Connor's tee shirt -- and nothing else

SHANE

“Morning!” she whispered, sidling up next to me at the sink and wetting her toothbrush.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy admiring how effortlessly hot she looked, standing there wearing Connor’s white cotton undershirt and nothing else. NOTHING. No bra, no pajamas, and—as I could plainly see when she leaned over the sink to spit out her mouthful of toothpaste—no underwear. Her shirt’s hemline slid up all the way to her hips, and the soft bare cheeks of her ass greeted me like the morning sun.

That shirt, which had been designed to fit a tall, muscular man, was nevertheless stretched to its absolute limit around Tracy’s enormous, juicy tits. The crisp morning chill had her thick pink nipples up at attention, and as she started brushing her teeth, the jerking motion sent her braless bosom swinging lewdly back and forth.

She wasn’t trying to look sexy—her hair was a catastrophic blonde bird’s nest and she was foaming at the mouth with toothpaste—but I was transfixed by the sight of her, nonetheless. When she’d finally rinsed, she turned and smiled, not in the least bit surprised to find me still staring at her.

Tracy’s eyes dipped south, where my erection had returned with such a force that it was actually pushing the waistband of my boxer-briefs out and away from my body.

“Is that an erection in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” I joked.

“Yeah, that’s what all guys say.”

Tracy reclined against the porcelain sink, still pointedly looking at my stiff cock. She whispered, “That was pretty hot last night, wasn’t it? Listening to each other, I mean. You guys really sounded like you were enjoying yourselves.”

“WE sounded like we were enjoying ourselves? You two kept at it until like six AM!”

She laughed, “I guess we had a lot of catching up to do. My thigh muscles are killing me, but it was totally worth it…”

The fingers she had been absent-mindedly twirling through her hair dropped down to teasingly caress the curve of her breast.

“Connor said you guys set this whole thing up just to get him and me back together?”

I nodded.

“So…” Tracy pointed up at the sprig of mistletoe I had sneakily hung from the bathroom light two days earlier. “That’s why there’s all this mistletoe everywhere? For Connor and me?”

I swallowed hard as she took a step towards me, grinning suggestively.

“That, uh, that was the general idea, yes,” I stammered. It was crazy that Tracy still had this effect on me. Three years of intimate friendship, and her smile still got me tongue-tied.

She placed a hand on my bare chest and leaned in to whisper, “You never stopped to consider what might happen if, say, you and I got caught half-naked beneath a sprig of this stuff? Not even once?”

“Oh, I considered it,” I grinned, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her closer. The weight of Tracy’s substantial breasts crushed against me, molding to the shape of my body. Those big green eyes gazed up into mine, twinkling with mischief.

“Good,” she said. Then she quickly pressed her marshmallow-soft lips to mine. Our kiss was brief and platonic, but it still lit a fire inside of my chest. When our lips broke apart, I was reluctant to let her go.

“Hey Tracy?” I whispered. “I really liked hearing you cry out my name last night.”

She blushed. “Me too,” she whispered. Then, after a moment’s consideration, she pressed her lips to my ear and quietly moaned, “Ooh, Shane…”

My heart was pounding. I pulled her in even closer, feeling my raging hard-on press firmly against her stomach.

“Oh yes! Oh, Shane,” she teased. “You mean like that?”

“Jesus, Tracy.”

She grinned at my obvious discomfort.

“Fuck me harder, Shane. Fuck me harder with that beautiful cock. Fuck me like we both always dreamed about…” she kept whimpering in my ear, teasing me to the point of madness.

Not even realizing what I was doing, I took my hands off of her waist and grabbed hold of her ass, squeezing those pliant globes through the fabric of her shirt. Tracy sucked in a gasp of air, surprised by my behavior, but she quickly followed suit and began groping away at my butt, too. She stopped moaning my name just long enough to swipe her tongue along the length of my neck.

The head of my cock was now peeking out above my underwear, and as I ground it against Tracy’s body I leaked a big dollop of precum across her shirt. I squeezed her ass even harder.

“I don’t think this is proper mistletoe behavior,” she whispered with a sigh.

I pulled away, looked into her eyes, and nodded, “Yeah, we should probably stop ourselves before we cross the line.”

But even as I said the words, I realized I no longer had any idea what they meant. What the hell was “the line,” anyway? After the previous two nights, it felt like the intimacy barriers between us all were collapsing left and right. Not 48 hours ago, my own wife had screwed around with my Tracy. And if that was okay, then why couldn’t Tracy and I…

Tracy swallowed. “Yeah, we should stop.”