Bare All

Getting to Know Tracy

I've always liked mirrors.

Not for vanity—at least not only that—but because they tell the truth. And the truth is, at forty-three, I look good. Damn good.

Blonde hair, cut just past the shoulders, usually swept up in a loose knot or cascading over one shoulder. Blue eyes that hold a little too much control for some men to handle. Five foot six, toned from years of yoga and barre, with a figure that turns heads at every dinner party. I had my breasts done just after my fortieth—my gift to myself. 34EE. Sculpted, lifted, mine.

And the money doesn't hurt, either.

I'm successful. Comfortable. The kind of woman who hosts weekends in Tuscany, not attends them. The house I live in sits on a hill with sea views and a garden that gets full sun all afternoon. No husband, no kids—just freedom.

And Jay.

Jay is twenty-two. Six-foot-three. Built like a Greek statue—broad chest, thick thighs, a stomach you could bounce coins off. Black skin, smooth and taut, with a jawline that makes older women drop their keys at supermarket checkouts. He doesn't talk much, not in big crowds, but when we're alone... he's electric. Eyes that hold mine until I look away. Hands that make my knees weaken when he runs them over my bare back.

I met him through a friend's nephew—an innocent enough encounter over drinks. He made me laugh. I made him stare. I liked how he didn't flinch when I flirted. A few weeks later, we were in bed. Or on my sofa. Or in the back of my car at the beach.

Jay knows how to use that body of his. He's also cheeky. Quiet, but never passive.

We're not "official." I don't do that anymore. But I've stopped seeing other people. Because when he touches me, I feel twenty again. No. Better than twenty. I feel dangerous.

Today, I'm alone. It's warm. I've thrown on a little black vest—no bra—and a pair of loose linen shorts. I know what I look like. The top hugs me in all the right ways, and I can't help but admire the curve of my breasts in the mirror as I check my phone.

Nothing from Jay. Yet.

I bite my lip.

Then I lift my top just enough to show the underside of one breast. Just a glimpse. I take the photo at a slight angle—artful, sexy, a tease.

Tracy:

"Bet you miss these."

[picture attached]

It's risky. Fun. The kind of message I'd never have sent ten years ago. Now? I almost hope someone else sees over his shoulder.

The dots appear.

Jay:

"Don't tease me like that unless you're prepared to show more. Right now."

I stared at his reply, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest. Jay wasn't the type to bombard me with emojis or compliments. He didn't need to. His words were sharp, direct. And he always knew exactly how to push me—just far enough that I felt a little wicked responding.

"Don't tease me like that unless you're prepared to show more. Right now."

Well then.

I leaned back against the bedroom wall, one hip cocked. I lifted my top a little higher this time, letting the fabric just graze over the top of one nipple. Just one. Not quite exposed—but enough that my breasts were clearly bare beneath the thin black cotton. A whisper away from indecent.

I tilted my head, gave the camera a sultry, knowing look, and snapped the picture.

Then typed:

Tracy:

"This better?"

[picture attached]

I hit send before I could overthink it. My stomach tightened with that delicious buzz of nerves. A thrill I hadn't felt in years.

The reply came faster than I expected.

Jay:

"Better? That's fucking perfect."

"But I bet you wouldn't go out in public like that."

"No bra. Tight top. No jacket. Just walk around and let the world wonder if you're wearing anything underneath."

"You'd look so fucking hot doing it. But you're probably too proper for that..."

I exhaled slowly, heart racing. Not from outrage. From excitement. Was I too proper? Once, maybe. But now?

I walked to the full-length mirror. The top was definitely tight. My nipples were just beginning to harden beneath the fabric, clearly visible if anyone bothered to look. The shorts were safe. Modest. But this top? This was playing with fire.

I snapped a quick selfie in the mirror, not sending it yet. I just wanted to see what I looked like. And fuck... I looked stunning. I stared at myself, fingers tingling, and thought: Would I actually do it?

I paced across the bedroom slowly, the mirror still catching me in fragments—my bare thighs, the cling of that black vest top, the unmistakable shadow of my nipples against the fabric.

Jay's words echoed in my head. I bet you wouldn't go out like that. It was a challenge. A provocation. But more than that... it was tempting.

I'd always been careful. Controlled. A woman of boundaries and poise. Even when things got heated behind closed doors, I still liked to feel in charge.

But lately, something had shifted.

Maybe it was Jay—so young and bold and completely unbothered by what anyone thought. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like I was his dirty little secret and his prize all at once.

Or maybe I was just tired of being good. I glanced at my phone again. No new message. But the last one lingered. I bet you wouldn't.

My fingers hovered over the hem of my vest. I tugged it down slightly. Nothing obscene. Nothing technically wrong with what I was wearing. But the suggestion of it—the hint of what was underneath—was doing something to me. Lighting me up.

I told myself it would be nothing. Just a walk down to the café. Five minutes along the quiet cliff path, barely anyone around this time of day. A coffee, a smile to the barista, and I'd be back before I lost my nerve.

I slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses. Grabbed my crossbody bag. And paused.

Then I took a mirror selfie—one hand on my hip, the other holding the phone. My nipples were unmistakably visible now, sharp against the thin black cotton. My lips curled into a smile that was far too smug for a woman doing something so simple as going for coffee.

Tracy:

"Guess what I'm wearing out..."

[picture attached]

And just like that, I stepped out.

The garden path was warm underfoot. The breeze was light, but every movement made my top shift just a little, brushing across my chest, teasing me. My skin buzzed.

Halfway down the cliff path, I paused and leaned against the wooden rail that overlooked the sea. Pulled out my phone. Took another photo—this one from below, angled up, a glimpse of sky behind me. I arched slightly, the outline of my chest clear and proud.

Tracy:

"Still think I won't?"

[picture attached]

Another ten paces and I passed a jogger. Middle-aged man, earbuds in. He glanced at me once, did a double take, then looked away so fast it made me grin.

The café was in sight now, little terrace bathed in sunlight. A few people at tables. Nothing crowded. My heart thumped.

I stopped one more time. A slightly lower angle. Chin down, hair tucked behind one ear. One nipple visibly poking against the vest now, no denying it.

Tracy:

"Almost there. What should I order, sir?"

[picture attached]

My thumb hovered over the camera app again. But I paused. Jay hadn't replied yet. And now... I wanted him to see me in real time.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as I stepped inside, the sound oddly loud against the quiet hum of conversation and coffee machines. It was late morning—past the breakfast rush, not quite lunchtime. Just a few people dotted around: a pair of dog walkers nursing cappuccinos, a woman tapping at a laptop in the corner, and an older man at the bar reading the paper.

No one looked up at first. Which made it worse, somehow. The anticipation. The possibility that someone might look. Might notice.

The barista smiled as I approached the counter. Young. Maybe late twenties. His eyes flicked to my chest for a fraction too long. Then up to my face.

"Flat white, please," I said casually, sliding my sunglasses up into my hair.

He nodded, clearing his throat, suddenly very polite. "Of course."

I moved to the side while he prepared it, slipping into one of the stools by the window. The café overlooked the beach path, quiet for now but scenic. I could see a few couples strolling in the distance, children with ice creams. Harmless. Calm.

I felt electric.

My heart was thudding in my chest—not with fear, but exhilaration. I could feel the outline of my nipples still firm beneath the fabric. No one was staring, not really. But one glance... and it would be obvious.

I angled my body slightly, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. Then I tugged the neckline of my vest just a little lower—just enough to make my cleavage pop dramatically into view. Framed by golden skin and black cotton, soft and heavy and deliberate.

The moment the coffee hit the table beside me, I smiled up at the barista.

"Thank you," I purred.

He nodded quickly, definitely not looking down now.

When he turned away, I lifted my phone and snapped another selfie. This time, framed by the window light, the coffee cup in view, and my breasts deliciously framed in the shot—one inch lower and I'd be in trouble. But I wasn't. Not yet.

Tracy:

"Made it. Being such a good girl, aren't I?"

[picture attached]

I looked down at the photo before sending it. There was something wicked in my smile. The kind of smile that knew exactly what it was doing.

Jay still hadn't replied. But I knew he would. And when he did... I'd already be one step ahead.

I sipped my flat white slowly, letting the heat spread through my fingers, grounding me. Outside, the breeze stirred the tall grasses along the path, sunlight dancing across the water below. Everything felt sharper—brighter—like my skin was tuned to a different frequency.

The neckline of my vest still sat daringly low. I didn't adjust it. Instead, I crossed my legs and leaned back against the sunlit windowpane, giving the world outside a casual, contented version of me. Inside, I was still humming with adrenaline.

And then—

"Tracy?"

I froze for a split second before smoothly turning my head. Of course. Angela Mercer. School mum. Pilates group. Mid-forties, always overdressed for daytime errands. Divorced now, if I remembered right, but still liked to play the part of put-together, slightly-too-loud queen bee.

She was already smiling as she approached, takeaway cup in hand.

"Didn't expect to see you down here," she said, slipping into the seat opposite me without waiting for an invitation. "I thought you usually went into town for your coffee."

I gave her a warm smile, hiding the spike of tension in my chest.

"Oh, I fancied the walk. Needed the sea air."

She scanned me quickly—top to bottom. I could almost feel her eyes lingering just a second too long on the swell of my breasts. Her expression didn't change, but something in her posture tightened.

"Gosh, you look amazing," she said, in that faux-casual tone women like her had mastered. "What's your secret?"

I smiled sweetly. "Freedom. And someone young enough to remind me how to enjoy myself."

Angela blinked, startled for half a breath. Then she laughed, loud and fake and just a bit too high-pitched.

"I'll drink to that," she said, holding up her cardboard cup. "Still seeing that personal trainer?"

I tilted my head, teasing. "Something like that."

My phone buzzed on the table. A message from Jay. I didn't dare check it yet. Not while Angela was watching me like a hawk.

She chatted a bit longer—something about her daughter's uni application and a charity brunch I wasn't invited to—and I played the game, smiling, nodding, legs crossed just right.

Eventually, she stood. "Well, I'll let you enjoy your coffee. Tell your... friend I said hi." Her eyes flicked downward one last time before she left.

I exhaled slowly. God, that was close. But the thrill? Stronger than ever. I picked up my phone.

Jay:

"You really wore that out?"

"Fuck. I'm hard just imagining it."

"Next time... pull that top a little lower and send me one from the table."

"Don't let anyone see. Just me."

I bit my lip and smiled. Too late.

Home sweet home

The house was still and sun-warmed when I returned, the light pouring in through the kitchen windows and streaking across the floor. I didn't change. Didn't even kick off my sandals. I just moved slowly, lazily, like a cat stretching after a long, luxurious nap.

My vest still clung to me, the fabric slightly damp at the small of my back from the walk. My nipples—still hard—brushed lightly against the inside with every movement. I could still feel the ghost of Angela's eyes on me, that split-second flicker of disapproval, of curiosity.

I stood by the fridge, sipping water straight from the bottle, heart still fluttering from the thrill of it all. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this alive. Not just sexy—but dangerous.

The ping of a message lit up the room again.

Jay:

"On my way. Don't change."

A smile curled at the corner of my mouth. I didn't need to be told twice.

I moved to the mirror in the hallway and checked myself again. My hair was tousled from the breeze, the black vest still tight, the shorts riding slightly higher on my thighs. I adjusted the top just a little lower—cleavage pushed higher now. A breath from slipping into something scandalous.

I padded barefoot to the front door just as I heard his car outside. My heart thudded again—familiar now, expected. But that rush... it hadn't faded. If anything, it was stronger than before.

The door swung open and there he was.

Jay.

Tall, towering, muscles coiled beneath a fitted black t-shirt. Sweat glistening slightly along his collarbone. Those dark eyes raked over me in an instant, slow and deliberate.

He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him without a word. Then I dropped to my knees. Right there in the hallway. No hesitation. No explanation. He froze for a moment, eyebrows raised, lips twitching with a grin.

"Like that, huh?"

I looked up at him with mock innocence, running my hands slowly up his thighs, fingers tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his jeans.

"I've been thinking about your cock all day," I said softly, tilting my head. "And how I want to taste it while I'm still dressed like your filthy little dare-slut."

Jay's breath caught.

I reached up, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, then unzipped him, fingers grazing against the thick weight of him through his boxers. He was already hard. So ready for me.

I pulled him free. Thick. Gorgeous. Veins pulsing as I wrapped my hand around the base and stroked him slowly, deliberately, my tongue flicking out to taste the bead of precum at the tip.

He groaned.

"Fuck, Tracy..."

I smiled up at him, lips brushing against the head. Then I took him into my mouth. Deep. Slow. Purposeful.

The hallway echoed with the soft sound of sucking, the occasional gasp from Jay as my hands braced against his thighs and I worked him deeper. His fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me, owning me—but I stayed in control... for now. I wanted to show him what all that teasing had done to me.

I took my time.

Jay's cock throbbed in my hand, thick and weighty, the skin warm and smooth against my tongue. I began with slow, shallow strokes, teasing just the tip between my lips—pressing kisses along the head, letting my tongue swirl around the ridge, tasting the salt of his arousal.

He was watching me. I could feel his eyes locked on the sight of me kneeling in the hallway, still dressed in that scandalously tight vest and loose shorts, my cleavage framed perfectly as I leaned forward, lips wrapped delicately around his cock.

I let him slip deeper.

My lips sealed around him as I moved lower, inch by inch, the thick stretch of him filling my mouth, brushing the back of my throat. I pulled back slowly, a trail of spit catching at the corner of my mouth, then descended again—faster this time, more confident.

His hands moved to the back of my head, fingers threading through my blonde hair, gripping just tight enough to anchor me.

"Jesus, Tracy..." he groaned, hips twitching forward.

I moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder. My hand stroked the base while my mouth did the rest, working him in rhythm—sucking, twisting, letting saliva coat him until it dripped down over my fist.

I loved the weight of him on my tongue. Loved the way his thighs tensed when I took him deeper. I looked up at him, lips stretched around his shaft, and watched his jaw clench.

"Fuck, look at you," he said, voice rough. "You really are a filthy little thing, aren't you?"

I pulled off with a wet pop and grinned, still stroking him.

"All that teasing today," I purred, licking a slow trail up the underside of his cock, "I've been wet for hours. Couldn't wait to get you in my mouth."

He hissed through his teeth as I swallowed him again—faster now, my head bobbing, throat relaxing to take him deeper. I gagged slightly, eyes watering, but didn't stop. I wanted it messy. Desperate. Worshipful.

My hands gripped his hips, guiding the rhythm, my nails digging in as I sucked him harder, faster. His breath grew ragged. I could feel the tension building in his legs, the tremor in his abdomen.

I pulled back just enough to speak, breathless and flushed.

"Come for me."

Jay's jaw locked. His hands tightened in my hair. "Open your mouth."

I knelt back slightly, stroking him quickly, chest rising and falling as I looked up at him, lips parted, tongue out.

"Do it."

With a grunt, he jerked in my hand—and then he came.

Hot, thick streams spilled across my tongue and cheek, splashing onto my chin and the swell of my breasts. His cock pulsed in my grip as I stroked him through it, milking every last drop. I kept my eyes on him, relishing the raw, primal look in his face as he watched his cum paint me.

A final spurt landed across my lips. I held still, letting him see me like that—flushed, used, gorgeous. Then I slowly dragged my tongue across my bottom lip, licking up what I could reach.

"Happy now?" I murmured.

Jay laughed softly, still breathless. "No. I'm starving for you now."

I rose to my feet, cum cooling on my skin.

"Then feed yourself properly, baby."

Jay didn't give me a chance to clean up. The moment I stood, his hands were on me—gripping my waist, spinning me around. I gasped as he pushed me toward the bedroom, his fingers digging into the bare flesh of my hips through the thin fabric of my shorts.

My skin was still slick with his cum. A smear of it across my cheek. A drizzle catching on the curve of one breast. I didn't wipe it away. Neither did he. He wanted me marked.

I stumbled into the bedroom, heart pounding, body thrumming with need. He caught me at the edge of the bed. Bent me forward.

I braced myself on the mattress, the cool cotton of the duvet brushing my forearms. My back arched instinctively, my arse lifting toward him, offering myself completely.

Jay yanked my shorts down in one quick, rough motion—no teasing now, no finesse. Just the sound of fabric scraping over skin, then the sudden exposure of my bare arse and soaked pussy. I hadn't worn knickers. I rarely did around him anymore.

"Fuck, Tracy," he growled behind me. "You're dripping."

"I've been wet all day," I gasped, glancing back at him over my shoulder. "Do something about it."

He didn't hesitate.

One hand gripped my hip, the other guiding his cock to my entrance. I felt the thick head press against me—hot, hard, wet with my spit and his cum still smeared across it. Then he shoved into me.

I cried out—loud, shameless—as he filled me in one long, punishing thrust. My fingers clenched the duvet. My pussy stretched, slick and ready, clenching tight around him as he buried himself to the hilt. He didn't wait.