietly.
"Did she not know we were coming," he asked almost incredulously.
"Shut it," Bree hissed. "I'll go see what the hold up is."
Solé rolled her eyes and felt her shoulders sag as she heard Bree climb the stairs to her apartment above the coffee shop. Pushing off the doorframe, she scurried to at least look like she hadn't been knuckle deep in herself for the last half hour screaming for mercy. She dashed past the vanity only sparing herself a hurried glance as she reached her dresser and yanked open her panty drawer. She pulled out a black bra with green and gold thread detail and matching panties, her birthday gift to herself.
While wandering the mall one day not long after letting her mysterious visitor vanish from her door, she had the sudden urge to make a very out of the ordinary lingerie purchase. She would be the first to admit to being a 'no-frills' girl who preferred her underwire sturdy and her panties comfy cotton, but she would add that she wasn't immune to nice things in severe moderation, with the addendum that the only people who would ever see her in her underwear were Bree and Ric, and that they didn't warrant spending more than $10 a pair. Of course they would both scoff, Bree as the supportive best girlfriend, and Ric as the typical male sidekick who made a running joke of having slept with his best friends.
As she slipped on the lacy frills, she felt and heard Bree behind her.
"My god, woman! The fuck have you been doing all this time?!?"
Solé dipped her head, a mischievous smile on her lips as her mind jumped to answer with a quip most unlike her. That had been happening a lot lately, from the underwear to her new extracurricular activities, she had been slightly out of character for the past few weeks. She chalked it up to the change of weather and the Indian Summer the city was in the midst of, and tried to block out all the tempestuous thoughts of the man who nonetheless plagued her fantasies. So instead of responding to her question, Solé turned and smiled warmly at her friend.
"Bree, you look gorgeous!"
And she did. Bree was wearing an elegant red off-the-shoulders floor length cocktail gown that she held up close to the hem in an exasperated pose as Solé moved to hug her.
"Jesus, put some clothes on before bonehead races up here. You know he has keen senses for when half naked girls are hugging."
"Ya vol, mien damen!" Solé turned with a mock salute and click of her heels before sitting down on the bed, suddenly at a loss.
"What now?"
"I just realized this thing is truly formal, and I have nothing acceptable to wear." Solé looked over to her modest tea-length retro dress that hung from her closet door.
"You can wear that. No problem! What're they gonna do, kick us out of New York?"
"They might."
"Ok, so you can borrow something of mine."
"First off, there's no time. Second, come on. You really think these things are gonna fit in something you wear?" She hefted her lace clad breasts for emphasis.
"To be honest, I've always held hope for a little asmosis action." Bree sat down in the chair across from the foot of the bed and fluffed at the skirt of her dress.
"It's OSmosis, and anytime you wanna hit the slab, honey, say the word."
Solé climbed over the bed as bree propped her feet on the footboard chest and made her way to her tiny closet. She heard Bree humming the chorus to Like It's Her Birthday and let out a frustrated groan.
"For the love of Pete, Breely, anything but that!"
"What, Scar? It's not like age is kicking your ass or anything. Ooo, wait, hey what's that?"
Solé stopped shuffling hangers from one side of the rack to the other, looking at the long forgotten garment bag.
"Oh, that bridesmaid dress, probably. Haven't seen this thing in a while."
"Well, whatever it is should be appropriate. God knows you haven't worn it around here. Pull it out and put it on. We got a show to get to."
Solé lifted the garment bag from the closet with a little more care than was necessary, placing it on the bed before unzipping it. What spilled out was nothing short of true beauty. A gossamer confection of three shades of deep green, gray and black that on Solé would lightly sweep the floor.
"Whoa, Solo. When and where'd you get that? Been holdin' out on us, I see." Bree had sprung to her feet to stand by her friend and gaze at the dress.
"I didn't buy this," Solé whispered taking a wary step back. Bree picked up the feather light gown and held it up to herself.
"Shit, well whoever did has excellent and expensive taste." She turned back to Solé. "You sure you didn't buy this and forget about it? Some retail therapy after the uh..."
"Unpleasentness? No." Solé cut Bree off before she could finish the sentence. "I doubt I could even happen to run across a dress like that on a whim, let alone afford it." Solange still stood slightly away from the bed and the dress, as if it were a python materialized out of thin air ready to grab her.
"Ok, well whatever. We gotta scoot. So throw on the frock and haul ass." Bree stepped around the footboard chest and made for the door. "Hustle, Lolo."
Solé made a face and flipped Bree off as she left, her gaze going once more back to the dress.
"Who would call this a mere dress," she wondered aloud as she tentatively picked it up. No tags, she noticed, so no real way of knowing when, from who, or how it ended up in her closet. It looked to be strapless, but she couldn't find a seam, button, or zip to tell her which way was the front. After turning it carefully in her hands for a minute she placed the gown back on the bed, nearly ready to give up and throw on her retro dress. As she turned back to her closet door something caught her eye. At the angle the gown was laying, it seemed to catch the last rays of daylight and sparkle with silver and gold. And then she saw the bodice.
A sweep and gather of fabric from the shoulders down to the corseted decolletage. Solé looked down at herself and back at the dress.
"Shit, I can't wear this," she said a bit louder than she intended.
"Whatever it is, you can wear it, and you WILL, Bink! Don't make me come up there!" Eric had apparently gotten impatient of waiting for her. He was the only one she ever let use the nickname her uncle had given her without some sort of backlash, and he only used it when he meant business.
"Fine! Fine...," she turned two confused circles before deciding on the black tie wrap heels sitting in a box at the back of her closet. Shoes in hand, she flopped on the bed, careful not to disturb the dress. She figured putting on stockings, slip, and shoes first would minimize wrinkles. Solé had to smile to herself at that. Her Nana and Mom would be proud of her. Never cross your property line without stockings, slip, and underwire.
Solé gathered up a stocking, luxuriating in the feel of the sheer material in her hands as she extended her leg to slip it on. Satisfied with the fit, she reached for the other stocking and moaned in exasperation when she had it halfway on.
"UGH! For fuck's sake, you gotta be kidding me!" Her bellow met with the sound of metal falling on porcelain. "I'm fine, we're fine," she shouted as she heard footsteps approach the stairs. "Just a run in my stocking. No big. Be down in a minute."
Solé scrambled around for a minute mumbling curses as she tried in vain to find her back up pair of stockings. They were seamed and very informal, but she figured the dress would cover it, and if need be she could cross her legs. After searching the places the stockings should've been unsuccessfully, she gave up with a resigned sigh and a mental apology to Ma and Nana as she hopped up to pull her in tact stocking off and grab her bra slip.
Solé carefully pulled her slip on, mindful as always of the fullness of her hips and how she moved to get into the thing. While she wasn't model thin, fate and genetics still seemed to bless her with an hourglass figure, which she jokingly referred to as having extra minutes. With Greek warrior calves, thighs that touched, a more than soft belly, a generous bosom, and broad wingspan, Solé considered herself zaftig, regardless of what the committee of Big Girls said.
Having done the snake dance of the slip, Solé adjusted the strapless bodice and sat to put on her shoes, careful not to rub her skin too much when wrapping the lace ribbon to avoid ashing up her ankles. She stood and went over to her closet mirror, admiring the slight cling of of the slip and the added height of the heels. Giving her reflection an appreciative nod, she turned to the bed and gathered the dress, still a bit unsure how to get it on. Deciding to try the overhead approach, Solé gathered as much of the dress as she could without wrinkling it and hovered it above her head, hoping gravity would do the rest. Luckily, she didn't have to work hard at all, as the dress cascaded over her in a quiet whisper of silken fabric.
Solé gave a sigh as the dress brushed lightly over her skin, turning right and left to admire how the dress fit her almost perfectly, and ponder exactly when and how it found it's way into her closet.
"Solange, LET'S GO!! You got three minutes before I come up there myself!"
"Yes, Father. Very well, Father. On my way, Father," Solé teased with only a hint of sarcasm. She absently patted her head, belatedly realizing she'd done nothing with her hair formal enough for the outfit she wore, however unexpected, nor the occasion.
"Shit, shit, shit," she muttered snatching the heavy brush from her vanity and hurriedly dragging it over her hair. Solé gathered her hair behind her ears, sectioning across the crown to leave the back half of her hair flowing and clipping the front with a plain gold barrette with intricate engraved swirls on the upper clasp.
Satisfied that she had done her best, Solé spun once in front of her vanity before pulling her bedroom door closed behind her and making her way down the stairs.
