Skin Deep

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Author’s Note:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction, and as such, certain events or situations may be improbable, and certain details may not correspond to real life. If you’re looking for strictly likely situations and exact reality, I suggest you skip this.


This story contains reluctant sexual situations.

This story also contains lesbian situations.


I knew it looked exactly as it felt: my small boobs were plainly visible, even my pink nipples were allowed more than the hint of their presence under the almost transparent material of my bra, as I pretended to struggle with the shrink-wrapped case of water bottles on the bottom of my grocery cart.

I knew how it looked, because I had practiced to make sure it looked just that way.

“I can get that from there,” the young girl standing over me in her polo shirt and blue jeans instructed me.

I knew she could, but that would have defeated the purpose.

I squatted down on my heels, still holding on to the water.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

I knew my short skirt was too tight to not shimmy up my naked thighs and almost reach my crotch.

If she so chose, she could see my black lace panties from her vantage point.

She so chose, and her cheeks flushed red when our eyes met and she realized I had caught her looking.

She had stooped over with the handheld scanner in her hand, and her face was less than two feet from my panties.

The scanner beeped and her eyes lowered as we straightened up together.

“Thank you, Hannah,” I whispered, and her cheeks blushed even redder.

Obviously, to me, she and I were the same height, and we would have been looking straight into each other’s eyes, if she could have looked me in the eyes at that moment.

It was so endearing that she couldn’t.

“Michael,” I called to the cashier, “Can I have help to my car please?”

I really liked that the employees at my favorite grocer were required to wear name tags that included their last initial.

“I can help you,” Hannah offered, maybe just a little more willingly than she intended. Her blush had almost faded, but was now back in full bloom.

I love the blush of a beautiful redhead, and Hannah was no exception.

I smiled at her, then turned to take care of my bill.

“Thank you Michael.”

I smiled at him, too, then turned to Hannah, patiently waiting with my cart.

“Ready?” I asked her.

“I am.”

She still couldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Me too.”

I made the assumption that Michael was watching as I headed for the door. I was far enough away that I barely heard him greet the next customer.

I can’t say as I could blame him.

I seldom leave my house, but when I do, I make absolutely certain everything is perfect.

Clothes, hair, nails (both feet and hands, even when I’m forced to wear something that covers either), makeup, perfume.

I take great pains to make sure my clothes accentuate my strong points: the shape of my legs, the curve of my hips, my narrow waist. I do what I can with my breasts, since they’re on the small side.

Equal pains are taken that I dress modestly, but can, when I want, be very revealing, to the people I want to be revealed to.

I have to work at it. I’m not perfect, so I pretend to be. I’m short, five foot two. My thighs are thicker than I would like, but I have great calves, even in flats. In defiance of my thighs, I think my ass is amazing, even if I do say so myself. My tits are small, so I have to carefully select tops that won’t ever make them look smaller than they are.

“Do you want this in the back seat?” Hannah asked at my car.

I smiled at her as she held the water to her chest, and shook my head.

The top was still retracting, so I couldn’t open the trunk.

I had my sunglasses on, so I could take another opportunity to get a good look at her.

Her curly red hair was cut short, barely covering her ears, but I understood, if it didn’t curl, it would be twice, maybe three times as long.

Her hair was lighter than mine, but still close to the same shade: autumn bonfire.

Her blue jeans were turned up into cuffs at the bottom. I really wanted to see how she dressed when she wasn’t working, but I had to be patient.

I clicked the fob, and the trunk lid rose slowly.

Her hips were wider than they should have been. She had lean legs, a narrow waist and only about a handful for breasts. I’m not perfect, so I’m not being critical.

She sexmex porno didn’t struggle at all getting my groceries in the trunk, not even with the heavy water.

I wouldn’t have struggled either, but that wasn’t why I asked for help.

“Thank you Hannah,” I said, and extended my hand to her.

“I’m Eloise. Some people call me Ellie, but I prefer Eloise.”

She looked at my hand, then at my face before she took my hand and shook it.

“I’m Hannah.”

“I know,” I chuckled.

“Oh, yeah,” she said as she poked at her name tag with her free hand.

I slowly withdrew my hand from hers, and she was blushing again, but looking in my eyes.

I turned her hand over before releasing it, and put something in it with my other hand.

“Oh, um, Eloise, we can’t take tips.”

“Don’t think of it as a tip. It’s my number and address. I live nearby. Maybe you can stop by sometime?”

“Oh, um…” she stammered.

“I don’t get out much. I think we could be friends.”

“Yeah, OK, that would be cool.”

Hannah almost had her hand closed around my card, but I pulled it back, just enough to escape her grasp.

Her eyes snapped up from her hand to my face. She was surprised, but there was disappointment there too.

“Hannah?” I asked just above a whisper, and I caught the small dilation of her pupils.

She wanted what I had offered and taken back.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she replied.

It was subtle, but her breath caught just before she spoke.

I turned my head, just barely, and looked at her from the corner of my eye.

“Um, I will be. The day after tomorrow is…my birthday. How old are you?”

I smiled. Now she had told the truth, mostly.

“I’m twenty-six.”

Her fingers found my card, and I let them take it.

“Cya, Hannah.”

She gave me a little wave and pushed the empty cart toward the store as I got in my car.

I liked her, and hoped she wouldn’t hate me for very long.


I put my groceries away and went straight to my den on the second floor of my condo. Early afternoon, soon after the thrill of the hunt hit my veins was always the best time to write.

Usually I would have stripped naked before I started, but not today. I knew I’d want that edge, the desire to relieve my tension. That pent up feeling helped me write, and made me sharp to continue my hunt.

I wrote for almost two hours, then checked the word count. I had pounded out almost five thousand words; not a bad effort, so I decided to leave my hero and heroine, sweating and struggling for breath, in the bathroom stall of the restaurant where their mom and dad had taken them for their birthday dinner.

I really wished my brother had been a twin with me, and he had taken my virginity in public like that instead of at home with nobody else in the house.

There was, and always would be, the thunderstorm crashing around us at the time, though. That would always be with me, my terror of the storm mixed with his penis inside me, then his cum.

Even now, in my mid-twenties, my orgasms were monumental. I never touched myself during the worst storms, yet the abject terror filled me and carried me away alongside the pristine bliss of my arousal to culminate in the perfect storm of horror and the ecstasy of my orgasm.

The memory of my brother inside me, filling me perfectly with his glorious penis, was the impetus of every orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

I went down the hall to my bedroom, into my walk-in closet and carefully removed my skirt and blouse and hung them on hangers. They went on the rack where I put clothes going to the dry cleaner.

My black lace thong went into the hamper for delicates, along with my bra.

I considered going commando, but decided it would be too risky, at least for two more days.

I have a hard and fast rule: no nudity unless they’re eighteen or over. With the running shorts I was about to put on, it would just be too easy to accidentally show my coochie unless I wore panites, and I was pretty sure I’d be having a guest in the next couple hours.

Hannah wouldn’t be eighteen for two more days, so she would just need to wait, no matter how much I made her want to see my intimate bits.

I stepped into some white silk, french cut panties and put on a matching bra. The bra wasn’t technically a push-up variety, but it still accomplished that, just a little bit, and just the hint of my areola was almost visible peeking out from underneath.

I put on a pair of nylon running shorts and a white tank top.

The shorts were very loose, and very short. The bottom of my butt cheeks were visible at the back, under the legs of the shorts. The tank top was loose too, and covered barely more than the bra underneath, and stopped at the waistband of the shorts.

Everything was covered, but just barely.

The change that a tiny, barely an eighth of an inch, touch of eyeliner at the outside corner of each eye made still amazed me. It was subtle, but it was just a hint of my true nature.

My stranded teens porno face now looked like a predator at rest, not yet in full hunter mode. That’s what I thought anyway, and I had made the discovery years ago.

The clear lip gloss I applied softened that look, or distracted from it. Either way, I was certain I looked good.

My wavy, red locks fell to a couple inches below my shoulders. I love my hair; it’s not too curly, and it definitely isn’t straight. It garnered me more looks than anything else, at least on initial glance.

I was sure that Hannah would forgive my slightly thick thighs.

I went back to my study, and sat down to re-read what I had written that day, the first of many reads I would make before sending it off to my editor.

The doorbell downstairs chimed the same time the small tablet on my desk buzzed.

I couldn’t help it, I smiled before I even looked.

The curly red hair over the freckled face in the camera feed was exactly what I expected to see, but the black frame glasses surprised me, and not in a bad way. She was adorable in glasses.

I tapped the ‘Unlock’ button then the ‘Intercom’.

“Hannah, come in, it’s unlocked.”

She jumped, almost imperceptibly.

“Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be down in a minute.”

She reached for the door and I touched the intercom button to turn it off.

I had hoped Hannah would have made herself comfortable, but she was standing nervously inside the front door as I made my way down the stairs.

My bare feet, with their immaculately done nails, were silent on the carpeted stairs, and she didn’t look up until I spoke.

“Hannah, such a wonderful surprise,” I greeted her with a half-lie. I wasn’t surprised even a little bit.

She was still in her uniform polo and jeans from work, so I assumed she had come straight from there.

“Hi, Eloise,” she returned my greeting. Her eyes were making their way slowly up my body.

I didn’t give her a chance to continue with anything else she may have wanted to say, probably in explanation for her being there.

Anything she would have said wouldn’t have been the real reason anyway, so I saw no reason to let her start off with a lie to regret later. She would have enough of that eventually. They all did, but some got over it.

She was surprised as my arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a hug. We were perfect together, her chin on my shoulder, and mine on hers.

Her ear felt warm and her curls tickled my cheeks.

Her arms only needed a split second to respond and return the hug just as tight as the one she was receiving.

I moved away, just far enough to look in her eyes, but still have my hands on her narrow waist. She felt smaller than she looked, and her cheeks were flushed, like she had been running.

“I like your glasses. You look even smarter with them.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled as I took her hand in mine.

“Come in. Can I get you anything to drink? I was about to have a sparkling mango juice. Can I get you one too?” I said, not giving her time to interrupt as I led her into the living room.

“Mango juice?”

“It’s delicious. I don’t think I could live without it. I make it myself. I have one of those contraptions that people use to make soda, and I juice my own fresh mangos.”

“I’ve never had…that, but if you like it, I’ll have one too,” she murmured.

She seemed a little discombobulated, probably from my enthusiasm at seeing her, and not questioning her presence.

“Make yourself comfortable, for real this time,” I invited her, and gestured to the sofa before heading for the kitchen.

I returned from the kitchen a minute later. I already had two glasses prepared and in the refrigerator.

Hannah had made herself comfortable. Her loafers and white no-show socks were piled under the glass coffee table, and her legs were stretched out in front of her, crossed at her ankles.

She has just about the cutest little stubby toes I’ve ever seen, and they were painted bright green.

She smiled up at me as I carried our drinks around the table, then bent from the waist to hand her one, then put two coasters from a stack on the glass surface, one in front of her, and one on the table in front of where I intended to sit.

I raised my eyes, and caught her again looking down my top at my barely covered boobs.

She looked up at me, cheeks blushing, then shrugged her shoulders.

I walked around the table and sat on the sofa next to her, my bare legs slightly parted and turned toward her.

“How was work today?” I broke the brief silence.

She took a taste, then a longer drink of her juice.

She looked surprised.

“This is good. You make it yourself?”

“I do. I have an ornamental mango tree that bears fruit all year round. I just wash them and send them through my juicer, then use the fizzy machine to make them sparkling.”

“Better than Coke, in my opinion,” she replied.

She put her glass on the coaster, then street blowjobs porno turned her body toward mine.

I was anticipating this, and leaned forward to retrieve my glass, pulling my legs back to center, and out of reach of her knees.

“You live here by yourself, Eloise?” she asked when I put my glass back on the table.

“Yeah, this is my prison. Solitary confinement,” I added a little giggle at the end.

“You’re not married?”

“No,” I shook my head slowly. “I’m too picky, and it’s so very difficult to find lovers that meet my criteria.”

“Not even a boyfr…significant other, or insignificant other?”

I just smiled and shook my head.

“What about you, Hannah? Do you have a lover?”

Hannah laughed.

“Why do you say it like that? Lover?”

I turned toward her, but scooted a little in the same motion so my knees almost, but didn’t touch hers.

“Surely you’re progressive enough to know that some people have boyfriends and some have girlfriends, that applies to boys or girls, and some have either.”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

I nodded.

“Have you considered one?”

Hannah shrugged and reached for her glass.

After a long drink, she put the glass down and leaned back.

“I probably wouldn’t hate a boyfriend, but he’d need to be nice, and treat me right.”

She glanced at her watch.

“Oh, um…my friend that I rode to work with forgot to wait on me. I was actually hoping you could give me a ride home.”

I laughed.

I knew she would make up some excuse, or use some excuse to stop by. She may have even told her friend she didn’t need a ride.

“I need to put some shoes on then. I’ll be right back.”

I went halfway to the stairs, then stopped and turned.

“Come with me,” I said, holding out my hand to her. “I’ll give you the nickel tour, since I’m going that way anyway.”

I thought it was a little intimate, walking hand in hand, barefooted, up the stairs toward my bedroom.

I hoped she felt it too.

“That’s my office,” I said pointing to the first door, closed.

The door to the bathroom was open.

“Bathroom, then this,” I swung my bedroom door open, “is where all the action would take place, if there were any.”

“It can’t be that bad, Eloise. You’re beautiful. Surely you can find a man…or somebody, anytime you want.”

I went in, ignoring her comment.

It’s pretty plain in here, but that’s how I like it.

“I’m just going to grab something to put on my tootsies, from the closet.”

The only furniture in the bedroom was a California king bed with a large headboard with shelves and drawers in it.

The bed swallowed me up, when it was just me, as it usually is, but was perfect for when my life was perfect and there were three of us in it.

Everything I needed was on or in the headboard: reading lamp, alarm clock, tablet for security system, a drawer with my personal pleasure appliances, a battery charger. Like I said, everything I needed in the bedroom.

I would show her around more, another day.

Hannah was still standing in the same place when I came back from the closet with my flat, two-string sandals on.

“Ready?” I asked her, apparently interrupting some thoughts.

She turned and smiled.


I held her hand back down the stairs, then around the corner and down the stairs to the basement. I had my car parked in the garage there. The top was still down.

I stopped with my hand on the driver’s side handle.

“Do you drive?”

“Uh, yeah. I have a car, I just rode with my friend today cause there wasn’t any reason for us to both drive.”

“Good. I would prefer not to drive, so you get in on this side.”

“Are you sure, Eloise? This is…um…a Mercedes sports car. I don’t know…” Hannah stammered.

“It’s just a car,” I told her as I passed her on the way to the passenger side.

I opened the center console and removed 2 sets of ear plugs I kept in there just for this situation.

“Here, put these in until we get out of the garage.”

I knew from experience that the five point five liter turbo V8 engine could rattle the nerves of an unsuspecting victim.

I almost chuckled. She was my victim already, with or without the deafening of the engine’s roar at start up inside the cement walls of the garage.

I reached across and held her wrist as she reached for the start button.

“Foot on brake, then just idle back up the hill. You can slowly…slowly back all the way out until it’s flat before you need to worry about cross-traffic.”

I watched as she pressed the start button and the engine roared to life.

I don’t know if she actually said anything, I couldn’t have heard her either way, but her mouth moved as if she was saying “Holy Fuck”.

I pulled a scarf out of the glove box and tied it around my head to protect my hair. If I didn’t, I’d need to cut most of my hair off to get the knots out.

“What are you doing for your birthday?” I casually asked as she gingerly pulled into the street.

I could hardly contain my excitement at thinking about Hannah being eighteen in two days.

“Birthday?” She muttered, concentrating on the road in front of her.

“You know, eighteen, day after tomorrow?”

“Oh!” she laughed.

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