Sink It Into Michelle’s

“Whose it gonna be?”

Imogen, practically bouncing on her feet, asks the million dollar question. Who indeed?

Tatiana, to your right, gives you a harsh glare that sends a shiver down your spine. Nope, don’t want to fuck with that today, you think. Savannah, across the table, smiles cheerily at you; she knows that what you’re doing is out of her control now, and you’re tempted for a second to score on her, but…

Michelle stands to your left. Her straight dark hair falls down and frames the breathtaking slopes of her breasts, her piercing green eyes surprisingly magnetic—it even manages to pull your eyes away from the dark turquoise of her bra, which itself had captured your attention for far longer than was strictly polite… she’s technically your colleague now, but damn, you know that you want this girl.

“I’m coming for you, Michelle,” you say, tossing the ball up and down in your palm.

“You can try,” she shrugs, aloof. “But it’s not happening.”

“There’s no way he makes it,” you hear Desmond say, and you’re tempted to retort, but Concentrate, Alex, and get this ball in Michelle’s fucking cup!

You line up the shot in your mind and let out a low breath. Everyone else has landed at least one ball in. It’s about time you did too. You’ve had plenty of time to watch and learn, to practice, remember how Tatiana flicks her wrist each time, wets the ball in the cup first? You play the shot over in your mind.

“You gonna shoot already?”

Anthony, boisterous as always. You ignore him. Everything around you, it’s all a distraction.

No thoughts. Clear mind. Nothing but the game.

You throw the ball.

It soars through the air.

Michelle, in shock, staggers back a step as the unthinkable happens.

The ball flies true. It sploshes into the cup, splattering beer across the table. The small ping pong ball bobs in the cup, a cheeky little thing, all things considered.

“Told you I’d nail it,” you crow in delight.

“You’ve got to strip nowww,” Anthony slurs, placing a heavy hand on Michelle’s shoulder.

She glares at him, folding her arms over her chest.

“No.”

“C’mon Michelle, this is the point of the game!” Matthew cajoles. “There’s going to be three of you girls topless by the end of this game anyhow, may as well get it over with now.”

You only catch the barest hint of Michelle’s head-shake as she hears his words. Her face remains stern, quiet, angry…

“Strip! Strip! Strip!” Anthony suddenly begins to chant, and the crowd around you watching the game joins in: “Strip! Strip! Strip! … STRIP! STRIP! STRIP!”

It’s a thunderous noise, a thousand horny men and women eager for a front row seat to Michelle’s delectable tits, but you refrain from joining in. Something about this feels… wrong.

The chant grows louder, and Michelle succumbs to the pressure, reluctantly taking her hands away from her chest. She reaches behind herself, and with a quick motion, takes off her bra.

There, exposed for the world to see, are Michelle’s glorious tits. You could lose yourself in those twin beauties, full and round, her nipples like the bright tips of… wait, she’s covered up herself with her arms again.

There’s a collective groan from those standing around Michelle. She gives them a wide glare, swivelling her head slowly to make sure that none of them stand unscathed. That silences them.

“We have a game to finish, don’t we,” she says.

With one hand still covering her breasts, she uses the other one to pick up her last cup. She fishes out the ball and throws the drink back down her throat; she’s done chugging in an instant, and she crushes the cup beneath her hands and tosses it to the side.

“Your turn,” Michelle says, rolling the ball over to Savannah.

Savannah, a little wide-eyed, hurriedly picks it up. She takes a second to breath, and looks to Tatiana.

“Oh no, you aren’t putting me down next,” Tatiana says, shaking her head. “Miss, and I’m going to end your whole career.”

“It’s Desmond who shoots next,” Savannah laughs, and she tosses the ball at them.

It lands in the cup, and Tatiana sticks the finger to Savannah, but she unhooks her black bra with one hand and pulls it away with a flourish. It drops to the ground, fluttering away from her hand, and there, in all its glory, for all the world to see, Tatiana’s lovely tits.

This draws another roar of approval for the crowd, the people loving the two nubile bodies on display now.

“Done gawking?” Tatiana asks after a minute or two of guys cat-calling and wolf-whistling.

“It’s about time we ended this game,” Imogen says. She has the ball now, and it’s time for your partner to shoot.

There’s only one target left, and Savannah’s doing her best to not look too nervous; the way she bites her lip gives her away, though.

Imogen shoots the ball, and the crowd erupts as it lands into the cup.

“WE HAVE A WINNNERRR!!!” Anthony screams aloud, just as Matthew elbows Savannah, saying: “Hey, you got to strip too!”

Savannah unhooks her white bra in one smooth motion, letting her tits drop down with a bounce that would make a castle envious. Her bra drops to the ground, fluttering away from her hand, and on full display for the world to see now are Savannah’s beautiful, bounteous tits.

Anthony lets out a low whoop at the sight, and the guys go crazy again, hands raving through the air, chanting “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

“Y’all are such perverts,” Savannah giggles, and she hooks a hand around her panties, about to drop them, before she shakes her head. “But this wasn’t in the rules.”

“Get fucked, you losers,” Imogen yells, laughing as she finishes her last cup on the table. Seemingly from nowhere, two guys emerge to lift her high into the air, and then you feel two sets of arms hooking around your shoulders, and all of a sudden you’re airborne too.

The crowd is cheering, going loud and wild, but strangely, as you’re up in the air, surrounded by all these topless girls, your attention is drawn to Michelle and Michelle only. She’s still got her hands crossed over her chest, though it doesn’t do too much to hide her large assets.

The flat look she gives you feels like a reflection of the hollowness you’re feeling then. Something’s not right. As you’re lowered to the ground, Anthony clapping you on the back and offering a heartfelt and noisy congratulations, you push past him, giving him a quick “Thanks,” and come face to face with Michelle.

She looks at you for a beat. All around you, people are screaming, slapping you on the back, making lewd comments at Michelle. Even for your mostly sober self, it’s a little overwhelming.

“Do you want to talk?”

You ask the question quietly, and so when she spends a second staring at you with her dark green eyes, you wonder if maybe she didn’t hear you. But then, she nods, her head dipping ever so slightly.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, and she nods again; the two of you slip away amidst the rowdiness, you leading the way and pushing aside drunks of all kinds until you find yourself in a small corridor.

“We can use this room,” Michelle says, nodding at a door on the side. She shoves it open with a hard push, and the two of you slip in.

The room itself is fairly plain—two couches and a couple pillows. It looks like some sort of sitting room, and Michelle plops down onto one of the couches. She sighs, letting her arms dangle, and you realise with a start that she’s exposed herself to you.

“What’s up?” you ask, looking at her with concern—making sure that you’re looking her in the eyes, despite the fact that there are two beautiful… No, best not to even begin that train of thought.

“I’m what’s up,” she says, sounding frustrated. “I’m the problem.”

She runs a hand through her hair as you try to process what she’s saying, but it doesn’t quite click.

“The problem? What do you mean?” You try to keep your tone soft, realising from the hoarse edge to her voice that you need to treat this delicately.

“Everyone else did it fine,” Michelle says. “They could prance around topless, happy and sexy and… and comfortable. I don’t…” Her breath catches, and she runs another nervous hand through her hair. “I’m not like them.”

It takes you a moment to take that in. Oh. You shift next to her on the couch, the warmth of her body radiating onto yours.

“Nobody’s said you have to be,” you say.

“But I killed the mood. Everyone was having so much fun, and then I… I don’t know…” She seems lost as her voice drifts quietly off.

“But we played on, and I think everyone had a good time,” you say, trying to be reassuring.

“It’s just…” She struggles for a moment to find the right words. “It would have been better if I could have been like them.”

“Nobody’s telling you to be like them,” you say. “I mean, I know it’s trite, but… honest to God, Michelle, you can be yourself. I’ve only met you once or twice before—I guess we’ll be seeing each other around in lab now—but I like the person that I’ve seen. I like the person you are. Seriously.”

Michelle laughs. It’s sort of a comforting sight, except for the fact that the laugh sounds bitter.

“It’s not that, Alex,” she says. “Of course I know I can be myself, and of course I’m happy to be myself, that’s why I don’t always fit in with my sisters.” That’s sort of news to you, but you nod, telling her to continue. She remains quiet for a moment, and then she hesitates, leaning closer to you. “Can… can I?”

Is that nervousness you hear? It’s the last thing you would have expected, coming from somebody like Michelle. She always seems so cool, so above it…

“Can I…?” you echo her, not sure of what she’s wanting at the moment.

“Uh… head… chest…” She looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Um… yeah, ‘course,” you say. “You didn’t have to ask.”

As you’re speaking, she slumps against you, resting her head against your bare chest. It feels good, and then you feel one of her hands up against waist, holding on for dear life. A quiet movement wracks across her body, and you realise then that she’s crying.

“See…” she says, sniffling. “This is the problem.”

“Is this not good?” you ask, realising all with a start that you have been stroking her hair. You pull your hand away.

“No, no, that felt nice,” she says, looking back up at you. She’s blinking away tears. “The problem… the problem is guys.”

“Yeah, we suck,” you say, though really, this accusation feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. One thing at a time though, Alex, you’ve got a crying girl on your hands.

“No, fuck I can’t talk today, my problem is guys,” she says. “I can’t… I don’t know… it’s scary to be close to them.”

“You mean being intimate?” You’re back to stroking her hair, and you chance moving a thumb down to her cheek to brush away a stray tear.

“I want to be, it’s what I want,” she says, and then in a small voice: “It’s just hard, sometimes.”

“It can be scary,” you say, and she nods into your chest. “But nobody’s making you go faster than you want.” You feel her freeze a little. “You know, just find someone who… who is willing to take it slow, too.”

“Mmm…” she says, looking up at you.

You see a question playing around the edges of her mouth. She’s got that nervous look about her again, but then she turns her head away again. You feel her slump a little more. A low sigh escapes from her mouth.

“Not to presume, but…” Shit. Here goes nothing. “But were you about to ask me to do that?”

Her freeze this time is much more pronounced, her hand on your waist going stark rigid, body locking up. Oh fuck… this can’t be good…

“Uh… yeah, kinda,” she says in a pitch so high it almost comes out as a squeak.

“So um… yeah, we can do that,” you say, a massive relief washing over you.

You pull her closer into you. She presses her head a little harder into your chest, and you think to yourself, how am I supposed to go from here?

After a moment, she looks up at you again. She’s no longer crying, and in the faint light of the room, the green of her eyes is enchanting. You lean down, and she slowly sits up, eyes flitting from spot to spot on your face, and then all of a sudden, she’s kissing you.

It’s mad, and it’s passionate, her tongue curling into yours all of a sudden—_this it taking it slow?!—but you play along, kissing her back, falling into the softness of her lips, the dark way her mouth moves against yours stirring feelings downstairs…. you wonder if she feels your hardening crotch as she shifts on your lap, taking only a second to grasp for air before she kisses you again and again, hard pecks this time around, as if she’s convincing herself that this is what she really wants.

“You good?” you say, as she spend a second panting, gathering her breath again.

“Kissing’s always been fine,” she says, the sad hint of a smile playing around her lips. “It’s just…” She looks down at her naked chest, and you follow her line sight, savouring the vision of her breasts before you.

“What comes next?”

“Everything that comes next,” she says.

“I don’t want to push you,” you begin, but she shakes her head.

“Touch me?” she says. “Please? But not… not down there,” she quickly amends, “but my tits?”

“I can do that,” you say, slowly bringing your hands up to her shoulders.

You can feel her tense up as your hands slide downwards, but she doesn’t say anything, only watching you with wide eyes. Your right hand slowly shifts down and cups a breast, your palm not even close to covering it. God, she’s got big tits, and you can’t resist squeezing. The pressure makes her gasp, and she shifts on your lap again, her ass rubbing against your cock, and you’re reminded briefly that she’s only got a thong on, the thin material and your boxers the only thing separating you…

But she said to go slowly.

The look in her eyes almost went white in fear as she felt you shifting your hips in response to her movements, and you get a grip on yourself, keeping yourself firmly seated. Breasts first. Don’t even think about later. Your left hand comes down and cups her other tit, and you give it a gentle squeeze too; another gasp, but it’s more clearly one of pleasure now.

Your hand motions upwards, flicking across the nipple; it’s been hardening all the while and stands eraser-like now, and you caress the slope of her breast, feeling its smoothness, how perfectly soft… your other hand moves to the nipple too now, giving it the lightest pinch; yet another gasp, her eyes squeezed shut.

You pinch harder. She yelps, and then she rolls off you and sits on the other couch, facing you. She’s panting fast, a wild, distant look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” You’re not really sure as to what you should even say.

“God I’m such a fuckup,” Michelle says, burying her head in her hands.

Oh. You’re in the clear. Phew. Big relief.

Wait. No. You’re just as responsible for this shit happening as she is. You can’t let her keep blaming herself—that would be wrong.

“I should have asked,” you apologise. “That wasn’t…”

“Yeah. You should’ve,” she snaps, and then, taken aback by herself, she shakes her head. “No, I should’ve told you, I shouldn’t have just… I don’t know…” She sits in silence for another second. “I think maybe we’re done for the day.”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing. “Yeah. Here, um… let me go out and get you your clothes.”

“Thanks,” she says, and you head out the room, sparing her one last glance.

---

The rest of the night goes on feeling a little strange. You wind up getting way more drunk than you strictly should, dancing away the hours at the party, but perhaps unsurprisingly, Michelle’s nowhere to be found anymore. You ask around whenever you see one of the other Theta girls, but most of them shrug under the loudness of the music, saying ‘She must be somewhere.’

It’s only when you find Savannah shimmying up next to some other girl that you get your answer from her—apparently, she saw Michelle heading back into her room shortly after you gave her your clothes. That reassures you, at least.

At some point that night, you can’t quite remember when, to be honest, you end up stumbling home, alone.

Michelle +20