Don't stare

The way she's sitting, it's impossible to not look up her shorts or down her shirt. Even though she's one of your best friends, you start to feel your cock rise along your shorts leg. There is an incredible amount of bare skin showing up the leg of her short shorts. She's either not wearing panties, or what she's wearing isn't even legally a thong.

The car behind you honks, and Mel smirks at you.

"You fucking letch!" She mocks, laughing as she adjusts again. It's becoming increasingly obvious that she's not just trying to get comfortable, and she's definitely not trying to cover back up. If anything, her shirt is pulled tighter across her chest now. Feeling the blush burn around your ears and down your neck, you duck a little in your seat and pull ahead into traffic.

"Lesson one," Mel repeats before you can start to apologize. You were going to, you wanted to, but your cock has other intentions and started tenting up along the top of your thigh. "Don't stare. Women don't like to be stared at. Creep." She says it so softly and calmly and seriously, just as she adjusts to expose ever more skin.

"But... I'm... You know... Like, you work hard on your body. You should like to show it off." You say, trying to justify your creeping. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"God, that's so fucking lame." She sighs. "I mean, I get it, but I don't dress this way to make your cock rise. I dress this way because I like the way it makes me feel. Except when creepy motherfuckers stare at my cooch or at my tits." And boy, are you staring like a creepy motherfucker. Her shirt is seriously putting those tits on display, and she's plainly wearing something with straps under her thin shirt, but it looks less like a bra and more like a camisole with a little built-in support. It would make sense given how hot it is, but it's basically just serving to frame largely base tits while encasing them in silk-thin fabric...

And that's not even what's really caught your eye...

"You, uh, you shave..." You stammer.

"Quit. Fucking. Staring." She carefully enunciates each sound clearly. It doesn't sound like she's upset, but you think it's best to follow her order.

"It's not like you don't stare," You say, coming to your senses and trying to focus on the road. Trying and failing, but still trying. You don't think you'll ever get the image of your best friend's pussy out of your mind. You hope you never do. The thin split of pink surrounded by all that taught, tan skin... The way her mound bulges up very slightly from the floor of her pelvis to between her legs... The way the tendons bridge from her crotch to the strong muscles in her thigh...

"See, isn't that better?" She smiles. "You're still seeing, but you're remembering, not staring like a fucking creep. I like that you're thinking about that, I like that I've got you distracted. It's good to know that you think about me, and that you do it without staring at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"But, I'm, um, thinking and, you know... reacting..." You nod down to your crotch. "I still feel like I'm being creepy here..."

"No, you're enjoying a memory. I wouldn't have shown you and you wouldn't have that memory to enjoy if I didn't want you to enjoy it..."

"You wanted me to..." You swallow, hard. Your cock throbs harder. It occurs to you that she's dodged your question. "Seriously though," You croak out. Your mouth has gone so dry... "It's not like you don't look."