No Bra

I shook Emma awake. She took one look at my angry face out of her sleepy eyes and knew I was in a foul mood.


She had a sixth sense, knowing not to talk when I was like this. I waited for her impatiently while she showered and got ready.

I watched her get dressed. She looked hot in a black miniskirt with black tights and black, knee-high boots. Her ass was barely covered. She then pulled on a tight, snow-white sweater that hugged her curves like a second skin over her bare, smooth tits with no bra. I could clearly see her perky, round boobs and her dark, berry-hard nipples poking through the fabric.

“You need a bra. You can’t go out like that,” I ordered furiously.

“I don’t want to wear a bra. I hate bras,” she spurred dismissively and defiantly.

“Change into something decent. You look like a slut.” I knew I was degrading her, but I couldn’t help it. Anyone who saw her would want to fuck her.

“This is my last clean outfit. I’m not changing.” She grabbed her leather jacket and purse and strutted out of the room, swaying her round ass.

I slammed my fist into the wall, smashing a big hole in the drywall. Fuck! I didn’t mean to do that. She’s making me insane.

We ate breakfast at the hotel, took a sightseeing cruise down the River Thames, and rode the London Eye twice, all without speaking a word to each other. I was afraid to speak, or I would regret it for the rest of life.

Emma was constantly eyeing me out of the corner of her eye, keenly aware that she should not speak unless spoken to. I noticed a few horny guys checking her out. I saw their eyes wandering from her ass to her boobs. She might as well have been naked the way they were stripping her with their hungry eyes. That made me even more enraged.


From Thousand-year-Old Dream: The One

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