Zoe Green entered the door to her apartment, frustrated. God, what a terrible day it had been. After a flat tire on the way to work, a broken high heel near lunch, and a long bumpy ride on the wrong bus, the redhead was just happy to be home. She fumbled with her blouse, trying to get the newly-stained garment off before she got any farther. A moment later the curvy woman yanked the half-buttoned shirt off over her head and tossed it aside. Walking to the living room in a red lace bra, black pinstripe suit skirt, seamed hose, and black pumps, she flopped into a chair and flipped on the TV. She crossed her legs and began to change channels with one hand, the other pulling her hair out of its French twist and letting it tumble about her shoulders in loose waves. She placed her feet on the coffee table and crossed her legs at the ankles, sighing. It was good to be home.
She leaned her head back, relaxing into her easy chair. She looked beautiful, 28C breasts filling the bra cups perfectly, hips flaring in the skirt. After a while, she unzipped the skirt and slipped out of it, revealing a pair of matching boyshorts and a garter belt holding up the thigh-high hose. She sighed, watching the TV in a bored fashion, until she came to the pay-per-view channels.
"Seen it, seen it, not interested at all..." Zoe murmured as she flips through. "Ugh. Nothing interesting is on." She turned it to the music channels and flipped through, stopping on Club Hits. Remembering that her blinds were open, that she had neighbors in buildings who could see right in, and honestly not caring, she cleared an area and began to dance in her underclothes.
In high school and college, she had been a cheerleader. She was a tumbler, meaning that she was able to pull off some amazing gymnastic moves. This also meant that she was incredibly flexible. She used the flexibility to her advantage now as she danced, pulling one leg up against her torso, sliding into straddle splits, and the like. She was certain that a few horny men were staring into her living room using binoculars or telescopes. Every time she thought of it, the idea gave her a thrill.
She kept dancing, her milky skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Each time she spread her legs, she felt a cool draft of air sweep over the wetness of her panties. While thinking of men watching her, she reached behind and unhooked her bra, slid it off, and threw it toward her imagined audience. She thought, suddenly, that it was a shame she didn't have a stripper pole.
Without the restrictive lace of the bra, she began to fondle her large breasts, gently tugging the nipple as she danced. In her mind's eye, she was on stage, stripping for a room of horny men focused on her. Instead of the demure executive she was in reality, she was a wanton woman, undressing for their pleasure--and hers. She pretended the large windows, ten stories up, were the front of her stage. She hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties and began to roll them down. She paused and rolled them back up, acting as if, in her fantasy, there wasn't enough anticipation in the air. After a few more gyrations and a bit of air-humping, she pulled her panties off and tosses them over her shoulder.
