My own Monica Bellucci, that was Angelina.
Insanely passionate, with a genius-level IQ; hot-tempered and highly competitive yet also as sweet as could be, she was F. Lee Bailey reincarnated as a dazzling Italian mistress.
She could get away with it. Always a moment-by-moment adventure, she was to emotional stability what Katrina was to New Orleans.
My Monica Bellucci.
Angelina had the same raven hair, which she might wear silky straight and runway model sexy, or maybe she'd leave it loose, wild, and bedroom brazen. She could achieve anything she wanted with that glorious mane.
She had the same hourglass figure, her tiny waist framed by flared, arrogant hips and a delta-shaped torso crowned with just the most incredible breasts.
Christ, those breasts. Fuck. They were stick-a-fork-in-your-forehead perfect. Depending on her mood they could be thirty-six C's or even fuller D's; perfectly pouting, heavy and firm, with lightly tanned and absolutely blemish-free olive skin. Her areolas were inspired works of art, each a perfect symmetry of well-defined two-inch moons; sometimes coral pink, sometimes a deeper brown-tinted rouge ... chocolate-covered cherries. Her nipples were riotous, and so much fun. She always said they had a mind of their own, but the truth is they were just very obedient to their proud owner. There was seemingly no filter between her thoughts and her nipples.
She was in love with her breasts. She loved the notion of onlookers dying over them, and she took the utmost delight in making sure her bare, erect nipples served as her seemingly innocent calling card.
Her lush, heart-shaped ass, with its temptingly deep divide; her dancer's long, lithe legs; her miracle of a pussy - everything flowed together into sexual perfection. From her unadorned slit of a navel all the way to the ever-present golden chain she wore on her slender right ankle, she was spellbinding ... a veritable fuck-goddess come to life.
No matter what she did, regardless of what she wore, once a person could somehow manage to move past her breasts to continue the visual journey down her body, she was pure siren's song cunt. Fragrant browns and pinks, she was delectably smooth from the peak of her taut, tanned ass to her mischievous little pucker, all the way through her succulent flower with its festive, provocatively hooded clit. She kept only a small, neatly trimmed rectangle of pubic hair, well above her perfect slit.
Shaving it off completely just wouldn't do, as that would mitigate the dramatic effect. Traffic lights don't work once they're removed, and by the same principle she knew her pussy couldn't capture the attention of admiring eyes nearly as well without that forbidden visual contrast showing through her sheer panties or flitting in and out of view beneath her tiny skirts.
There was also her moist Cupid's-bow mouth with its enticingly rich, full lips and shining white teeth. Her smile was disarming ... unnerving. A ballerina's arched neck, mysterious in its message, inviting to the eye, and to the touch; the significance of the elegant black silk choker she always wore, a mystery to ponder.
Her voice was smooth and musical, a woman's warm, thick Les Paul blues compared to so many girls' cacophonous metal screeching.
It was always her eyes, though. Her eyes truly set her apart.
Smoky brown windows on her soul, they could burn with fiery intensity and desire, or melt with profound longing and sadness. They were brilliant in their eloquence, without a spoken word. Jesus, the pain in those eyes, and the revelations of joy were heartbreaking. More than anything, it was the sheer power of her eyes. She could do anything, be anything, and all one could do was worship there. The majesty in her gaze was absolute.
When something important needed to be expressed, she spoke with her eyes. There was no running away there, no lame obfuscations, and she trusted me enough to not even bother trying. She allowed her truths to come through her eyes.
It's not as if she really had much of a choice.
See, we literally grew up together, having met at the age of eleven. Though we sampled other people, we were each other's constant companion. We were the other's first goofy experiments partner. We were co-conspirators. We were archenemies. We saw everything, all through the awkward teen years. We did unconscionably stupid things to each other. We knew each other's history and each other's weaknesses; we knew the hot buttons and insecurities. We hurt each other, often fighting like crazy, going totally apeshit, yet we also always stood up for each other.
We were each other's first love, and we fucking earned it. By the time we were into our twenties and finally married, she simply couldn't hide from me ... not if I could see her eyes.
Starting in high school I had a best friend, Steve. Together with Angelina we always hung out, doing most everything as a threesome. Steve had a pulse, so he was crazy in love with Angelina too.
The problem there was the girl he wanted was already taken by his best friend. Though Steve was a good-looking guy - he easily could have passed for Angelina's tall, blue-eyed brother - he was also very shy.
Funny thing, that. Though I was far more athletic and assertive, Steve was actually better-looking. Fortunately for me, Angelina was already my girlfriend by the time I first met him during our freshman year of high school. Because of her, he never really even tried to get together with any other girls. During our senior year he finally managed to land himself a girlfriend, but the fact remained that she just wasn't Angelina.
The interesting twist there was that I knew about Steve's love and lust for Angelina, while she was always in the dark about it. They had great chemistry together, and she loved his company, but he was so shy around her that she was unaware of how deeply he wanted her. For the longest time she was also unaware that I knew how badly Steve wanted her.
Steve simply wasn't the type of guy to come right out and say to me, "Dude, seriously, I'd kill to fuck her!"
No, it was more a case of serious talks late into the night over games of pool or chess or whatever, when he'd let me know in various small ways that he thought she was really pretty, and wished he could find someone like her. Though it was like pulling teeth, he grudgingly admitted that he loved seeing her in her skimpy tops.
Once that cat was finally out of the bag, he became a little more comfortable with letting me know whenever he thought she looked particularly hot in something. It became a bit of a game to us, the anticipation of waiting to see what she would wear next.
Though our group friendship initially blinded Angelina to what was happening right in front of her, she eventually did gather that Steve really enjoyed seeing her in her sexy outfits.
That was about as far as it went with her, however, in terms of understanding his sexual feelings for her. Such a realization had little impact on Angelina because she had long since become accustomed to men of all ages lusting after her.
She didn't realize that it was different with Steve. He got to hang around her most every day, morning, noon and night, affording him endless opportunities to grow ever more obsessed with her. She was his fantasy woman, yet she just thought of him as a cute friend, and my best friend. She loved his attention, and would have done anything in the world for him; still, she had no idea as to the effect she was having on him.
Eventually I had to tell her. We both had to tell her.
Having spent another night out together before returning to the house, we were all watching an old Elvis flick in the living room. Steve said he was fine with crashing on the couch, and we were getting ready to call it an evening. After joking that our couch was probably his favorite spot in the whole world to watch a movie, he gave Angelina a nervous grin and gamely tried to tell her how he felt about her. As it turned out, he was barely able to bring himself to admit to her that he loved the way she dressed. His 'earth-shattering' admission included a final sheepish bit about how he wouldn't mind if she wanted to tuck him into bed a little later. Oh, and if she did decide to come back and tuck him in, could she maybe wear her pink robe, too?
Beaming gorgeously, she gave him a playful punch in the chest, then a long, warm hug. She was wearing low-riding, unbuttoned 501's and a wickedly sexy top. When she leaned over to hug him, her outrageously skimpy, thoroughly threadbare cropped top gaped wide open. I saw the entire bottom third of her bare breasts swaying beneath the shortened hem, and her very erect nipple briefly peeked out through the enormous arm hole on my side.
He easily saw down the front of her top, past her belly button, though I don't think he actually saw her nipples since they were vividly extending into the thin material. He may not have gotten a clear look at her mouthwatering tips, but he sure got a great shot of the rest of her bare breasts, which he acknowledged with a furtive glance my way.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, firmly pressing her breasts against his chest as she leaned in to kiss him goodnight on the cheek. With his fingertips hesitantly touching the bare skin of her lower back directly above a good three inches of her exposed ass, he grinned, "God, you smell so incredible."
Regarding him for a moment, she leaned back in to kiss him again. It was more of a nuzzling caress on the lips, and it lasted quite a bit longer. "Thank you ... and maybe I will come tuck you in tonight," she finally said, breathing it into his mouth.
When she finished her kiss and headed off to our bedroom, he shot me a look of abject panic combined with wild exhilaration. Following her out of the living room, I gave him a quick raising of my eyebrows, as if to say, "No sweat, man. Good for you."
Once she and I were together in the bedroom, I wasn't about to tell her that Steve really wanted her. He was still too shy about it, and I knew he didn't want me to say anything. For my part, I thought it would be too much to lay on her, as well as being too much to have hanging over them.
So, instead, I simply let her know that a big part of why Steve wasn't pursuing other women had to do with the fact that he was happy just being with us, and he didn't want women who weren't "like her," as he put it; admittedly, an indirect way of saying he wanted her. I explained, "Sure, he likes hanging out with me, too, but let's face it, with the way you look and the way you dress, and especially with the affection you always show him, treating him like a king, even cooking his favorite foods, c'mon, what guy in his right mind wouldn't enjoy that?"
"Do you think I should change the way I behave with the two of you?" she asked quietly.
"Absolutely not. I wouldn't have it any other way. He sure as hell wouldn't want it any other way either, and it'd be a crime against humanity if you stopped wearing what you wear. Besides, you'd hate it too."
"You're right, I would. So what should I do?"
"Just keep doing what you always do. Be yourself. Nobody wants you to change, and he definitely doesn't consider this to be a problem. Quite the opposite; he loves it. I'm only telling you this because I think you deserve to know that he thinks you're totally gorgeous, and he's finally feeling comfortable enough or confident enough or whatever to let you know."
She was beaming again, and I returned her grin. "Angie, I love what you do. You know I have no problem with it. If anything, I wish you would do it more. If it was up to me, you'd do it everywhere, all the time."
"I never would've guessed," she smirked prettily.
"Seriously, we both love how you are, and you like the way we all are together, so there's no problem. Baby, do whatever you want with him, and do it as much as you want. He's certainly not going to complain. The only way he'll ever complain is if you suddenly take away his eye candy."
"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt him, and I don't want to be the reason he doesn't see other women."
I just returned her smirk, wordlessly saying, "Yeah, right. You're totally eating this up. You love finding this out about him, and we both know it."
Her sly smile betrayed her guilty pleasure, and her eyes sparkled. She took a peek down at her barely covered breasts; her nipples lit up, making her eyes glow even more brightly.
Nothing was actually spoken. Just from my look, she knew that I knew. Just from her look, she admitted that I was right, and she was beginning to ponder the possibilities. Seeing the slow burning in her eyes, I knew one other thing: She was intrigued by his attraction to her, and also by my desire for her to continue indulging herself with us.
"Look, I love him, and he's our friend. I'm not just going to out-and-out tease him, you know. I'm not that cruel," she finally said, smiling ironically.
"I'm not saying you need to be the world's biggest cock-tease to him. You can save that for everyone else," I grinned.
She gave me a fake guffaw, and I kept grinning. "I'm just saying, he won't mind if you continue being yourself. You don't need to change a thing. In fact, if you're really worried that you're being cruel by merely teasing him, and you want to do more, baby, go ahead and do more. Enjoy it. You know we all love what you do."
With a thoughtful expression, she took my hand. Her eyes were shining, and she smiled softly. "You know how hard it is for him to say anything flirty or provocative, so you know how difficult it must have been for him to say what he said to me tonight. Baby, don't you see? This changes things, at least a little. I love it, and I love us, the three of us, even more now. I can't help it."
"Don't try to help it. There's no reason to feel guilty about it. After that kiss you just gave him, he's fucking thrilled to death. You absolutely made his year. I promise you, there is no way he's unhappy right now. Do you have any idea how amazing you looked when you were leaning over to hug him?"
"I wanted to hug him. What he said was so sweet, and it felt really special to hear it from him. He simply wants to see me; to have me near him. He just wants ... me. Baby, I love that."
"So did he!" I said, laughing. "He just about came in his pants when you kissed him on the lips!"
"He did not! He didn't move a muscle, or say a single word. He just sweetly accepted it, letting me kiss him goodnight."
"Yeah, and he also asked you to come back to tuck him in. He even asked you to wear your pink robe, remember?"
"Yes, I know. I was a bit shocked, but it felt wonderful to hear him say it."
Smiling, I just stared at her.
She looked at me questioningly, until her dawning eyes smiled in answer. Without saying another word she peeled off her top, freeing her enchanting breasts. Her nipples were so hard that even the tiny bumps on her areolas were showing prominently. She leaned back on the bed and finished unbuttoning her skintight faded jeans, which she'd already left half unbuttoned and hanging low all night, then she wriggled out of them.
She wasn't wearing any panties, but then Steve and I had spent the entire evening well aware of that fact.
Smiling sweetly, she walked completely nude right past our open bedroom door and into the bathroom. Grabbing her silk shortie robe, she only loosely slipped it on, leaving the two sides open to expose the inner halves of her breasts and her sleek stomach, all the way down to her barely covered pussy. Carelessly tying the matching silk belt, she left it slack on her hips.
That pink wrap was so thin and see-through that in direct sunlight or when backlit by firelight her nude body was on breathtaking display. Even in the dim light of the evening one could still easily make out her sinfully erotic silhouette. The shadows and textures of her smooth, flawless curves were tantalizingly apparent, particularly the deep split of her inviting bottom. The sensual jiggling of that delicious ass was mesmerizing, and her full, supple breasts were simply incredible.
God, she was stunning.
"He did ask me to come back and tuck him in," she said, flashing a gorgeous smile.
I couldn't help but grin. "Baby, while you're out there, you should get the fireplace going for him. It's kind of cold in the living room, don't you think?"
She paused, staring. "Start a fire? In this robe?" she silently asked me, and I watched her eyes dance.
Again smiling her answer, she turned and headed back towards the living room. Before she made it out of the bedroom, however, she stopped and bent at the waist, ostensibly to give our sleeping golden lab an affectionate scratch between the ears.
There before me in the clear moonlight was Angelina's totally bare ass framing her beautiful puckered star and glistening pussy, her moist, slightly parted pink inner lips extending just beyond her swollen outer labia.
Standing again, she left the bedroom. At the end of the hallway she paused; looking back over her shoulder, she offered me a sexy smile and a gorgeous little pose, bending at the waist with her knees together, her hands on her thighs. She was showing me her amazing curves, including her long, bare legs, her mind-boggling ass and her perfect breasts, all of which she knew were painfully visible in her semi-sheer robe.
Coyly biting her lip, she slowly loosened her wispy covering even more, allowing it to part all the way to the slack tie at her waist. When it was loosened to the point of nearly falling open, she peered down at her exposed breasts. Looking back up, she gave me a mischievous smile and a cute little wave before quietly slipping off to the living room.