Chapter Four
For the next month, we lived very quietly. I would wake up, often, hell, usually, to the feeling of her hands or her mouth as she, as she put it, "woke me with a smile." She was getting VERY good with hands and mouth and it seemed that her favorite position, at least for wakeup, had turned out to be mutual oral, laying on our sides as we pleasured each other.
We would make love, in one fashion or another, and then shower together. She made breakfast and, coffee. We'd eat then and I'd lock her into the belt before I went to school.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I had 9:00 classes to teach, Tuesday and Thursday I didn't have anything 'til eleven. More important, Monday and Friday I was done at one in the afternoon. That meant we had, effectively, a three-day weekend every week.
We had at least one date night every week. Typically it was Friday, sometimes Saturday, sometimes both. We pretty much always reserved Sunday night for recovery. As the weeks passed, I talked her into wearing things that were more and more, well, sexy. On this night I had her in a halter neck sundress in very bright yellow that looked good on her darkly tanned skin and her very dark hair, dark again with very expensive treatments at her favorite hairdresser. Her breasts were free but I allowed her a pair of french cut panties. With the high-heeled platform sandals, she could pass for 50 without a question and for 40 in a bad light. Well, VERY bad light.
It was a party at the Vet's Corps, and, as always, she drew looks. It was a big crowd and many of the guys had dates. Besides that, our parties had gained a reputation, and more than a few girls showed up looking for a party and, presumably, to get laid.
Of course, since most of the guys there had had her, there was a certain familiarity as we circulated, drawing looks, anger and jealousy, from many of the girls.
I absolutely loved the reaction and kept a hand possessively on her hip.
One of the girls came over at one point and took my arm possessively.
"Come on, honey," she said, "try someone more age-appropriate."
Marie, bless her heart, had learned and gained confidence since we had been a couple. I could see her thinking. And then she stood.
"Hey, everybody," she said, not yelling but loud enough to be heard, "this little girl thinks I'm not," and she looked at the girl whose name I had never caught, "how did you put it, dearie, age-appropriate."
She reached behind her neck and pulled the string that held the halter top up, and let the two triangles of material fall, her sagging breasts on display.
"Come on, honey," she said, looking at the girl, "show us your tits and let the men here decide."
The chant started almost immediately - tits out, tits out, tits out.
She looked, well, I had seen the word "nonplussed" written before, but this was the first time I truly understood it.
She looked nonplussed for a second but then flashed a smile and reached down in the crossed-arms-in-front way women seem to understand from puberty, and peeled her T-shirt off.
"Tits out, tits out, tits out," came the chant again, since she had a bra on.
Marie laughed, and it seemed to me to be a genuine laugh, not forced at all.
"Oh Jesus," she said, "I got out of training bras at 12."
The girl flashed a look of pure hatred and did the double-jointed thing only a woman can pull off and look graceful at it, and unhooked her bra and threw it out to the crowd.
"And you call those tits?" Marie asked, reaching out to touch her small breasts, very small mounds on her chest with small pink nipples, almost boylike.
"These," Marie said, lifting her own breasts, pushing them together until a full 8 inches of cleavage showed, "are tits. Now go find someone who likes girls, David prefers a woman."
Fred, the Vet's Corps Commander, not something we normally paid any attention to, but we needed someone to sign things and he had been elected, called out, "ALL TITS OUT girls," with a grin, "let's see how Marie stacks up against you girls. So far, pretty fucking good."
I was laughing then, and Marie had that shiny-eyed look of good pot mixed with too many beers. She stepped up onto the little stage we had constructed at one end of the great room for when we had the occasional live band or something else that might require a stage, and did a little shimmy.
"Bring 'em up, girls," she said, "let's see what you've got."
"MOVE IT!" Fred called out and started shooing girls toward the stage.
Within about three minutes there were a dozen girls standing on the stage along with Marie. The youngest appeared to be 18, the oldest maybe 22. And honestly, Marie looked very good in that company.
"TITS OUT!" Fred cried and the chant started up again - tits out, tits out, tits out.
Marie lifted hers and did a slow half turn, pointing her nipples out across the room.
The girls looked at each other and then started unbuttoning or pulling off or untying depending on the kind of top. I was surprised that all but two of them has bras.
The chant went up - no bras, no bras, no bras.
Meanwhile, Marie had picked up the rhythm of the background music and was doing a passable hula, hips and breasts moving in a delightful opposition and setting up some truly lovely Hawaiin waves.
Finally, everyone on the stage was topless and, I was happy to note, Marie looked DAMN good up there. She sagged, of course, but her heavy boobs were bigger than any but one girl's, and she seemed to be enjoying herself.
Fred started again. "Jack," he called across the room, "music. Something with a beat please."
I watched as Jack scrolled through a playlist on the TV screen and called up something called "Music to Strip By."
The music started, very brassy, each piece sounding more or less like David Rose's "The Stripper."
"Number One," he called out, pointing out to the girl on the left, "do your stuff."
And she was terrible. First, the girl barely had any boobs at all. Mostly, though, she had no sense of rhythm. It was almost painful to watch.
The second was better. She at least filled her A cup, and her nipples were interesting, very big, very dark. She understood how to pick up the beat but really didn't understand how to use her body to dance.
The third was a cute little butterball all bouncy and bubbly and round and soft. And she was having fun with it. Like many fat girls, she had dimples everywhere. I guessed her a B cup although her belly made them look smaller.
Number four was Marie, and she stole the show. First, she cut the tempo in half so her moves were slow and sensuous rather than bouncy. She did the thing with her hair, her right hand reaching around and brushing hair back from the left side of her head. Our time dancing and making her practice had not been wasted.
Number five was the only girl with boobs to rival Marie's. She was one of those buxom plump brunettes with dusky skin, a round face, and great pillow boobs sagging dramatically of their own weight.
The only other girl I found even remotely interesting was number 8. Lana was one of those perfectly pear-shaped girls that I have always thought were sexy. She was short and very flat-chested, her barely-A-cup breasts tipped by big, very pink nipples. Her waist was only slightly smaller than her bust. But her hips and ass spread into a wonderfully wide shape that made me understand where the word "broad" had come from. I guessed her at 5-foot nuthin' and 32-30-50. I LOVED her look. The fact that it looked like there was not a single hair on her body below her neck only added to her overall image of pure sex appeal.
