Busy Hands 5 (Patreon)

“Ashley asked her boy if I could come along; he said yes, of course. Wouldn’t you let me come along?”

Denny’s face was as red as it could get without changing ethnicities. He breathed like he had a chicken bone in his throat. Jessica posed before him in black patent leather Mary Janes. White socks climbed up her calves; pink panties were above them. From the waist up she only wore a ribbon in her hair.

Her breasts were small but beautifully shaped, perfectly proportioned to her toned, slender chest. Her slight body was as trim as exercise could make it. Somehow, she looked exquisitely virginal, like a bride on her wedding night, at the peak of her femininity just as that womanliness was about to change forever.

“We were all, you know, young, so Mac bought three six-packs for us and we drove out into the boonies. We all sat in the front together, drinking and listening to the radio.”

Denny stared. Jessica seemed to wait for him to say anything, but there was nothing to say. Her body—and the sexually charged narrative she insisted on sharing—spoke for itself. She grasped the back of the chair and twisted her slender, sculpted body into First Position.

Denny watched as Jessica worked her way through all the classic positions of the ballerina, showing off her body as well as the supple grace she possessed. By the time she finished, Denny was gasping. Finally, he found his voice and recalled his line.

“You know, actresses need a different perspective on things that other people take for granted.”

“What things?”

Denny swallowed carefully. “Well, in most jobs, taking your clothes off would be very inappropriate. But as an actress, it’s all in a day’s work.

Jessica nodded. “I’m used to not wearing panties. They look funny if I wear them under my danskin. See?“

She matter-of-factly peeled down her pink panties. Leaving her body wearing only the black mary janes, the white socks, and the pink hair ribbon. Then she started through the ballet positions again.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” she said.

Denny begged to differ. It was so hard to breathe he felt like he had asthma. Jessica finished putting herself through her paces and then asked him, “Now is there anything else you want to see?”

There wasn’t. Denny didn’t want to see anything else for as long as he lived. But he had to say something. So, not trusting himself to speak, he made dissuading noises and gestured for Jessica to take a seat on the couch.

Still wearing only her footwear and her hair ribbon, Jessica sat down on the edge of the couch. After a moment, Denny sat down beside her. He didn’t get too close. A part of him worried that this was all some trick to lull him into a false sense of security—that after getting him nice and comfortable with her sexuality, Jessica would snap out of her vixen persona like a bear-trap clamping shut and play the victim for being on the receiving end of the response that she had elicited from him.

And yet, all the worry in the world couldn’t overcome the tantalizing prospect of being with her. Even having had her once wasn’t enough to sate his appetite. It just left Denny with a tangible reminder of how good it was to have her.

“I’m glad it doesn’t make a difference to you,” he said. “That shows me you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get this part. Isn’t that right? You want this part really bad?”

Timidly, trying at all times to keep to things he could play off as unintentional or innocent, Denny put a hand on Jessica’s bare thigh.

“I do want it,” Jessica purred. “It would really help my career; I’d appreciate that so much. I’m already so grateful that you’re letting me show you how much I want this role.”

She’d felt many men’s hands on her body over the years: twisting her this way and that, pressing her ass inward or making her push it out, having her suck in her belly. A hand on her leg was nothing new. And yet sitting naked with Denny felt so thrillingly wicked—far more exciting than a lot of much naughtier things she had done in her life.

Jessica wondered what it would feel like to do a few of those things with him. For him to be naked, like she was, and lying on top of her, and inside her little slot instead of just looking at it as furtively as he could. What if he were big and bold and actually fucking her, fucking her on camera, like she was a porn star instead of a serious actress?

“I know,” Denny said. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are. It’s an exacting profession, being an actress. You have to learn your lines, stay in shape… why don’t you lie down and rest a little? You deserve a break.”

Jessica thought about how it felt when she opened her legs nice and wide, wide enough for the lips of her vulva to spread and make her tiny clitoris rub against the seam that ran up the middle of her thighs. Tickling her like a warm giggle. Almost masturbating but not quite; a veneer of innocence. She wondered how innocent it looked.

“What do you deserve, Mr. Petersen?” Jessica asked. “You’re being so nice to me… you can give me the part, but I don’t know what I can give you.”

She swung her neat, athletic legs up onto the couch and laid down. Denny wanted, more than anything, to get on top of her like some primeval hunter lunging onto his prey to hold it down and be sure he would have his meal that day. But he wasn’t wrestling her into submission. He was making her feel good. He’d get far more out of a good feeling from her than he could ever get any other way. So he knelt on the floor beside the couch and gingerly kissed her smooth, hard-muscled stomach.

With his face buried in her gently rounded belly, Denny breathed in her scent, her sweet-smelling sweat, so quickly and so harshly that she feared he was having an attack. But he was too avidly nuzzling her to be warding off any internal distress. His nose ploughed gentle furrows up and down her soft, smooth tummy. Jessica giggled fondly. It was much nicer work than stretching herself into all sorts of pretzels at the exercise bar.

His hands caressed her, running softly up and down her toned thighs, memorizing the gentle contours of her exquisite breasts, pouty and delicate-seeming. His touch felt strange, frothy, running along the tender swelling that gathered in her areolas.

Jessica breathed hard, remembering now how some guys had touched her and gotten a pebbly stiffness out of her tiny nipples. She felt the same sort of fizzling tingle inside her belly as he kissed and mouthed the tiny slopes of her abdominal muscles. She had never felt anything quite like all this foreplay. It was nice—nice enough that she could wait for it to become the whorish thrill she lived for.

“Why don’t you tell me some more about you and Ashley having fun together?” Denny asked. “It’s really helping me get an idea of how comfortable you are with… certain scenes.”

Jessica didn’t answer. She laid back and allowed him to continue this experiment, doing whatever he wanted so long as it kept feeling this way. She closed her eyes and pretended it was her old dance instructor rubbing a cramp out of her knotted body.

But like hell it was. Miss Jackie had arms like a wrestler; she tore loose everything the ballet bar missed. Denny was soft and smooth and gentle as a dream… just what she would’ve loved to feel when she was bone-tired and corpse-stiff after hours of exercising or training or just fucking filming.

Even when she fell into bed, no mattress was as gentle as his hands on her body, his lips on her senses. She didn’t even care that it tickled—that the tickle became an inch deep between her legs. It felt nice to have a man’s warm lips up and down her belly, kissing the ache in her womb so that it became both better and worse.

She had to do something; she had to respond. So she told him more of her story, like it was a promise that he could do everything to her that she’d already experienced—and even more.

“Ashley and I were both wearing minidresses and I saw Mac put his hand underneath her skirt in the dark. It was really hot… even though I couldn’t see much, I kept looking there, because I knew what he was doing… right in front of me. And I could tell Ashley liked it. She put her beer down and… I don’t know… maybe she passed out or maybe she just pretended to be asleep so Mac could keep doing what he was doing and we couldn’t, you know, say anything about how nasty she was being.”

Denny wasn’t kissing back and forth now. Like Mac in her story, he was staying in place. Positioned at her belly button and moving only slowly, subtly, working his way up her midriff to where her breasts felt so swollen and throbbing. And his kissing, the way he worried at her bare skin, got more and more intense as he approached the bottom of her cleavage. And while he went that way, his hands were moving up her legs—up towards the prominence of her quivering mons.

Jessica sighed and let her eyes drift shut, wondering if this was how Ashley had felt… if it was always so nice to just lie back, naked, and be played with. Her mother had always warned her that men were beasts, but Denny wasn’t doing her any harm. He was certainly enjoying himself, but so was she.

And yet he was holding back. Withholding the fullness of the sensations that she felt the potential of. She wondered if what he wanted was for her to continue the story. Maybe if she got him turned on enough with her history lesson, then he would give her everything.

“Mac kissed Ashley’s neck and ran his hand up and down her thighs… my nipples got really hard… they felt so tight… I had to do something, but all I really wanted was for Mac to do things to me instead of Ashley. I certainly wasn’t going to play dead on him! So what I did was push my leg over so that as he felt out Ashley’s thighs, he would touch mine too…”