Chapter 2: The Unspoken Invitation
The cheap perfume hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint musk of the apartment and the relentless drone of the struggling fan. Dasha beamed at my approval of the scrap of red mesh she called a top, her 650ccs visible through the sheer material. "Oh, Dom!" she gushed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "I was so worried! Like, my ex? Ugh. He hated when I wore stuff like this. Said it was…" she wrinkled her nose, searching for the right word, "…slutty. Called me fat too, can you believe it? Just because of these!" She gave her augmented chest a frustrated little jiggle.
"Fat?!" The word came out harsher than I intended, a surge of outrage cutting through my usual haze of lust. "That guy was a fucking idiot, Dasha. A complete loser. You look…" My eyes raked over the impossible curves barely contained by mesh. "Incredible. Seriously. Like a fucking dream."
Her smile widened, genuine pleasure lighting up her face. "Aww, you're sweet." She adjusted the strap across the bottom of the top down slightly, tightening it to pull her boobs closer together a few millimeters. The top was tight around her boobs, stopping at their top and bottom edge, effectively just a boob holder. "Okay, top's good! Now…" She bit her plump, fake lower lip, looking perplexed. "What to put on the bottom? Jeans? Skirt?"
The image flooded my brain instantly, unbidden and perfect. "Matching thong," I said, forcing a casual shrug, trying to sound like I was joking. "Keep the vibe going, you know?"
Dasha threw her head back and laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. "Good idea." But her eyes sparkled. With another giggle, she turned and padded back towards her bedroom.
The second her door clicked shut, the atmosphere crackled. My gaze snapped to the couch. Anisyia hadn't moved. No more finger-bra. Her tiny, cinched waist flowed into those outrageously wide hips, framed perfectly by the thin black thong. But it was her chest that arrested me. The high-profile 500cc globes sat unnaturally round and firm, the nipples small, dark circles against the pale silicone. Utterly exposed. Uncovered. Just… there.
She was absently scrolling on her phone, one leg tucked under her, utterly unconcerned by her nudity or my presence. The TV droned on, some reality show argument a meaningless buzz under the sudden roaring in my ears. Blood surged south, thickening, hardening beneath my jeans. The pressure from earlier, the constant visual assault since I’d arrived, became unbearable.
My hand continued to stroke, buried down my waistband. Standing over Anisyia, I slowly jerked to her chest, her lips, her hip to waist ratio.
Every detail burned into my retinas. The way the light caught the smooth, taut skin of her implants. The impossible shelf-like curve of her hips, flaring out from that waspish waist. The nonchalant purse of her augmented lips as she scrolled. She shifted slightly, crossing her legs at the ankle, and my grip tightened, a soft groan escaping me. She didn’t look up.
Stroke. The friction was electric. Stroke. Her nipples looked cold. Stroke. Would they feel hard? Stroke. That fucking waist. Stroke. The sheer oblivion of her. Stroke. The heat built low in my gut, a molten coil. Stroke. Faster. Stroke. Her ass was perfection, even just sitting, spilling slightly over the thin thong strap. Stroke. The scent of her cheap floral body spray mingled with Dasha’s perfume, filling my nostrils. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. My breath hitched. I was close. So close. Thumb swiped over the slick head. Stroke. Just watching her breathe, those fake tits rising slightly… Stroke.
"Okay!" Dasha’s voice, bright and sudden from the hallway. "How about this?"
My hand continued, beyond my control.
Dasha bounced into the living room. And goddamn. She’d done it. The matching red mesh thong was a tiny triangle clinging precariously to her hips, leaving the full, round curve of her ass utterly bare. Strappy, high heels added inches to her legs, making her stride towards us a swaying, hypnotic display. She struck a pose, hands on her hips, thrusting her chest out. "Well? Ready to go, Dom?"
I kept stroking. My heart hammered against my ribs. Anisyia finally looked up from her phone, giving Dasha a slow, appraising once-over. She shrugged one bare shoulder. "Well it matches."
Dasha beamed at Anisyia’s lukewarm approval, taking it as a full endorsement. "Right?!" she chirped, her voice cutting through the TV’s drone. She planted her hands on those impossibly wide hips, accentuating the tiny red thong digging into the crease of her ass. "Feels kinda… freeing, you know? Screw what Vlad said." She gave a defiant little shake, her 650ccs wobbling enticingly within the sheer red mesh top. "Dom gets it."
My hand kept moving, hidden, relentless. Christ. The visual overload was staggering. Dasha’s round, bare ass cheeks. The thin strip of red. Anisyia’s exposed, high-profile 500ccs just sitting there on the couch, looking like perfectly polished grapefruits. Her own wide hips flared out beneath her, a sharp contrast to that ridiculous waist. My knuckles brushed denim, the friction almost painful now. Sweat prickled my forehead despite the fan’s weak whine. The cheap perfume suddenly smelled cloying, thick with heat and something primal.
"Doesn't it pinch?" Anisyia asked, finally looking up properly, her gaze flicking critically over Dasha’s thong. She shifted slightly, uncrossing and recrossing her ankles, making her own ass shift against the plush sofa cushion. A dark strip of thong peeked above her hip bone.
"Nuh-uh!" Dasha chirped, oblivious to the storm brewing beside her. "It’s super comfy!" To prove it, she gave her hips an exaggerated wiggle. Left.Right. The movement made her ass jiggle, the red fabric vanishing momentarily between the plump cheeks. Then, with a giggle, she spun in a full circle. The spin was slow, deliberate. First, the smooth curve of her bare back, the red thong straps framing it. Then the breathtaking side view, hip jutting out, the silhouette of her fake tits prominent under the mesh. Finally, she faced us again, chest thrust forward, the roundness of her implants undeniable behind the red netting. The spin was pure, unadulterated display. "See? Total freedom!"
Anisyia watched, head tilted, a faint smirk playing on her injected lips. "Huh. Okay." She sounded vaguely impressed, or maybe just amused by Dasha’s enthusiasm. Her eyes traced the lines of Dasha’s body as she spun.
My eyes darted frantically between them. Dasha’s triumphant pose, those massive fake tits demanding attention. Anisyia’s relaxed sprawl on the couch, her own perfect chest exposed, those killer hips a silent counterpoint. The sheer volume of silicone on display. The complete, blissful ignorance. My breathing hitched, ragged and shallow. The coil in my gut snapped. Heat exploded through me. A choked gasp escaped my throat as I arched my back slightly, pressing my hidden hand hard against myself. My stomach clenched. Warmth bloomed, spreading rapidly, soaking the front of my boxers and jeans with thick, sticky wetness. A fierce shudder ran through me. My vision blurred for a second, the pastel colors of the room swirling. Dasha’s triumphant smile. Anisyia’s detached appraisal. The scent of cheap flowers and sex. It was done. Spent. Hidden.
Dasha blinked, her smile faltering slightly. "Dom? You okay? You look kinda… red." She took a step closer, peering at my face. Anisyia just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her phone momentarily forgotten in her hand. Neither glanced down. Neither noticed the damp patch darkening my crotch, the faint, tell-tale scent masked by the perfume and the lingering heat of the room.