"What's up, guys?" Archie's voice crackled unexpectedly in the quiet aftermath of Nancy's whispered words. "What's the big problem?"
Imogene's eyes popped open at the sound of his voice, and she gaped at him in mild surprise. He was standing in front of them, bare chested, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and he looked slightly sheepish, like he had expected an emergency that hadn't materialized.
"No problem, baby," his mother replied casually. Her fingers released Imogene's nipple, and her hand slipped unobtrusively down the young woman's side. "I just wanted to get your reaction to Imogene here's modeling, that's all."
"Hell," he snapped in apparent relief, "if I had known that, I would have put on some pants. You sounded like the place was on fire or something."
"You're fine, baby; Imogene doesn't mind what you're wearing, do you, dear?"
"No, no, he's fine," she replied groggily; her focus was still impaled and riding the swells at the anchor road.
"You sure, ‘cause I can go change in a couple of minutes?"
She squinted at him because he was standing in shadow just outside the light. His broad chest rippled with hard muscle, and he was rubbing his head with one hand and holding the towel at his waist with the other. Despite his protestations, he seemed uncommonly at ease with his lack of clothing. Her eyes dropped, following the breadth of his chest toward his hips. His waist narrowed remarkably, trim and flat, with twin rows of sharply defined abdominal muscles marching in even columns toward his groin, and, below his waist, his narrow, sleek hips were hidden beneath the navy terry cloth of the towel. She opened her mouth to reply, but Nancy beat her to it.
"You heard the lady; no need to change, you're fine just like you are. Now, you come sit here on the couch, while Imogene and I go pick out something nice to model for you."
"Whatever," he replied with that slightly disrespectful tone youngsters use when they're trying to let you know they're straining to put up with you.
"Don't be nasty, buster," Nancy barked at him. "I got a feeling you're gonna like this a lot better than you think."
"You gonna start with the nighties, then?" he responded hopefully.
"You bet we are; Maxine's best, too."
"Alllllllllll right," he chirped excitedly.
Once more, Imogene allowed herself to be lead by the hand into the dressing room. "Have a drink," Nancy suggested upon closing the door behind them. She gestured toward the shaker Imogene had left on the dressing table. "I'll find something special for you." Imogene lunged toward the martinis like a drowning man grasping at a life-ring, while Nancy hummed her way through the racks of clothes.
"Here we go," she soon called out cheerfully from behind the third rack. In a moment she emerged holding a simple, but truly elegant suit. "Get out of that thing, and put this one on, honey," she said, extending the outfit toward Imogene. Imogene hesitated for an instant, balking at the idea of stripping in front of the woman, but quickly rationalized that she really didn't have much left to conceal that hadn't already been displayed. She slipped out of the top, and then reached behind her waist to unfasten the bow at the back of her chaps. Eager to hasten the process, Nancy knelt and quickly unfastened the little ropes securing the pants to Imogene's ankles. In a second or two the bindings were released, and the filmy material drifted to the floor. Nancy looked up at the naked girl towering over her, allowing her eyes to pointedly caress the younger woman's curves and niches appreciatively. "Wow," she breathed softly at the end of her visual tour when her eyes met Imogene's. "That's some figure you have, young lady. Turn around and let me look at you."
Imogene looked at her uncertainly, but she had come too far to back out now. "Whatever she wants," Maxine's words rang in her brain, and the girl slowly, reluctantly, rotated on her toes in a 360-degree turn. She blushed under Nancy's intense gaze, and her flesh seemed to be on fire.
"Hmmmmmm," Nancy whispered softly as the young woman completed the turn. "You look good enough to eat, baby."
"Nanccccccccccy!" Imogene squeaked in shock. She caught her breath and held it; her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Ohmygod, she IS going to make a pass at me, she screamed in silent protest, and she stiffened, steeling herself to accept the woman's advances.
Nancy looked at the stunned woman and laughed in a deep, husky laugh that seemed to rumble in her throat. "Oh, so that's what you think we're up to today, is it. An interesting thought, indeed; does that frighten you, my little sparrow? Does the thought of a woman's tongue licking that sweet little pussy of yours make you recoil in disgust, darling?" As she spoke, her hand rose and touched the girl's leg, on the inside, just above the knee. Imogene shivered involuntarily, and the fingers slipped higher, stroking the smooth flesh of her inner thigh, inching upward as Nancy spoke. Imogene's eyes widened in anxious horror, and Nancy's lacquered nails climbed toward her loins. Just as she spoke the words, "sweet little pussy," her fingers brushed through the dense curls that covered the girl, but then, while Imogene hung in tense suspension, suddenly they were gone and Nancy laughed again.
"Not just yet, honey," the older woman said softly, rising to her feet. "Maybe later, when you're ready, but not right now."
Imogene, visibly relaxed, exhaled, and her shoulders sagged in relief. "Take a drink, dear," Nancy urged. "Then put this on."
Imogene drained her glass and set it on the dressing table. She wiggled into the skirt, which was snug and short and was cut in such a way as to resemble a sarong wrapped around her hips. Nancy held the jacket for her and she slipped it on. It had been made like a man's morning coat with cutaway lapels and tails. It buttoned in the front with a single button at the waist and she tugged at the lapels, pulling the jacket tightly across her back just to be able to button it. It was a tight fit, because she was broad through the shoulders, and, when she had buttoned it, the lapels were pulled so far apart that the pink verges of her nipples were exposed.
When she was dressed, Nancy stepped back and gave her a quick inspection. "Stunning," she pronounced in satisfaction. "Now, go out there and knock him dead." She put her arm around the girl's shoulders and led her toward the door to the den.
The mention of Archie reminded her that a man, well, a boy really, was waiting just outside the door; a man-child wearing nothing but a grin and a towel was lying on a bed in the next room, waiting for her, waiting to watch her prance around nearly naked with a spotlight on her. She paled and slowed, digging in her heels as Nancy reached for the doorknob.
"Good grief, girl, it's just Archie; you better start getting used to him being around or you'll never make it to Jamaica."
Nancy's hand turned the knob, and the door opened a tiny bit. Imogene peeked through the crack. The boy was lying back on the couch, supported by his elbows, and he was swinging his feet back and forth like a kid watching a parade from the top rail of a fence. He looked harmless enough, she thought, even cute, like a little boy, and the observation reassured her.
"Cancun," she muttered.
"Huh?" Nancy answered.
"You said, `Cancun.'"
"Oh, yeah, right, `Cancun.' Whatever, honey, now you just get out there and strut." Nancy threw the door open and pushed the reluctant woman into the light.
Imogene stepped into the den with all the enthusiasm of a Christian stepping into a coliseum filled with hungry tigers. She hung back, fearful of progressing toward the couch and loath to distance herself from the sanctuary of the dressing room. She stood uncertainly in the first circle of light and tugged self-consciously at the hem of her short skirt. The effort required her to lean forward a bit, which, of course, caused her lapels to bow, exposing her breasts to the boy's view. She realized her error immediately and jerked upright, plucking at the material of her lapels to cover herself.
"Gee, Mrs. Justice," the boy called out to her innocently enough. "You look great; even better than you did before."
He sounded youthful, boyish, and his exuberance put her off her guard. She patted the fabric of her skirt with her palms and looked toward the sound of his voice. He was still lounging on the couch and was looking at her with almost casual indifference. Her spirits lifted; he looked manageable. I can do this, she thought.
"Do you like it? Your mom picked it out for me." She tried to disguise the nervousness in her voice as she spoke, hoping the reminder of his mother's presence close by would assure his behavior.
"She knows what she's doing, that's for sure."
"But, I think she forgot; it's not a nightie; she told you we were going to start with nighties."
"Oh, I know what she said; that's what she always says, but she almost never keeps her word."
"Really? You've done this before, then; watched women model clothes?"
"Sure, lots of times."
"I haven't ever done it; not like this." His matter-of-fact responses failed to calm her fears totally, and she couldn't keep her apprehension from showing.
"Nothing to it, really, Mrs. Justice. You just walk around and model what she picks out, and I clap and cheer, and when you're done, I tell Mom how much I liked it, and she invites you to join her bridge club."
"That's all there is to it?"
"Pretty much, Mrs. Justice," he replied easily.
"And, you just sit there and watch?"
