Chapter Seventeen

“May as well be me.” Bella volunteered, taking their place on stage. “No surprise what I’m wearing, y’all saw it already.”

“Shake it, baby!” Rachael hooted, bouncing in her seat.

The voluptuous redhead made a show of opening her trenchcoat. Swaying to the music like a burlesque dancer, she popped one button after the other. Slipping a slim shoulder free, she unveiled the uppermost swell of her chest.

The overcoat flared like a cape when she twirled, falling to the floor and revealing her gloriously thicc figure clad in the embellished black body stocking. She positively pranced up the runway in those platform heels, her bubbly booty swishing, tossing her mane of coppery hair with every step.

Cole sat dumbstruck by the sight. Krystal stood behind him, bending to murmur in his ear.

“Bella has won national dance championships and is highly sought-after by record labels to star in their music videos. She turned them all down, choosing art school over the lucrative life of a star backup dancer. The girl has admirable… merits.”

Cole was fascinated by those dick-hardening merits as she undulated to the rhythm while casting him smoldering stares.

Bella finished her performance by cartwheeling offstage, exhibiting the agility of an Olympic gymnast. She stuck the landing by planting her heart-shaped toosh squarely in his lap.

“Um, hi?” He said when she leaned against his chest to smile up at him.

“Hi yourself, hot stuff.” She purred, swiveling her round hips on his stiffness. “Wanted you to know… I’m interested.”

Unsure how to respond, Cole sat stunned as she rocked that perfectly toned ass on his trouser tent. She leaned forward, gripping his knees as if about to rise, then stole the opportunity to twerk on him some more before reluctantly departing with another wink.

“Ahem! Thank you, Bella.” Krystal coughed, her voice hitching. “Who would like–”

“Nobody wants to follow that strip tease. “Farrah sniffed, annoyed at her friend.

“You call that a strip tease?” Rachael guffawed. “You’re coddled, sister.”

“I’ll take the bait,” Lita said, climbing onto the catwalk. “I’m no dancer but possess my own charms.”

The upbeat pop music wasn’t the blonde punk’s scene. That was evident in the brisk manner she disrobed. Discarding the trench coat to reveal her tanned, inked flesh in a daisy yellow swimsuit. The tiny two-piece number was asymmetrical, trimmed in a psychedelically colorful lining, covering her small chest yet highlighting her showstopping heinie.

She didn’t prance or preen, turning slowly under the spotlights instead, displaying her body art to the astonished onlookers.

“Good god above, the tiger looks alive!”

“The floral arrangements are striking. Very tasteful.”

Cole remained entranced by her confidence and beauty–so bold and untamable. She finished the spin with fingers laced over her taut tummy, stepping down to take his hand and push up his sleeve.

On Lita’s midsection was a stylized padlock shaped like a thorny heart. Reds and blacks swirled together. A similar design was etched into Cole’s wrist, less than a week old. His skin was still tender around an ornate brass key surrounded by shadows.

She’d tattooed both pieces to symbolize their connection days after the fateful photo shoot.

Pressing his key to her lock, Lita whispered, “I’ll never forget the day you claimed me as yours.”

Cole’s cock lurched at the lurid reminder. A part of her would forever be his.

“Let’s get this over with.” Ebony stood, tottering unsteadily onto the runway. “Can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Cole frowned, watching her stumble, then realized the problem. Poking out from under her overcoat was a pair of black leather boots including terrifyingly tall heels. He’d only known the steampunk goth to wear workman-like flat soles or steel caps.

After cursing at the buttons, Ebony flung the jacket away with an adorable little grunt, and Cole gaped at her transformation.

The doll-like cutie was flashing a lot more porcelain flesh and far less frilly skirts than usual in skin-tight black leather pants, a lace-up corset of the same shiny material, and a see-through mesh top doing nothing to obscure her fulsome breasts.

She looked like a pint-sized badass with curves to spare, though her smoky makeup and dense obsidian curls remained pristine–welding goggles nestled atop her tiny head.

“Work it, girlfriend!” Rachael hollered. “You’ve got this. Woohoo!”

Summoning her determination, Ebony stalked across the stage, wobbling occasionally. It wasn’t graceful, but her sheer grit was endearing. As was the knockout bod she’d hidden under those Victorian dresses. Every step added oomph to her buoyant chest and broad hips. The pants could have been painted on her thick behind.

“She’s got spunk and a will of iron, that girl. Impressive.” Krystal whispered, nipping at Cole’s ear. “Did you know she’s considered the next Banksy by the street art community? A true aficionado of the blowtorch and wrench. People have trouble reconciling her outward appearance with the jagged rawness in her exhibits. Great tits too.”

Cole didn’t need that last part; he drank in every inch of Ebony’s hourglass allure. His cock, an iron pillar.

Her ankle twisted when she reached the edge. Alarm contorted her schooled expression as she lost her balance and began to topple. The audience shrieked…

“Whoa, I’ve got you!”

Cole sprang, catching the tumbling hottie before falling back into his chair. She curled up in his strong arms, an awkward ball of leather-bound relief, her pulse racing.

“You–you saved me.” Ebony mumbled through a tangle of hair. Her goggles askew. “I could have broken my neck, but you rescued me.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Cole patted her gingerly. He was highly conscious of a stiff part of his anatomy poking her bare midriff. “Anyone would have done the same. Are you okay?”

She was so small in his embrace. Delicate as fine china. Shifting, she gazed up at him with wide, **** eyes ringed in mascara. A very different creature to the unflappable stoic he’d met in passing.

“Th-thank you, yes. Please put me down now.”

Crisis averted, Cole gently helped Ebony find her feet to the applause of her fellow students. A touch of rouge colored her pale cheeks when Rachael swept her into a bear hug.

“My, how thrilling. Nothing like a spot of drama to spice things up.” Krystal proclaimed, clapping enthusiastically. “What a gentleman! What a prize! However, the show must go on–”

“I’m next. This is my store. You are my clients.” Farrah declared in a no-nonsense tone. “It would be remiss of me not to join in the proceedings.”

Before anyone could object, the dusky-skinned musician glided onto the catwalk like a supermodel. Stately as an empress, she slowly unfastened her trenchcoat, letting it pool on the floor.

Cole was taken aback to discover her not in a ritzy gown or this season's latest craze but a stylishly ripped pair of three-quarter jeans, a gray long-sleeved crop top, and strappy gladiator sandals with no heel to speak of. Every piece of her ensemble was undoubtedly designer, but she looked relaxed. More approachable.

Like a sexy college coed rather than a visiting dignitary.

Farrah owned the runway as though she were born for it, sweeping across the raised platform with supreme elegance. Her feet crossing in front of swaying hips and shoulders back, jutting out her firm bosom.

The girls went nuts and Bella wolf-whistled.

“Our bedouin princess is exactly that. A princess. Well, mostly.” Krystal cooed. “Her father is a prominent Emirati—a financial magnate with multiple wives from a notable bloodline. Farrah is the favorite daughter. She’d never been allowed to leave Dubia otherwise. She’s also a musical prodigy on the sitar.”

“It’s a Qunan.” Cole corrected, distracted by Farrah’s approach. “My god…”

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Someone told me a change is as good as a holiday.” Farrah called from the stage, shaking out her midnight tresses. “To let loose a little. What do you think, Cole?”

One particular part of Cole desperately wanted to be let loose. Presently, it was drilling a hole in his new slacks.

She had the figure of a belly dancer with the refined features of a Persian goddess. Lush and round in some places. Slender and taut in others. A vision of femininity that ancient Sultans would’ve paid fortunes to possess or made war to win her as their Saltanah.

“Looks good on you.” He managed to croak through dry lips. “You should let your hair down more often.”

“Ha! He’s lost his silver tongue in the presence of such radiance.” Rachael cackled. “Kudos to you, Farrah!”

“Perhaps our date will entail the playing instruments over discussion since he is so easily tongue-tied.” Farrah’s glittering eyes darted to Cole’s distended pant leg, then away. “If I grant him the honor...”

“Nah-uh! This contest isn’t over yet.” The effervescent blonde snorted, shooing her offstage. “Y’all are gonna be crying into tubs of ice cream, watching chick flicks after I snatch this victory.”

Farrah relented, her chin held high as Rachael stole the spotlight.

“Hold onto your seat, mule boy. I’m about to knock those fancy socks off!” She announced, violently ripping her trenchcoat open in a shower of busted buttons. “Ta-da!”

Cole’s heart almost seized at her big reveal. The short-statured bombshell wore nothing besides a leopard print bikini, tennis shoes, and a pink crochet micro skirt slung low on her waspish waist.

Every inch of her buxom five-foot-nothing frame was out on display, altogether racked and stacked. A fun-sized party girl hunting for a good time with her sights locked on him.

Rachael giggled at his slack expression, performing a pirouette before she began to move to the music…

Her motions were sinuous and suggestive. Popping her globular rump out while running small hands over her phenomenal upper body. She literally shook her fat tits at Cole and tossed her golden locks in a blatant invitation.

Eye-fucking him hotly, she dismounted the catwalk in a hop that made everything bounce, not hiding her interest in the massive bulge straining his inseam when she straddled his leg.

“Like my outfit, mule boy?” Rachael asked coyly, squeezing his trapped member between her soft thighs. “I picked it out special.”

“Uh-huh.” He grunted articulately. “Looks great.”

“Touching him shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Why not? Bella basically jumped in his lap.”

“Yeah, I kinda did.”

Rachael continued dancing, snaking her arms above her head and thrusting out her spectacular chest, flexing her thigh grip all the while. Cole was embarrassed and aroused in equal measure.

“I’m super happy to hear that.” She crooned, gnawing her plump bottom lip as she grinded on him. “I’ve wanted your attention since orientation. You’re so fucking handsome we could run a side hustle selling prints of you on campus.”

Cole didn't know how to respond to that. He didn’t care either. Not with how close she had him to blasting off.

“I can feel you… down there. You really are like a mule.” She bent in to whisper. “That's sooo~ fucking hot.”

Sticking out her tongue, Rachael let a ribbon of drool dribble onto her rich valley of boob-flesh. It glistened in droplets, giving her skin extra shine before dripping onto his pants.

Cole’s aching cock bucked like a bronco, and he grabbed her wrists in a bid to regain a semblance of control.

“We should end it here.” He said, despite his protesting balls. “This has been… entertaining. However, other shoppers need Bella and Farrah’s assistance. We can’t leave them waiting.”

As though a spell had broken, the outside world crashed back into existence around them. The sounds of customers browsing the shelves and people walking by the store reminded everyone they were in public.

Krystal politely cleared her throat. “Ahem, yes! An excellent show, ladies and gent. Very stirring. But Cole is correct; we have places to be. Let’s gather our purchases and head to the register.”

Cole sighed in relief and disappointment when Rachael released him, his dignity intact. Standing was a tad awkward, but somehow he managed. The MILF professor shepherded their group towards the service counter and prepared to make a speedy exit when Rachael suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

“Hold up a sec! Who won the goddamn competition?”

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Chapters are posted on my BuyMeACoffee page weeks in advance. Supporters can read them for the price of a single cuppa joe. Cheers for reading!