The Lingerie Tease

This is my very first erotic story. Warning: it's subtle and somewhat tame. Please consider leaving a comment: I would greatly appreciate feedback, constructive criticism, and encouragement. Thanks!

- - - - -

I smiled when I saw the phone call from my friend Sam and picked up immediately.

"Hey, you," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Hey, what's new with you?" I asked.

"I only have a minute," she said, "but I know your birthday is coming up, and you gave such a thoughtful present to me for mine that I want to do the same for you. But ... you're tricky to shop for." I felt a twinge of guilt because she was right. "So I thought the best thing for it would be a trip to the mall together. Are you free Saturday?"

"Sure!" I said. We worked out the details, hung up, and I got back to work.

- - - - -

Late Saturday morning, she picked me up, as I was on the way. I closed my door and locked up when I saw her car pull up, and she beamed when she saw me. I climbed in on the passenger side and greeted her.

"Look at you!" she said. "New haircut?"

"You caught me," I said with a laugh. "I've been trying out new barbers."

"Stick with this one. You look great!"

I must have been having a good hair day, but Sam seems to always have a good hair day: her blonde hair is long, and whether it's wavy, straightened, in curls, or even a casual ponytail, it always looks effortless and beautiful.

Truthfully, she always looks beautiful. Her eyes are bright and colorful, her smile radiant and forthcoming; even her teeth are perfect. She just has an energy about her that draws you in when you see her.

And we'd been seeing a lot of each other, from quick lunches to the occasional cocktail night (much more practice required) to running errands together, and even the lazy days she'd invite me over for Netflix marathons, bleary-eyed with a halo of blonde hair as she greeted me at the door in her pajamas.

"So..." she said, and I realized I'd gotten lost in my thoughts. "Any ideas on what I should get you?"

"I don't mean to be difficult," I replied, "but I'm really not sure." For some reason, I was picturing the waffle iron I'd been given from someone five years earlier and only used twice.

"Playing hard to get, huh?" she said through a forced pout.

"Sorry...?" I asked quizzically, by way of apology. We both laughed.

She looked good laughing. Her hair was up in a casual ponytail that day, and she wore a snug white tank top that hugged her stomach, with the vague outline of a bra showing through, and a stylish pair of intriguingly short jean shorts. A colorful summer scarf wrapped around her neck, hiding the subtle bra-to-skin transition I love seeing through thin shirts, and likely hiding some cleavage too.

We chatted about work, our mutual friend Kristen's recent antics, and where we thought the Marvel franchise was headed until we pulled into the mall's parking lot.

"So ... where to?" she asked, and we set off.

I tried on a couple of button-downs and a pair of jeans at Old Navy, but she shook her head. On to the next store.

We rummaged through the nonsensical gadgets at The Sharper Image, but nothing seemed practical. We did get a few laughs, however, out of a clunky self-balancing unicycle, a battery-powered guitar amplifier that was waterproof for some reason, and functioning replicas of classic arcade games shrunk down to smaller than soda cans. "Who thinks of these things?" we wondered with humor, "And more importantly, who buys them?" They even had a Bluetooth tiki torch, whatever that is.

We stopped for chocolate-dipped pretzels, her treat, and she asked for mine to have the whipped cream and sprinkles upgrade. "Happy birthday!" she said, as I wiped a clump of whipped cream off my cheek, trying to eat the mess as neatly as I could. After we finished, we continued sitting on the hallway bench, watching and commenting on the comings and goings of interesting looking people and laughing at a pair of fuzzy motorized panda- and crocodile-shaped vehicles that passed by, their six-year-old drivers racing with a vengeful intensity on furry toy cars that could go no faster than a moderate stroll. Honestly, an afternoon passed like that was the best gift Sam could have given me.

"What are your best memories of our time together?" she asked. A lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail fell over her face, and she pushed it out of her eye. She always asked the best questions, and I recounted a few of my favorites to her, including discovering the sushi restaurant we love, the time we got embarrassingly sloshed on bottomless mimosas at a brunch restaurant and had to Uber home, earning her first 2-star review on Uber, and the time she sang for me a song that she wrote, timid but trying to look brave in her living room as she asked me not to look at her. We laughed at these, though she blushed when I mentioned her singing.

We resumed walking, and she caught me glancing in the windows of Best Buy and dragged me inside by the hand. I liked that.

We glanced through the aisles, and though the TVs and speakers always pique my interest, but of course they were too expensive to be a gift. In the movie aisle, she picked up a couple of UHD movies for me along with the promise to watch them with me. We walked to the checkout, and only when she was getting ready to pay did I see a high-end set of wireless headphones appear out of her pocket - she must have light-fingered them during our walk through the store. I balked at the price, but she assured me it was fine and told me she'd already read a lot of reviews beforehand and that these were the ones to get.

"I just wish I could have gotten you something more meaningful, like you gave me in April," she said with a sweet smile. "You're always so thoughtful, and you always seem to know just what to give." I too have fond memories of that day.

Birthday shopping behind us, she asked, "Do you mind if we do a little shopping for me while we're here?" I didn't object, and we made a quick circuit through Maurice's, the shoe section at Dillard's, and H&M. She tried on a couple of things at the last one, leaving the fitting room curtain only mostly closed. I dutifully waited, seeing through the curtain gap the occasional bit of arm or cloth. I'm sure the oversight was unintentional, but I liked it in a way I was sure I shouldn't verbalize to her.

A new top, some jeans, and a cute pair of shoes later, we were back to wandering the halls. Her scarf ended up in my Best Buy bag after the last store, and I stole the occasional glance at her chest when I was sure she wasn't looking. Through her shirt, a black push-up bra was barely-but-still visible, and the soft skin of her breasts rounded out the top of her white tank. She looked casual, yet stunning.

"Hey, let's head in here," she said, dragging me by the hand again, but this time into a lingerie store. I gave her a quizzical look, unsure why today and what I had to do with it. "Come on," she said playfully. "Sometimes a girl just needs undies."

I followed her in, unsure where to look, trying to avoid eye contact with Sam, the pictures of almost nude models on the walls, and the lingerie itself neatly stacked on every surface and hanging in every alcove. Truly a difficult task. She knows I'm straight and had occasionally asked me about my interest in various people, but we'd never openly talked about sexuality or anything related to arousal. She didn't bring it up, and I acted the prude to avoid uncomfortable conversations that might make things weird for us. But inviting me to join her in shopping for underwear was a new step for us. I could feel my heartbeat strengthen, and I developed the beginnings of an erection just from being in an environment designed to be as sexually charged as this with the ever-so-cute friend I cared so much for.

And Sam didn't let me passively wait out her shopping by finding a corner to brood in. "What do you think of this one?" she asked while holding up something lacy, and "Do you think this would be comfortable as an everyday bra?" while feeling the cups on a minimal, sleek push-up bra. I offered small words of non-committal encouragement, still unsure of my belonging there.

I was hardly new to women's underwear, or even shopping for it with women. But I was always on the outside of the shopping, merely inconveniently present, regardless of my relationship status with the person I was with. And no matter how much I liked Sam, she had never encouraged more than the others had.

But I saw the playful glint in Sam's eyes that I knew all too well: she was having fun with this, and she wanted me to have fun too. She was encouraging me, hoping I would stop acting the prude and engage. I bit my lip and muscled up the courage to participate, trusting her that I wouldn't overstep and ruin a beautiful friendship.

"That one's really cute," I hazarded and pointed towards a purple set decked with silver trim.

"There you go!" she said, eyes gleaming with an encouraging smile. "Ooo, I really like this one," she said, pointing to a black push-up bra neatly speckled with subtle golden glitter. "Do you think the glitter would show through my shirt? Probably not," she answered her own question, though I doubted, remembering some of the thin shirts I'd seen her in on the days she felt most comfortable with me as a house guest.

She picked up a semi-sheer lacy number and nonchalantly said, "Oh, I like this one. Can you help me find it in my size?"

"What's ... your size?" I asked, hoping this wasn't pushing the game too far.

"34 C" she answered with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

My hands pulled out one drawer and then another, rummaging through the bras and looking at the tags for sizes. But my mind was on another plane entirely as I dwelt on what Sam just told me. With a flush of excitement, I realized I then knew something very intimate about her, a private knowledge of her body, the quantification of her most intriguing anatomy reduced to a number I would never, could never forget. And what a cup-size to have! Not that I hadn't discretely admired her bust through a snug sweater or wondered what her bare breasts would look like as I drifted off to sleep. This new intimacy with my best friend was too much, and my cock stiffened of its own accord: a semi-hard-on that probably wasn't visible through my jeans. Probably.

Sam brought me to the present with a playful punch to the arm. "You looked right at it and kept looking, silly." She pulled up the lacy bra from the drawer, and I saw the areas of sheer fabric on it, making it anyone's guess if a rosy nipple would or wouldn't be visible through the bra. And it was different now, looking at a bra I knew would fit her. Her wonderful breasts could and maybe would fill out these specific ornamental cups.

I'm not sure what my face portrayed as my mind raced, but I think she knew what I was picturing: her dimples appeared as her mischievous smile grew, then abruptly softened: "I wonder if my tits will look good in this..." she said, her question drifting off in a ponderous tone. I adored her casual mention of her 'tits' and that I was included in the discussion, though I couldn't find any words to reply. Again, I was aware that I was hardening inside my jeans.

She drew me over to an "enhancement" comparison chart, outlining varying levels of lift with a handful of otherwise-identical bras demonstrating differing amounts of padding. Sam felt up the cups on one, then another, then handed them to me, asking, "Which style do you like most?"

"I guess it depends," I cagily answered, unsure of how I should proceed.

But Sam didn't let me off easy. "Well aren't you the artful dodger," she said with an eyebrow raised. "Which of these do you think would look best on me?" she asked with an impish look, emphasizing the last word.

Aiming for diplomatic boldness, I said, "I normally think a good amount of lift looks great, but frankly," with the quickest of glances down to her breasts peeking out the top of her shirt "you don't need it. For you, I'd say a 1 out of 4 is practical, but a 2 out of 4 just for fun. Or a 3, if you're feeling particularly adventurous and in the mood to make girls jealous and guys sweat." She liked that answer.

We moved on to other alcoves, looking at the shop's fanciest and most elaborate offerings.

"Hmm," Sam said, furrowing her brow with what might have been mock concern on her voice. "Which three ensembles do you think I would look best in? Would you pick them out for me?"

I swallowed, picturing not just her tits cupped in one bra or another, but widening my imagination to her entire lithe figure decked out in this elaborate lace or that minimal set, cunningly designed to accentuate and display. I had never seen Sam in just her underwear before, but I'd seen her soft, flat belly over just a hint of muscle during one of our jammie/movie afternoons when her shirt rode up. I imagined what her lean thighs would look like, rising all the way up, and what her pert butt checks would look like out of the tight jeans she was so fond of wearing. My member twitched, still somewhere between resting and fully erect, and again, I hoped it wasn't visible through my jeans.

I took a full eight minutes to pick out the three sets, looking here and there, feeling textures and padding, savoring every intimate moment of her watching my search because I knew who this was for, because I liked her so much, and because I knew how fantastic her body would look in any of these. I decided on a vibrant blood orange bra, simple but with intricate trim, and a matching thong. Her lips curled into a smile with another raised eyebrow at the sight of the thong. Second was a daring sheer set with little flowers sewn across the bra and panties. I wasn't sure if nudity would be visible through the set, but I liked the gamble. Third, and perhaps my favorite: a well-crafted but minimal black push-up bra and thin cotton boy short bottoms. This set most reminded me of her Saturday afternoons lazily spent on the couch, watching movies with me, and the casual, nonchalant way she wears enticing, subtly revealing clothes.

"Wait here", she said, and she approached an employee to take her back to a fitting room. I sat in a large, elaborate armchair facing the dimly lit hallway leading to the fitting rooms, my erection a lot bigger than I was comfortable with in public. I hoped I wouldn't have to move anytime soon. Directly opposite of me was a very large black and white portrait of a stunning lingerie model wearing just a thong and coyly covering her large breasts with an arm. I waited for what must have been twenty minutes or so, watching women walking in and out of the fitting room hallway, carrying seductive ensembles or just daily underwear. My cock stayed hard for a while, but Sam kept me waiting so long that my erection finally subsided.

Eventually, Sam emerged and forced a smile when she saw me, looking just a little nervous. She must have been thinking over how she had teased me during the shopping - hopefully she wasn't starting to regret it. I followed her back into the store and towards the checkout, eyeing the bundle of items wrapped over her arm. What she landed on, I wasn't sure, as she had tried on more than just the things I picked out, including a couple of soft-looking tees she must have grabbed from somewhere. I hung back as she approached the register and made the transaction.

We walked back out into the large hall of the mall, which felt like a different world to me then: brightly lit from skylights, filled with all types and shapes of people, and hearing the occasional burst of laughter or shriek from a child instead of the quiet boom of seductive music back in the store. My head was clearing, as if from a deep sleep, and I was trying to make sense of just how forward Sam was with me; how knowingly she was teasing me. Just how much of it was my heightened perception because I liked her so much, and how much of it was my imagination?

Maybe our new bond existed purely in my imagination after all, because she seemed to be tuning me out, invested in her phone as we walked. I felt a bit put off by that, feeling that we had shared at least a certain undeniable level of new intimacy between us, and I wanted it to continue.

We walked in silence, then I followed her lead as she sat down on a bench in the mall's atrium, near the tall glass doors facing the parking lot.

"Sorry about the detour," she said with a blush, earnestly looking me in the eyes. "I really wanted this day to be about you. Let's take a look at what you got," she said scooching closer to me, her thigh now touching mine.

She picked up the Best Buy bag I had forgotten I was carrying and lifted out her summer scarf that was on top, placing it on our laps. She pulled out the disc for Inception, a favorite of mine that I hadn't seen in years and never in HDR. She sure knew me. And she pulled out Us: I'm skeptical of horror movies, but she assured me that a reviewer she trusts gave a rave review about Us that couldn't be denied.

"So ... was I supposed to wrap these?" she asked, and we laughed together.

And she pulled out the last item: the high-end wireless headphones I had completely forgotten about. I was worried she had spent too much and was trying to figure out how wireless headphones would fit into my week, maybe fitting with dish washing and workouts and the occasional workday that allows for headphone listening.

As my mind was completely lost in tech, she put her hand on my thigh as she looked me in the eyes and just said, "Hey." I held her gaze, looking at the face I'm so fond of, waiting for her to say what was on her mind.

She paused to gather her thoughts, then said, "It took me a long time to think of what would make a really special gift, but I do have one more surprise for you." She pulled out her phone, unlocked it with a fingerprint, tapped once on the screen, and put it back in her little purse.

"Take out your phone," Sam said, just as I felt it vibrate in my pocket. As I pulled it out, she moved her hand onto my leg beneath her scarf. I had a text from her: a picture. Actually, six pictures. Each was of her in the dressing room of the lingerie shop, wearing the blood orange bra and thong I picked out. Each had a different pose: one was a come-hither look, one was just a sweet smile, one was an athletic side-pose that showed off her abdomen and a little of her firm-looking butt. And in the last one: a coy smile I will never forget, with one bra strap hanging off her shoulder, the bra cup drooping, and her forearm covering her breast with just the teensiest hint of nipple showing above her arm. She looked fantastic, especially in the discreet and carefully engineered fitting-room lighting. Her skin looked smooth and creamy. Her legs looked lean and toned. Her firm collarbones and even just the shape of her shoulders somehow resonated within me. Her tits looked shapely and perfect and incredibly smooth.

I gaped at the pictures. I felt compelled to keep up my prudish facade, the facade I had maintained for two years now as we spent more and more time together, as she became more comfortable with me but without a hint of expressed sexuality in my direction. But clearly there was no reason to. Clearly she didn't need that from me any longer. Clearly she was teasing me, and the sexual teasing was pretty overt - I don't think I've ever been so excited in my life.

Sam smiled at me with the most perfect, innocent, knowing, coyly seductive smile I've ever seen, as her hand, under her scarf and on my leg, moved inwards and slowly slid towards my abdomen. She reached out just a pinky towards the bulge of my cock, truly and fully erect, unmistakable to all had it not been covered by the scarf she placed there just two minutes earlier. Her pinky grazed my erection, traveling over my jeans up the length of my dick, as she slowly pulled her hand out from beneath the scarf, leaving it in place to cover my obvious excitement. I looked at the scarf, at her emerging arm, and then into her eyes. Her expression showed she was just as aroused as I was.