Fingers Down the Back of Me
September 16th, 2010 by babeviewI’m a freaking magician.
I even make your ratty old black mini-skirt look good.
And you refused to buy me at full price. Yes, I’m still bitter about that.
Okay. I look great. We can go now.
Ouch. Do not pull at me. I’m stretched to the maximum. One false move and these hooks are going to go flying at super-sonic speed.
Okay, okay. Stop staring in the mirror. You look good, too. No, really, you do. Every man is going to lust over your voluptuous figure. They will try to nuzzle between your impressive breasts and grab at your rounded ass. And maybe you’ll let them.
Are we ready to watch some hot ass porn? About time. You are going to wear a jacket, right? I don’t get along with the pink one. That pink jacket is so competitive for attention. Pick the red. Hell, I really don’t care as long as it hides my struggle to stay together.
Can we go home yet? I’m going to burst.
Why don’t you take this handsome man out of his misery and just fuck him? As quickly as possible before I expire.
Oh, good. You guys are leaving. Just don’t make any excessive movements, sweetie. Uh-oh. Was that my boning creaking? Not a good sign. I hope no one else heard it.
You’re walking home with this guy? Do you think that’s a good idea? First of all, you don’t know him. Second, I’m going to rip at the seams.
Hey, hey, hey! That guy just slipped his hand under your red jacket. He placed his hand on me. Shoo him away. I am the packaging, not the present.
Did you feel that? He just ran his fingers down the back of me. What am I saying? Of course you felt it. You’re shivering from the touch. I’m still dealing with the aftershocks.
Listen to me. No more shivering, quivering or trembling. Got that?
Oomph. Okay, honey. We seem to have a misunderstanding. If you don’t want him touching you, do not push him into a darkened doorway and cover your body with his.
Oo-wee! That tickles. The man’s fingers move fast. Wow, did you see that? He just pushed you against the wall and now he’s covering you. Tricky move. That’s more of reason to get him away. If that doesn’t move you, remember this: he’s going to find out I have you trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Oops. One of your tits just fell out. For the record, that is not my fault.
Hmm. From all that panting, I’m going to guess you don’t care who’s to blame. The man certainly loves your breasts. He’s practically attacking them. What did I tell you? Men want to nuzzle between your tits.
Yuck. He’s really munching at your nipples. I don’t get it. You scream obscenities at me if I barely flatten your breasts, but you are begging for more squeezing from this man who literally biting you.
Okay, okay. I’m sure this is all fun for you, but if you wiggle one more time!
No. No! Do not breathe deeply.
Oh, shit. Was that a rip I heard?
No. False alarm. Whew! It was just his zipper.
His zipper!
No. You are not going to fuck while I’m still here. I forbid it.
Damn, girl. You picked a rough stud.
Y-y-y-ow! I think a strip of my boning just twisted. Yep. It’s getting to know your liver intimately.
Hey, now stop that! Would you please tell lover boy that a bustier is not made to bunch into his sweaty hands?
Woman, he’s getting a little carried away. While you seem to enjoy that, my hooks are leaving impressions in the woodwork.
What’s that rumbling? Are you going to come? While I’m still on you! Whatever you do, do not writhe.
I said, don’t writhe!
You writhed. Violently.
You’re writhing again!
Oh-oh. Oh-oh! I feel it coming. I can’t stop it! No!
Damn. I’m injured. Please tell me that the hook is hanging by a thread. I can’t afford to lose it.
Jeez, that guy is noisy when he comes. You aren’t much better.
Oh, good. The rocking has stopped.
Hold on. Let me take inventory.
One twisted, possibly broken, boning and one popped hook. We won’t go into emotional damages.
I’m sure you’re hurting, too. I may have left some red marks on your abdomen, but they are nothing compared to the blotches this guy left on your skin.
Oh, hell. You’re stuffing your tits back into me? Haven’t I suffered enough?
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I quit.
God, I hope this is your Mr. Right. I hope he has a thing for pastels, because once I’m stuffed into my drawer, I am not coming back out