I couldn’t believe how hot it was making me. I got out of my top and opened my bra. It felt good finally to have my hands on my bare breasts. Watch this! I thought, and pinched the nipples, rolling them between my thumb and let my forefinger, as I’d just seen the redhead do on the tape. Each time I did it, a jolt of electricity ran down my body into my pussy.
Suddenly I didn’t care that much about what Brian was seeing or feeling or doing. I just knew that I had to come. I stood up and took off my panties. My juices were all over my pussy lips. I couldn’t believe how wet I was. I sat down again and rubbed myself in just the right place.
Usually, I didn’t put my fingers inside myself. But on the screen, the two women were up on their knees, kissing each other and playing with each other. Behind them, the man was taking turns, going back and forth between them. There were close-ups of his big cock going from one pussy to the other. It made me feel empty inside, and I brought my feet up and let my legs fall apart and stuck two fingers inside and put my thumb on my clit.
It felt great, and I was almost there, but I wanted to feel it from behind, like the women. I got up onto my knees and reached behind myself and used both hands at once.
On the tape, everybody was coming. The man pulled out of the redhead and his cock began to spurt. He used his hand to make his come land all over the women’s butts. The women were groaning and shaking and heaving.
Just at that moment, I heard a footstep, and suddenly I was filled with embarrassment, as if it was my mother who’d caught me, rather than my husband. Ridiculously, my hands stopped moving, as if I could deny what I was doing.
But it was too late. I was already starting to come. If I didn’t keep stroking myself right then, it would be a fizzle instead of an explosion, but I would still come. After all that, I had to save it. I moved both hands as quickly as I could. I came so hard I think I passed out for a moment. The next thing I knew, Brian had his arms around me, kissing me, running his hands over me. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so passionate. He lay me down on the couch, and he got out of his clothes like a magician. I glanced down at his cock and saw the semen smeared all over its head: he’d come in his pants, just from watching me. The thought made me hot all over again. And he was already hard again, or he’d never gotten soft. Either way, he entered me easily. He felt huge, as big as the man in the video. We didn’t even bother to turn off the porno tape.
HER FIRST BRA by Cris Mazza
(excerpt from A Body Chemical )
1981
There was one more card from Millard in November, a Thanksgiving card that said hope to see you again… someday… somewhere. Dale picked it up from the floor under the kitchen card table and said, “Who’s this from, your mother?”
“Yuckity yuk.” Leala was slicing hotdogs to go into canned beans. Dale ate lunch at about 10 a.m. when he got home from delivering tortillas to restaurants.
“Well, who is it?”
“It’s a photographer I did a session for. I guess he liked me. Whose mother should we visit for Thanksgiving?”
“A session? What’s that mean? You’re working as a model? Since when?”
“About six months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I did.” She put a plate of tepid franks-n-beans in front of him then started sorting through the mail, putting the utility and credit card bills in one pile for Dale to pay from his checking account, the rent and food came from hers. She had a session that afternoon. The guy on the phone yesterday asked how old she was and she’d answered I’m very bold, why’d you ask? then the guy digressed to something else, the color of her hair and eyes, how tall she was, her measurements. She’d changed her ad again. It said, young, versatile female model for private photo sessions with imaginative photographers, you won’t believe what your camera can do.
“How much have you made?” Dale asked.
“Not much. The rent went up, remember?”
“Well let’s make out a budget or something, maybe we don’t have to sell anything to buy grass. Or Christmas presents for that matter.”
“Sessions aren’t predictable, Dale. We can’t budget for them. I thought you were off grass, anyway.”
“Well they use it for cancer patients, don’t they? Maybe it’ll help.”
“Help what? God, what a hypochondriac, it really gets old.”
“I’m getting this shortness of breath all the fucking time, dammit, I’m hot then cold, then I start sweating my fucking ass off. What would you call it?”
“Maybe it’s menopause.”
“Har-de-fucking-har.” He put three huge spoonfuls into his mouth in rapid succession before chewing and swallowing. “So you wanna go away for Christmas vacation this year?”
“No, not now.”
“Then when?”
She picked up his empty plate and put it with the dirty pan beside the sink. “Dale, I tried to tell you once what’ll probably happen, what I’m saving for, but you wouldn’t believe me. That’s fine, you can pretend. Sure, everything’s normal, right?” She boosted herself to the counter and swung her feet into the sink to shave her legs. “Luckily I don’t even think you’ll miss me.”
The photographer handed her two fifties before she came through the door. The session was at his house – he had his living room furniture pushed to one side and a corner converted into a set resembling a dressing room in a fancy department store. A three-sided mirror and stool, clothes with tags draped over accordion partitions, big umbrella lamps preventing anything from showing a shadow anywhere.
“Okay, listen to this,” the guy said. He had long hair parted in the middle, the kind that either looks dirty or if it’s clean, is so fine it’s like baby hair that was never cut. He also had one of those halfway mustaches that usually only sixteen-year-old boys can grow, more baby hair. “Okay, listen,” he repeated, “it’s like, you’re shopping, it’s a big day because… you’ve come to the store without your mother -”
“My mother?”
“Yeah, listen, you’ve come shopping, you took a bus or rode your bike, but you came to this upscale store where you get one of those personal shoppers. You see, you’re here to get your first… training bra.” Suddenly he ducked his head and looked through a camera on a tripod. She wasn’t even on the set yet.
“Does anyone even use training bras anymore?”
“Sure they do, and listen, you’re all excited, this is a big day for you, milestone, know what I mean? Today you become a woman… and all that.” He stood up but continued to look at the set, not at Leala.
“And I suppose my dressing room has a hidden camera or two-way mirror. And then what, my personal shopper is a man?”
“Maybe,” he said slowly. “We’ll see. The important thing is, this is such a big day for a girl. It makes her feel like anything can happen. Um, hang your old clothes on the hook there, like you would in a dressing room. And here you go, try these on.” He pulled a plastic Sears shopping bag from behind one of the partitions.
“I doubt Sears has personal shoppers,” she said, looking inside. There were three or four practically cupless bras and matching underwear, one set white with purple flowers, one baby blue, one with pink polkadots, and one set basic white with lace. The bras were just stretchy material with elastic straps and hook in back.