Inverted Nipple Solution
Date: 30.01.2010
Keywords: Solution, Nipple, Inverted,
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Mare returned. She looked particularly good that evening, with her face made up, freshly washed wavy blonde locks falling down over her shoulders, the cable-knit turtleneck fisherman's sweater accentuating her prodigious bust line, and that ample, curvy ass stuffed in a tight pair of Calvin Klein's.
As suggested, Gary had moved over a bit, and she nestled that nice butt between us. She could have sat on the other side of me, but she made a conscious choice to sit between us—a good sign. I swung an arm around her shoulder, and he lay his hand on her leg. She was perfectly comfortable with that—no surprise--as he was a really laid-back kind of guy who was touchy-feelie with everyone. Small, with long, very curly hair, a sanguine smile, and the easiest guy ever to get along with, Gary did not have an intimidating bone in his body. At the risk of sounding denigrating, he was almost like a cute, friendly pet.
We all got ever more touchy-feelie, but so far, nothing overtly sexual. I complimented her sweater. She asked if it made her look fat, and we told her no, no, that the only thing that was "fat" were her breasts, and we all laughed. Mare said it was actually a man's sweater, and she'd had to return the medium for a large, as the medium was way too tight in the bust, but the large seemed too big everywhere else. Being the fashionista, I explained that those fisherman-style sweaters were supposed to fit somewhat loose and that she looked great in it.
I went on to tell her about a turtleneck almost just like hers that I'd had in junior high but had long since outgrown, that it was my all-time favorite sweater. We'd had a few beers and bong-hits by this point, and I was feeling bold. "I'm a large. Mind if I try it on?"
"No, not at all, but you better give it back!" she made clear. She could have gone into another room to take it off, but, instead, removed it right there, carefully pulling it over her head to keep from smearing her lipstick on the ivory-colored sweater. OK, this was looking good.
Mare always wore a bra, and that night was no exception. Honestly, though D-cuppers or maybe a bit bigger, her boobs were so wide and firm that she could have at least occasionally gone bra-less, but as I said before, she was a "nice girl," and such girls always wear a bra. Fortunately, she did not ever wear those industrial-strength type so many big-breasted women prefer for support. This one was a pretty, off-white lightweight seamless one that showed the tops of her orbs and some cleavage. Mare's tiny waist made her big-in-their-own-right boobs seem even bigger.
In just that bra and super-tight jeans by the light of the TV, she looked great, and was not the least bit self-conscious—another very good sign. I tried on the sweater, "modeled" it to their amusement, and made sure my long-sleeve polo shirt "accidentally"came off when I removed it. To get Gary involved, I handed the sweater to him to try on. It absolutely swallowed him, falling halfway to his knees, and we all got a charge out of that. Following my example, he, too, pulled off his tee-shirt when he took off the sweater. So, now he and I are both shirtless in our jeans, and we quickly snuggled back on the couch with Mare as soon as the movie returned from the advertisement. Gary had a hairy chest, and I, very little body hair at all. Something for everyone, don't you know, hopefully Mare.
Now, with much more skin available, our touchy-feelie antics became necessarily more sensual, but our eyes were mainly on the fascinating film but for a few glances at her boobies when she was looking down doing a bong-hit.
I had noticed all along that every time Mare would get up, she'd pull at her jeans. Since I was doing the same thing, I knew exactly why. So, during the next commercial break, I commented that I had washed my new Ralph Lauren jeans several times over in hot water to fade them a bit, left them in the dryer too long, and now they were super-tight, uncomfortably so when sitting down. Back in those days, new jeans were very stiff and just came in very dark indigo blue, and you had to do a lot of washing and wearing to get them faded and broken in. But you had to do it many times and wear them a lot to eventually get them molded to your body and comfortable.
"Me, too," agreed Mare. "My Calvins are new, too, and I did the same thing to them. I love the tight-fit look but they feel like a straight-jacket."
Chimed in Gary, "Mine are getting awfully tight, too, but washing them in hot water's not the reason."
Well, finally he'd said something to advance the plan!
"Hey, we're all good friends here. Who are we trying to impress with our skin-tight jeans, anyway? Let's peel these tourniquets off before we get gangrene," I suggested, venturing to the very edge.
Mare hesitated, so I handed her the bong to distract her from considering this too carefully. It gurgled, she took a huge hit, held it long, blew it out slowly, and took a few slugs of the cold courage of Budweiser.
Though it was an obnoxious car ad, he and I kept our eyes on the TV. We could see Mare in our peripheral vision, but did not look directly at her in order to take the pressure off and make it more likely she'd take the jeans off, too. Remember, she was a nice girl, not a stripper. Besides, Gary'd caught glimpses of her in undies before, coming to and from the bathroom when she'd been over to fuck me.
She lay face up on the floor in near darkness and began to wriggle out of those jeans, so we lay down on the other side of the coffee table—not too close but still in sight--and did likewise. My Ralph Lauren's were so tight that my briefs came off right with them. Seeing that, my roomie looped his thumbs into his tightie-whities and intentionally pulled them down with his Levi's. It had been quiet too long and someone needed to say something quickly to break the tension but still propel things forward.
As usual, that someone was I: "Brooke (Shields, the Calvin Klein model/spokes-babe back then) says 'nothing comes between her and her Calvins.' What about you, Mare?" I asked, glancing over to see her blonde pussy hairs brushing across the zipper into view.
"No, silly, I'm wearing panties as I always do. I just can't get these tight jeans off without pulling them off, too."
All right, this was going very well. It was time to ratchet things up another notch. I stood up with my jeans and undies stuck around my knees, and Gary did likewise. Our half-hard cocks waggled in the light of the TV screen. We could both see the deep crease of her pussy extending into the light, pale growth of her pubic hair. Blood pumped into our dicks to make them about 2/3 erect.
I leaned over to tug the legs of her jeans over her feet, pulling her legs up into the air. She was completely bottomless now, her panties still lodged in the bunched-up Calvin's I held. We sat down on the couch, Mare crawled over to us on all fours, got on her knees and helped us out of our jeans, which, like hers, contained the rolled-up underwear. Now, but for our socks and her bra, we were naked.
"Looks like our shorts are caught in our jeans. Mare, would you mind fishing those out?" I asked.
She dug mine out, and I sat down and raised my feet up together in a put-them-back-on gesture, so she did. When she pulled them up to my crotch, I was at full attention, and she just stared at The Man for a moment, so close I could feel her breath, then attempted to pull them over him, leaving the head peeking above the waistband, giggling.
"Looks like you've kind of, uh, 'outgrown' them," she teased
Then she got my roomie's shorts, and slipped them over his feet, but he stood up as soon as she did so, and she, kneeling on the floor facing his crotch, slid them on up to his balls. It was clear by the look on her face that Mare was captivated by his turgid member, and I can understand why. Don't get me wrong here—I like women—but he had a beautiful cock. About 7 ½ to maybe 8 inches in length, it seemed even longer extending out of his small frame, and though almost an inch longer and not as thick as mine, its slender sleekness had not one bump or blemish or errant vein or even freckle to interrupt its smoothness, and the flaring head was like a big mushroom trimmed in velvet, parting on the underside over a particularly prominent sensitive-spot strand of flesh. Big balls hung down in a flawless, finely-wrinkled scrotum, an especially protrusive ridge dividing it in half. Gary just had a perfect penis.
"Oh my!" exclaimed Mare, as she let it slap against a cheek before, like me, unsuccessfully tucking it into his briefs. "Is it just my imagination, or do you guys have, like, real big penises?"
"Not really. Everybody knows Kevin (her former boyfriend) has a pencil dick." I deadpanned, knowing she'd enjoy such a comment, still hating his guts after he'd fucked her roommate the very day after she broke up with him and making their break-up even nastier than it already was.
She laughed as I smoothed my hands over her luscious contours, then raised her up to her feet, had her step into her panties, and sensuously pulled them up, up, up her legs. I let my nose trace from her clit up through the crease in her pubes, breathing out hard as I did so, before pulling the bikinis all the way up over her hipbones to cover the goodies, copping a feel of both buns as I did so. The three of us cuddled back on the couch, and continued to watch the movie, which had already come back from an obnoxious local furniture ad. Why is it that everywhere I've ever lived, the local furniture ads are obnoxious?
Anyway, the obvious question is, why did I put the underwear back on when we could have got down to it right then and there? Well, first, it was only about half over, and I really did want to see all of Vertigo! But another reason was to put into play a technique I'd been fortunate enough to learn early in life, the technique of transferring the perception of who's in control.
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Keywords: Solution, Nipple, Inverted,
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