To whomever filters these things,
Sorry 'bout that. I'd planned to send you those closer together, then work picked up. Byegones. Put this, and the next one wherever strikes your fancy.
Chapter III Lacy
Hot topic(c) is an unneccisary evil. It pays the bills, but I have to put up with the Noir kids. This early, school was still in session, so I could play some decent music. Ministry kicked in with the sound of a guitar pick chucked into a Demel. "Theives!" the voice came in, distorted too a breath-like yell, "Theives and Liars!"
Mark came in somewhere during Cannibal song. The proto dance grove wasn't offending the raver kids trying to decide between buying the LED keychain, and stealing it. "Hey Lacy!" he grinned from ear to ear. The tracers ran off, coveted flashy thing still swinging on the display as he passed them.
"Get lucky last night?" I checked for whip marks, but didn't see any around the black "Wife beater" he was ironically wearing.
"Yup!" he grinned even wider.
"Well!" I loved hearing his stories. "You gonna tell me about it?" I could at least let his wife chase me around the bed vicariously. Too bad I'm not her type.
He waved me back behind the counter, as if it would be more private. "Donna brought a guy home last night!"
"Really?" that was interesting, far as I knew he was straight.
"Uh huh!" his head bobbed suggestively, "He was bi, so we..."
"Fucked him?" he jumped at my volume, but the music drowned my voice out before it made it far through the empty store.
"Shshshhshshsh!" he hushed me paranoiacly, "Well, Donna did."
I'd rather have her be the one experimenting with the greener side, but oh well. "What'd you do?" I wondered.
"Nothing," he rubbed his hands together, "I was tied up, and Muted." Damn! she was sadistic. I'd go for it though, just to see her in action. He leened in to whisper in my ear, "She says I can invite you over for dinner tonite."
I was speechless, but that got me drooling at both ends. He went over, and looked at studs while I watched the till, and thought about Her. She was a few inches taller than my 5' 5'', and most of that was in the legs. Every inch that I'd ever seen was tanned to perfection, and rippled when she moved. Her boobs where smaller, but I never cared for the big ones. They wheren't all that comfortable, and could get in the way.
School let out, and the ones that where still learning distracted me for a while. Then, I guess the went to bed, or snuck out. We where so slow, I got to leave early. Mark probably didn't want to close up alone, but he couldn't say no to me. I thought that was sweet.
"You do peircings, right?" he asked while I was grabbing my stuff.
I nodded, "Mine."
"Bring your stuff if you're comming," he grinned.
"I will be," I certainly hoped. I rushed home to shower, and change. I always wore lace, to match my name, but I've got too much taste to answer to "Goth" with anything but scorn. Labels are for people without their own identities. I had on typical fare for selling cheap shit to Baby Bats, and that was way too close to be acceptible. She liked guys, so I'd have to go as masculine as possible. I could pull that off, and I've got a list of satisfied lipstick lesbians that can testify as character witnesses.
Can't be too dykey, though because she's straight. I never detected any more homophobia than gaydar from her, but can't be too carefull. I ablated clothes right in the door, and was skin out before I got to the bathroom. The mirror caught my fancy, and I checked what I had to work with.
I've always found myself attractive, but then, I like girls. The breasts where a bit big, I miss not having a crease under them. Anything over my 32Ds was definitely too much. I turned the 16g ring on the left, and felt my nipple stiffen around it. Lower down, a fingertip stroked my petals. I imagined it was hers, slipping between, and back up where they met. Another ring tripped under it, tugging out my clit hood.
My little freind came out to play, pushing down the warmed surgical steel through the triangle of flesh behind it. I could feel every ridge of the print brush across the tip as an electric tickle that flickered across the three contacts. My hand crept up from the top right one, now energized like the first, and up my throat. I could feel the heat on my chest, and face, opened my eyes to see the flush. A prickle of gooseflesh crept across my red hot flesh at the sight. My swolen lips parted, as my eyes closed again.
I ran my tongue stud between my fingers, two more slipped over my clit below, and dipped in. I curled them back to brush the spongey soft spot over my nailess tips, and I felt a pulse within. I went down with the other hand to flip my lowest deepest ring, and walked my fingers inside. The pulse hit again, and again, pulling me down like Ketamine mixed with Depeche Mode.
I fell back against the wall, and let the groove take me. My pleasure pit sucked at my fingers hungrilly, and heart stunning flashes propogated up from the ring around my switch. I clenched my eyes, and blood thudded in my ears like a distant Thumper car. I was sensation, everything else in my head was drowned out by somatic signals. Eventually, it died down to a dull roar, and I could stand upright again. I stepped into the shower, and hit the cryo.
Every dilated pore slammed shut , and my nipples actually shrank back a bit at the icy water. The hot caught up, and gradually built to lobster slaying. I shivered deliciously from the thermal sensation, then took up the Dove bar. It had such a wonderfull shape right out of the box. Now, I slipped it wet into mine, and ran the groove over what'd put it there. I was done long before the hot water started thinking about giving up. There was still plenty left to rinse the moisterizer reside out, and wash my hair.
Satified for now, I just dried off, and went to put my theory into practice.
I don't use my closet, don't like them. My dresser, in front of the door had a mirror, though, so I dressed in front of that. I couldn't go comfortably very long without a bra, and it looked silly without matching panties. It was all Lace, mostly black. The red was a possibility, but I split the difference with burgundies.
The 7 Year Bitch teeshirt was baggy enough, and black to minimize my most effeminate aspect. I tucked it into jeans that flattered my ass, and threw a brown vest on over it. That looked a bit western, so I stepped into my cowgirl boots. They'd put me a couple inches under Donna's height, a compromize beween her probable ideal, and subservience.