Contest at Night

From my hotel balcony about four floors up, I could see the unruly, drooling, chanting mass, shouting for women to drop their tops, flash their bush, and smile a big one. It was a hell of a time to be alone, especially since the balconies were blocked off one from another. I could only imagine what the crowd saw looking up.

Next door I heard a giggle, and a thong was tossed to the appreciative crowd. I tried to look around the safety fence separating the two balconies, and saw a bare ass sliding on the railing to encouraging shouts. "Take it off! Show us your tits!" But she wouldn't. Her hair was long, brunette and straight down to the small of her back. She shook it, and let it float across her buttocks. But her top stayed on.

"Good night, boys," she called. They groaned. They weren't satisfied with a naked bottom half – especially since she was partially hidden by the ornate railing. "Show us your ta-ta's!" they pleaded. "Tomorrow night, boys," she waved and blew a kiss.

As she turned from the balcony's edge, I heard her sigh – a tired, lonely sigh.

I clinked a cold glass of vodka on her side of the wall by reaching my arm around. "Need a drink?" I offered the glass to her unseen.

For a long moment it stayed there. I rattled the ice, and hoped she could hear it above the general noise from below. Then I felt her hand touch the glass. She steadied it, and drank from it while it was still in my hand. "There's more where that came from," I said. "I hate to drink alone."

She took the glass, and gave my hand a kiss, which I took to mean come on over.

She met me at the door in a white hotel robe. It made her look very tan. I could see she was still wearing her lime green bikini top underneath the robe. She smirked when she saw me in my jeans and dark T. "Is this your best James Dean?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she whirled around without closing the door. I followed her in.

She held out the glass and I filled it part-way. "Don't tell me your name," she said. "Don't tell me what you do. Don't tell me that you're married or your girl-friend cheats on you."

"Why did you let me come over then?" I asked. "Are you going to do all the talking?"

She finished the glass in three swallows. "Don't be absurd. " She put her arm on my shoulder, and tested my biceps. She allowed her hand to float over my abdomen, seeming to count the muscles in the washboard. She whispered into my ear, "Show me your cock."

"Show me your tits."

She laughed, and poured herself a drink, then filled my glass. "A whole crowd of men couldn't convince me to flash – you think I'd do it for you?"

There was a sparkle in her deep brown eyes. She nuzzled my throat, and kissed her way to my mouth, where she nibbled a piece of my lip 'til it hurt. She used one hand to pull at my belt buckle, and pressed herself to me. "Come on, James Dean."

"A little peak first. What do you say, sweetheart?"

"I say, what are you calling me 'sweetheart' for? Is that sexy where you come from?" Her hand reached for my package, almost too insistently.

I know what you're thinking – I must have been crazy to delay even a second with this sexy lady. But you had to be there. The guy is supposed to be the aggressor, you know? And she wasn't playing the game right. It suddenly became very important to me to see what a hundred horny guys could convince her to show, her mysterious breasts.

"You don't like 'sweetheart?' How about 'Rima?' Or just tell me your name."

"I don't like 'Rima,' the bird girl from Green Mansions, right? Just call me Diana." She walked to the balcony again, but the night had fallen hard, and the crowd was mostly gone. They might have spotted her with the white robe on, if she had continued to wear it. Instead, she let it pool around her ankles while she leaned over the balcony. She had a beautiful backside, with no hint of tan lines. The green top was still on, looking like it covered more skin than a corset. I vaguely remembered from mythology a hunter that had come upon Diana bathing, and was turned into a hart, and torn to pieces by his own dogs. I felt torn by the vision I saw, the uplifted buttocks as she stood on her toes to lean over the railing, and long, lean hamstrings, and narrow ankles below shapely calv es. My dick was swollen, and wanted to rip through my jeans. "Discipline," I thought. "Discipline."

I don't think they could have been especially large; if anything a little on the small side. Was she embarrassed by them? Were they tattooed or pierced? Were they as nutty brown as the rest of her, or would the nipples point up from sickly white triangles that had never seen the sun? Were the nipples inverted, or too pointy? Maybe she had had surgery, and didn't want to show the scars.

"Show me what you've got there, James Dean, and I'll cook you an Italian dinner," she said. "I'm a great cook. I just need a little incentive."

I took a chance and took off my shirt. The cool night air made dimples on my skin. "Will this get me breakfast?"

She ran her finger over my pectorals, and then licked it. "It's a start. It's a start."

She walked by me, bottomless, her pretty little cunt trimmed to fit the tiniest thong. No scars, no pierced belly button, no dragon tattoo crawling up her thigh; just the prettiest legs I'd ever seen, with a golden hint of fuzz where she hadn't shaved ever. In the kitchen she took an apron that covered her top and her front, and wrapped the strings around so they tied in the front.

Then, when she had the top piece firmly secured, an additional barrier to the swelling of her breasts, she turned and faced me. In a quick movement, she removed the lime green top, but her breasts were now hidden by the apron.

How curious that as she cooked she felt free to bend over the stove slightly, exposing her round, soft ass. I squeezed up behind her, and she felt the need in my member, pressing against her naked, dark inviting ass. Her hand reached behind her, and started to explore the front of my jeans. No question about it – the vodka hadn't had any effect on me so far.

She leaned over again, and the eggs spattered in the pan. A fleck of sizzling butter hit her arm, but she seemed to ignore it. She was inviting me to take her; it would have been easy. Just a zip, a flopping protruding intrusion – the cold butter would make a lovely lubricant – and we would be together.

And she would have won. She would have my cock before I'd seen her tits.

Toast popped, and I grabbed the two slices while they were still burning my fingers. I bobbled them, looking for a plate. Diana turned around, and caught them in mid-air; she pushed them onto my chest, one on each of my nipples, burning and scratching them.

"Ooh, that must hurt," she said. "Come outside." She led me by the hand out to the balcony again. I noticed that the apron top covered only about half of her breasts, but the areolas had not slipped out of either side.

On the balcony, in front of the unseeing crowd below, she took some fragrant cooking oil the palm of her hand, leaving the green bottle on the glass table. She moistened her fingertips, and applied their slippery tips to each of my nipples. It smelt exotic and sexy. "There, doesn't that feel good?"

She touched gently, and I let her. The tips of my nipples grew hard, and she was able to teach me the pleasure to be gained from just the touch of the fingers on the very point of the nipple. Then she closed in and used her tongue to clean away the oil, and to bite very gently and slowly, and to pull with a sucking motion, until I felt in my balls the sexual action that Diana was applying to my sensitive chest.

I stood like a baby, with my hands at my side, afraid to move for fear she would stop. It felt so good. The pressure built in my cock, and I knew that if she sucked even a few seconds longer, I would blow my chances in more ways than one.

But two can play at that game, I realized. I took the bottle of oil, and slathered my hands. I reached first for her behind and felt it slide under my grip, delightfully. I placed my fingers in crack, and searched for her anus. She squeezed her buttocks together as I found it. We struggled back there, but my finger touched, and parted her anus, and she moaned.

With a little more oil, I covered her pubic hair, and it felt soft and luxuriant in my hand. She breathed heavily, but kept close to my chest, and I felt the intensity of her passion growing. She kissed my chest, harder, and bit and tugged with her mouth. Two fingers, then three, were in her. I touched her again from behind and she shuddered.

Her chest was heaving, and the apron top was beginning to slip. I rubbed her again, finding the tip inside her vagina where the nerves came together. I felt more in control now, and I tried a move to cement my position.

I tugged loose the strings of the apron, until it hung only by the loop around her neck. Her breasts should have been free at that point, and I could have seen them, if she hadn't fallen quickly to her knees. Her hands were uplifted and raked down my front with her fingernails. It had the effect of keeping me upright, while she was eye to eye with my penis.

She unzipped my fly. I pulled off the apron over her head. She knelt with one arm protecting her chest for a second, then using both hands, she yanked my pants to my ankles. My willie, my Johnson, my woodie bobbed happily against her cheek.

"I see your cock," she said.

She stood up, her arm still protecting her chest, and with her head thrown back, grabbing the oil, walked rather stiffly back into the condo. "Good night, James Dean. Can I show you to the door?"

I kicked of the jeans around my feet, and nearly tackled her into the plush carpeting. She was on her stomach, and for a moment I was tempted just to take her from behind, pushing into her until she yelled for mercy. But that wouldn't have been good enough. I flipped her over, both hands were covering her breasts.

"No, no! Please stop. I'll scream!" Diana rocked back and forth to buck me off, but I was solidly astride her, kneeling above her. My dick felt warm on her abdomen, but I was more interested in the area above her waist. The green bottle of oil was laying near her head, nearly obscured by her long brown hair. I took the oil, and poured it onto her chest until it was gone. Then I began to slide my hands underneath her own, to rest on those fabulous mounds that had been so long denied me. I edged up to the puffiness, searching for the nubbin that was the heart of her secret.

Diana began to laugh. Not a giggle, not a titter, a guffaw. She laughed deeply, richly and uncontrollable. "I'm sorry!" she said between gasps of breath. "Don't, please." She laughed even harder when I moved my fingers closer over the tips of her breast.

I felt myself shrinking as she laughed even harder. Now when she placed her own hands on her chest, she laughed some more.

"I tried to warn you. I pleaded with you, James Dean. I'm ticklish up top. So awful, frightfully, helplessly ticklish!" She wiped tears from her eyes, and curled into a fetal position to await the next spasm of laughter.

I sat on the floor, my cock a limp rag dragging on the floor. Diana reached over to stroke it with her hand, but the giggles still had her. As my formless dick slipped between her oily fingers, she found even more to laugh about, wiggling my helpless frankfurter about. She rubbed harder, trying to somehow bring the genie out of the lamp, but we both knew it wasn't going to happen that night.

I kissed her long and hard on the mouth, we rolled together on the carpeting, coated with oil like two playful seals. But each time any part of my body came in contact with her tits, she laughed. She picked up my clothes, my empty vodka bottle, and handed them to me while she walked me to the door naked.

"You know you can come back tomorrow night, James Dean," she said.

"Or you could come to my place tonight, Diana."

She looked playfully at me, wondering whether we could get over the hurdle in our cuddling. She turned back to the kitchen, and found her lime green bikini top. She slipped it on, and tied it. Then she took my arm, and walked with me bare-bottomed through the hall to my condo.

"I'm willing to try if you are, James Dean."

As I opened the door, she scooted in, giving a little wiggle of her behind. I tried to focus on those luscious rounded handfuls, and the sleek slippery twat between her lovely long legs, but there was something about those tits. Maybe if I touched them only gently this time...