Chapter 7

Honey was topless, except for the bra that she'd been wearing under the blouse. It wasn't a costume bra with the usual frills and fringes, but rather an everyday bra that women wear.

But on Honey it was special. It wasn't really everyday in any sense of the word. Black and sheer, it tried to cover all of her breasts. But there was just too much for it to handle, and there were luscious mounds above the cups.

She was still facing me, letting her hips sway provocatively in time to the music as she brought her hands up the sides of her face. For several moments she let her fingertips sweep the mass of honey away from her shoulders, as though getting ready for her bath but not in a hurry to get undressed.

Of course that series of movements only caused her breasts to surge forward even more and strait against the restricting bra. And then, quite casually, her hands were going behind her back. It took her a long and agonizing period of time to get the hooks undone.

The wait had been worth it. I couldn't see the back of her but I knew the moment the hooks had been unfastened. The front of her bra suddenly shot forward due to the pressure. Her right arm crossed her chest, just under her breasts, and while she wriggled sensually out of the left shoulder strap the tips of her lovely breasts were still concealed.

After that the left arm took the place of the right one; and she was finally slipping out of the other shoulder strap. Now that her shoulders were beginning to sway as seductively as her hips, she suddenly took the bra away from her breasts and let it fall to the floor.

They were lovely breasts, the shade of light-caramel. Proud and magnificent, they rode high on her chest, so heavy that it seemed impossible for them to resist the force of gravity.

I remembered that I was holding a glass of scotch and!' took a quick sip, recalling my wish earlier that evening. I'd wanted to get a good look at her, at her breasts; and now she was giving me more than just a good look.

Sensually her hands came up to them, to cup and stroke them, to massage them, as though she were trying to obliterate the lines that the tight bra had made on her soft skin. At the same time her head was thrown back and she'd jutted out her hips, the tip, of her tongue beginning to lick at the full lips as though she found the touch of her hands excruciatingly delightful.

It was a sensuous dance, but more than that, it was an exciting young woman giving the impression that she was alone, within the safety and confines of her apartment, disrobing either to retire or to step into the shower. Now I knew why she'd worked out the act.

She was trying to convey that she'd come home, arriving in her street clothes; and the scene was one of a sexy and passionate maiden on fire and lusting for the touch of a man. And for a man watching, it gave the connotation of coming unexpectedly into her apartment because she'd left the door ajar on purpose, or watching her from next door because she'd deliberately moved in front of the window where the shades hadn't been drawn.

I'd never thought of myself as having the traits of a Peeping Tom; but Honey was changing all that. Occasionally, as she turned her head either to the left or the right, the tip of her red tongue moistly licked at one of the bare shoulders.

While her hands continued to caress the lovely breasts they filled out even more, the nipples enlarging and becoming stiff, their delicate pink hues darkening to the shade of cherries.

Slowly her hands moved away from her breasts. Her palms pressed tightly against the skin of her stomach as her hands moved downwards, slowly and passionately, to stroke her weaving sides and flanks.

Suddenly she tossed her head back, as though the hunger had erupted within her and the wanting was too much to bear. Her hand went to the zipper at the side of her skirt, lingered there momentarily, and then moved away again. She gave the impression that she might be afraid to remove her clothing because she'd be unable to cope with the consequence.

But after a few bars of the music the hand returned to the zipper again. While her hips moved and gyrated more noticeable, the hand began to move the zipper. Slowly at first, and then with a savage thrust her hand moved it all the way down.

Now both thumbs were hooked into the waist of her open skirt, forcing it over her full hips. The top of the black sheer half-slip became visible as the skirt began to move downward.

Seductively she began to slide it down her thighs, bending forward slightly as she did that, her heavy breasts moving only slightly as she squirmed and wiggled. The strands of honey-colored hair tumbled forward. As she straightened up and kicked the skirt aside, the breasts were screened by the golden mist of hair.

I found that I'd been squirming about on the couch, the drink forgotten in my hand as I stared at her. Not too long ago it had gotten very warm in the apartment; and I could hear the drumming of my heart as I watched her begin to slither out of the half-slip.

Her glance was fixed on my face and I could see the tip of her tongue sweeping erratically across the red fullness of her lower lips. Her eyes had darkened and I found the heat flickering in their depths, her quick breath causing the breasts to surge markedly.

With our glances locked I suddenly realized that the sensuality of the dance had actually gotten to her. It wasn't a routine anymore. It was no longer merely a young woman who pretended that she was fighting the hunger and passion that coursed through her.

At some moment Honey had become a slave to her own passion and now every movement was natural, the sly techniques that every woman possessed and used when she meant to have a man

I was positive of it. Because the moment the half-slip had fallen to the rug and she'd kicked it aside, the record had ended. There was no more music; but Honey continued her dance because she was completely unaware of the stillness in the apartment.

She was now topless. She was a wild and wanton woman who squirmed her hips and shifted her shoulders so the ends of her honey-colored hair could caress her turgid breasts and stiffened nipples.

Down below she was wearing a G-string type of thing. It was not much larger than an eye patch with the two elastic bands leading away from the groin like two long fingers that clasped her hip bone. Her legs were long, almost perfect, the thighs firm and the muscles ripply visibly under the caramel skin as she twisted and rotated exotically.

She was even more exciting then I'd guessed; and as if she had read my thoughts, she moved slowly towards me, stopping at the edge of the couch to stare down at me through long dark lashes. She was close enough for me to reach out and touch her.

That's what I wanted to do, and I knew that's what she 'wanted me to do. Slowly I brought my hand forward and let my fingertips move lightly across her surging abdomen.

Her skin was like heated silk, and as my fingers stroked the front of her, sliding across the patch and moving out toward her hips, I could feel the shivers that rippled through her and increased the tempo of her movements.

With the tip of her tongue jabbing erratically at her lower lip, she moved and swayed, stepping back demurely so that I could no longer touch her. Coming in again, she let me stroke and caress her more. All the while she was teasing, tantalizing, offering me the delights of her skin and then taking it away again.

As she retreated towards the center of the room, I rolled onto my sides and set my glass next to the lamp on the end table. Then I slid forward to the edge of the couch. I was sitting upright with my feet planted on the floor as I waited for her to return.

She watched me and she knew what I'd done. Then she was coming towards me again, her hips not gyrating quite as much as before. Instead, she shoved her groin forward, and with her knees slightly bent she moved towards me on bare feet, her groin moving in slow and sensual bumps.

I waited, letting her come as near to me as she wanted. When she was about three feet away she tossed her head. Then her hands were moving the storm of her hair to the back of her shoulders. Her hands came down and settled on her hips and she was bent back slightly at the waist.

Her feet began to move apart and then she came towards me, bringing the black patch of the G-string closer to me, another foot nearer, and then she stopped, offering it to me as she continued the leisurely and sensuous bumps.

I brought my hands forward, letting them lightly stroke the outside of her thighs. I slid my palms up and over the flaring hips, let them slide down again. This time when my hands traveled up the outside of her thighs they stopped at the elastic bands stretched over her hip bones.