The Performer
Stella found the box on her porch, gift-wrapped in dove grey and white with a classy black bow. It couldn't have been there for more than a couple of hours; it was a humid day, threatening rain, but the paper was still crisp, the bow springy.
She tucked it under her arm along with the stuff from the mailbox and her bag from the market and went inside. Really, she should wait until she had put her groceries away, but curiosity overwhelmed her and she sat on her leather loveseat to open it.
No card, which was odd, and the paper peeled away to show an unmarked white striped box with no labels or notes. She lifted the top and peered inside. A thrill rushed through her as her fingers met satin and lace.
She pulled the lingerie out, a little pearl-grey satin cincher, like a mini-corset that covered neither breasts nor hips, dripped with froths of dove grey and taffy-colored lace. It was seeded here and there with tiny pearls, and laced with shiny grey ribbon. Its colors were very Victorian, but its style was ultra-modern, lifting and supporting the breasts but not covering them, the doubled garter straps in front and back.
A pair of satiny dark silver stockings was folded beneath it, and a pair of matching gloves of fingerless lace. A tiny choker of pearled lace completed the outfit. She blushed as she found the card, labeled in Jordan's neat handwriting.
"Show time tonight, you're on!"
***
Stella paraded back and forth in front of the couch on towering heels, her transformation complete. Her dark hair, normally loose, was caught up in an elaborate twist of curls and stray elf-locks spilled around her face. The choker with its tiny dangling pearls spilled over her naked throat, drawing the eye to the naked stretch of flesh between the cincher's top and the frill of hanging beads at her neck.
She'd rubbed her bare breasts with scented oil until they took on the same sheen as the cincher's satin. There hadn't been any panties with the outfit, so she wore none. The straps of the garters framed her pussy, the mound of it round and swollen under its sparse cloud of dark fuzz.
The straps pulled and tugged at the flesh of her ass as she walked, the air swishing over her stockings felt cold and bracing. She pawed at herself with her gloved hands, bare fingers and lace-covered palms, as the music throbbed and pulsed behind her.
This was a private show, as she swayed, danced, turned again and again, revealing the firm fruit of her ass framed and restrained by the garter straps, the succulent flesh of her back peeking through the tight-drawn laces.
She bent over before her audience, resting her hands on a leather ottoman, cocked one foot up and rubbed one juicy stocking-clad calf against the other with a soft hissing sound. Her pussy was wet; she could feel it, knew her audience could see it.
She reached back and parted the lips, showing the pink inner flesh, and rubbed her fingers through it, sawing them slowly back and forth, back and forth over her clit. This was the kind of show Jordan loved, watching her tease herself, watching her pleasure herself. Oh, sure, the two of them would be together, but for now she was the performer.
Laying back on the ottoman, legs spread, and arched her breasts into the air, lifted one leg knowing how delicious it looked in the stockings. She kept stroking herself, two, three fingers at a time, now used both hands, one on her clit and one buried insistently in her pussy. She could feel herself squeezing, the hot, slick flesh clamping down on her fingers. They came out sticky and she sucked on them, savoring her own taste.
Before long, she was trembling and arching, thrusting her pussy up to meet an invisible lover; a lover that didn't stay invisible for long. She felt a hand on her thigh, an insistent mouth nudging her fingers aside.
A clever tongue took over duty on her clit, and long fingers insinuated themselves into her pussy. She moaned, bucked. Jordan's free hand slid up to squeeze her breasts and teased her aching nipples. It didn't take Stella long to come like that, twitching and twisting, convulsing with pleasure as Jordan's skilled mouth brought her to climax.
Spent, she flopped back, her hair coming undone and hanging off the edge of the ottoman. Jordan climbed up and they pressed together, sharing a sweet kiss. Stella's hands came up and stroked over Jordan's breasts, deliciously braless under a designer silk blouse, and the two of them laughed softly.
"There's your show," Stella sighed. "Now, I think it's my turn to be the audience."
Jordan grinned. "You're on."