S u b t l e t i e s

Part 1

Copyrighted 2008 by Lieza Kominski and Deni Wom
Bdsm art by Samarel

Damn girl, you be lookin fine!” Moesha declared as she stared at her long time best friend. “You never been lookin this sexy befoe since I known you girl! Whas up with that?”

Suddenly Mollie looked like she was going to break into tears. Moesha instantly lost her fun loving grin and rushed to hold her best-friend-for-life. Moesha cradled Mollie like a mother cradles a sobbing child. For Moesha it was suddenly clear exactly what had happened. She lovingly murmured in Mollie’s ear, “Sorry honey, I’m so sorry! The Mosh will help ya get it back togetha, awright? He was a ass anyways!” Moisha gently, lovingly cradled Mollie, rocking her back and forth as Mollie’s sobs shook her whole body.

“OOhhhhhhhhhhhhh Mo, he told me I was . . . I was . . . . a bitch, and . . . and . . a . . . . a . .. . prick tease, and . . . . . .and . . . . irreversibly uncontrollably inhibited!” Heartbroken, Mollie continued to sob uncontrollably.

“Now, now baby, just go ahead an cry honey. Mo’s got ya honey. Jus go ahead an cry.”

A week later.

Mo grinned proudly at Mollie as Mollie twirled around in her brand-new and somewhat revealing outfit. “You sho do look fine ta-NIGHT hon! Sexy as hell fo sure! Wait till my friends sees your fine bod ta-night! Two more buttons undoned and you are perfect hon!” Moesha unbuttoned two of Mollie’s buttons and then grinned as Mollie’s creamy orbs suddenly sprouted delectable cleavage. “Come-on Moll doll, les go make up for some loss time!”

They both hurried out of their shared apartment and hopped into the taxi that would carry them to their awaiting destiny.

“Hey girl, ya wanna dance? Come on sweet thang, les go dance for awhile!”

‘He’s certainly dark an handsome, but not real tall,’ thought Mollie as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. She quickly sensed his vicarious enjoyment of looking down her loosely buttoned blouse. She felt her braless nipples swell as his fond stare warmed her skin. The virile young man was all the dancer she had hoped for as he politely courted her during dance after dance.

As the strains of the last song of the night filled the dance hall, he pulled her to him and whispered into her ear “Would you like to go to the after-hours dance club with me and ma friends?”

Mollie replied that she would love to go but would have to check with her girlfriend to see if SHE had the time. He nodded his understanding, then asked her to get back with him before too long so they could get a good seat at the after-hours club. He explained it was very popular with his homeys.

“Mo, he wans me ta go to the After-Hours Dance Club with him. Whadaya think? Do ya wanna to go with? I’m NOT goin less YOU go!”

“Sure, I’ll go with ya babe! I heard thas a really nice club, and we-all can dance really dirty if we wanna!” Mo grinned her gorgeous wide cheeky grin, her eyes filled with scheming design.

The two women and three young men shared a taxi to the after-hours club. Mo paired up with one of her new male friends in the front seat and Mollie sat between the two other men in the back seat, sitting closer to the young man she had danced with most of the evening. After Mo eagerly started kissing the man next to her in the front seat, Mollies new friend slipped his arm around her. Soon thereafter Mollie got her first kiss, from a man other than her EX-boyfriend, in the back seat of smelly taxi.

Afterward. Mollie sat there, her lips still tingling, watching Mo obviously letting the stranger in the front seat enjoy her breasts. Mo’s wide grin was proof that she was enjoying it as much as the young man was. Taking a deep breath, Mollie took her own natural fear of men firmly in hand and tried to relax under his arm. It felt awkward to her, but she persevered, even putting her hand on the top of his thigh as the taxi slipped across the post midnight city. She felt very proud of herself for so far dealing with her natural fear of potentially sexual situations.

The after-hours club was down an alley and through a garden gate. Mo and Mollie giggled nervously at each other as they followed the young men through unfamiliar territory. Luckily, they did arrive in time to get one of the front row tables. There were five chairs, so their little clique was soon seated with an unrestricted view of the dance floor.

Unlike the previous club, the patrons were allowed to smoke. Mollie noticed many of the people there were smoking some roll-your-own cigarettes, as though it were the style. The funny looking rumpled cigarettes smelled putrid to her unaccustomed nose. The smoke filled room soon looked like the dance halls Mollie had seen in many old movies set in the depression era, or during war times, with swirls of smoke shrouding the bare light bulbs.

There were also a bunch of older men, some seeming to be as old as their sixties or seventies. As more and more people arrived at the after-hours club, Mollie could see that there were a lot of men, but not as many women. She began to ask herself what she was doing here at this time of night. Her little inner voice told her to get out of there and go home where she belonged. Her mother’s voice admonishing her that “Nothing good happens after midnight” kept clanging through her head.

Mollie saw that a band was setting up, busily preparing for some early morning hours music. She noticed that the band was composed of older men and a middle aged woman. And most of the band members were black people. Intrigued, Mollie wondered what sort of music they would play. Several of them looked at her from time to time as she sat there fidgeting, smoothing her dress over and over as she waited, trying her best not to dread finding out how the rest of her evening would transpire.

Mollie was out of her element, but that didn’t take much, she reminded herself. She repeatedly reminded herself that she was NO LONGER . . . . and never again would be . . . a little inhibited prick teaser bitch. Regaining her resolve, she unbuttoned one more button on her blouse to expose even more of her unfettered cleavage. She pulled her shoulders back, her breasts thereby rising in their delectably firm, creamy splendor, and took an uncharacteristic satisfaction at how most of the band members, and many of the men at surrounding tables, started looking at her. It was now obvious to everyone looking that she had no bra on.

But her determination remained steadfast. She was no longer going to be what her ex-boyfriend had accused her of. To reassure herself, she looked down for about the fiftieth time at her daringly exposed cleavage. Yes, she reminded herself, her breasts WERE wonderful, as good as any of those women in those men’s magazines her boyfriend would always leave open to the foldout page in his filthy bathroom.

Mo detected her girlfriend beginning to look uncertain again, so she whispered to her, “Mollie, ya look fanastic! Relax babe! It’s all going to be nothin but fun tonight babe! Mollie, honey, that sexy blouse is fantastic! All the men are enjoying your pretty casabas babe! Keep it up! I’m proud a ya!”

Mollie smiled gratefully at Mo, and pulled her shoulders back even further, her back perfectly straight and proud. Mo’s eyes caressed Mollies seductive cleavage, smiling a secret smile Mollie had not seen before. Mo’s tongue flicked across her own sensuous upper lip before she looked away, still smiling that enigmatic smile.

Just then a handsome well-dressed older man walked up to their table and, standing tall and straight, seeming incredibly proud, looked Mollie directly in the eye. “Young lady, you look like you are a good dancer! Would you please allow me the honor of your first dance in this club?”

Mo furtively pushed Mollie off her chair and toward the older man.

Mollie felt her heart stop as she stood, and blushing, took the older man’s hand. He had to be twice her age! His hands was strong, his grip almost possessive. He seemed tall enough to be a basketball player. Without preamble, he lead her directly onto the dance floor. Once there, he looked straight at the head of the band and nodded. The band instantly started a sultry Tango.

The older man, who was a whole lot taller than Mollie’s five foot seven inch body, assumed his square shouldered dance frame and then guided them on a whirling, pompously accurate Tango that soon had Mollie breathing hard trying to keep up. ‘My goodness this IS fun,’ thought Mollie. The man kept her body tight to his as he firmly, possessively, guided her through her moves and steps. Within a few moments, Mollie was matching his poise and stature, smiling giddily up at him.

Mollie slowly became aware of just how large the man’s hands were as he sternly guided her, his palm covering most of the small of her back. She could feel his thumb on one side of her waist, and his fingers on the other.

At the end of the Tango, the band transitioned directly into a bluesy, slow dance. Since there was no halt in the music, she found herself still the tall man’s partner, but now dancing very closely, her hips pressed directly onto his upper thigh, her upper body possessively held by his still properly rigid dance frame.

She looked up to see that he was not really paying attention to her so much as he was nodding and smiling at various other guests as they all danced in a huge counterclockwise swirl around the floor. Mollie was embarrassed when she realized that she felt slightly cheated when she did not see him trying to see down her blouse.

Every time Mollie was danced past the table where Mo remained seated, Moesha’s excited face would grin at her big time, obviously proud of how well her best friend was doing on her first date out after her heartbreaking breakup with her childhood sweetheart.

The next song was a Samba, and also did not have a break in the music. As she continued to dance with the tall handsome man, Mollie finally began to relax, and enjoy what was happening.

Five unbroken, strung-together songs later, the tall man looked down at his obviously entranced dance partner and smiled graciously at her. His smile was filled cheek to cheek with gorgeously white, perfect teeth. “And may I say, young lady, you are a MARvelous dancer! I am very proud to be your partner this evening! May I buy you a drink at my table?” Without missing a beat he danced them right to his table. The table was obviously the largest one around the floor, and slightly raised above the others by a change in floor height. There were several older people seated there, but also a number of younger people about Mollie’s age. The men all seemed particularly tall.

Mollie glanced over at Mo only to see Mo grinning at her big time with an enthusiastic “two thumbs up” showing.

The tall man smiled at Mollie and asked if she would like for her friend to join them at his table. Wide eyed, Mollie nodded excitedly and motioned Mo over toward her. Mo wasted no time in changing tables.

The three young men they had arrived with copped an obvious tude and left the club.

The tall man smiled graciously at Mo and introduced himself as Johnson. Mo and Johnson shook hands, their eyes meeting in tacit mute recognition of their mutual concern. Mo then formally introduced Mollie to Johnson. Johnson shook Mollie’s hand gently, yet possessively, using both hands. It was as though he cradled her smaller hand like a precious heirloom. His comment to Mo was that Mollie was a wonderfully seductive young lady, and that he was proud to have her at his table. Mo giggled as she glanced at Mollies splendid enviable cleavage.

“And what will my gorgeous guests be drinking tonight?” Johnson asked both women. He snapped his fingers and instantly a waiter appeared and took their slightly nervous order. Johnson directed the waiter to keep the two young lady’s glasses full at all times, whatever they wanted to drink. Mollie and Mo winked at each other to confirm their own sense of having been invited to “the right table”. Their mischievous, conspiratorial grins made them both feel like comrades in an elaborate spy novel.

Over the next few dance sets, Mollie noticed that the staff would often confer with Johnson between dances, as if he was their boss. Mo leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the man she was sitting next to. The man smiled and then whispered something back into Mo’s ear, putting his arm around her on the back of her chair as he did so.

Mo leaned over to Mollie and whispered excitedly, “Johnson OWN$ this here place! An he’s got BUCK$!”

Mollie felt her face blush bright red. Again she straightened her back, pulling her shoulders back. Someone muttered “God damn, what a fucking rack!”

A few hours later, Mo and Mollie were feeling wonderfully loose, giggly, and relaxed. The putrid smelling smoke no longer seemed to bother them. And the alcohol they had consumed left them feeling light and airy and footloose. Many of the other guests had left when Johnson asked Mo and Mollie to join him in the “inner room” to view his art collection. Having no idea about what that might mean, but willing to experience all that Johnson’s wealth had to offer them this evening, they agreed.

Johnson put his arms around the backs of his two young consorts and guided them through a doorway and down a hallway to another large room which looked suspiciously like someone’s well appointed, extravagantly expensive living room. Bronze statues of couples in delightfully naughty poses were sprinkled around the room. On the walls were many art pieces that looked like slightly surreal women in risqué poses. Some were tied in ways to hold heir bodies in certain positions. All of the women’s faces were smiling, or seemed perhaps in the throws of passion. Many of them were partially unclothed, some even totally naked other than their bonds.

Mo was intrigued, and lead Mollie by her hand around the room as she stared unabashedly at the art work.

“Mo, what is this stuff about?” Mollie asked in a whisper.

“BDSM,” Mo answered.

“What’s that?” Mollie responded to the baffling answer.

Mo looked at her best friend and whispered, “Many women like to be under the control of their men, and the ropes and ties turn them on, so the man can do whatever he wants to with the women. BDSM is a lifestyle where Dominant people control submissive people.”

Mollie could feel an unfamiliar stirring in her lower tummy as she looked at the various art pieces, trying to interpret what was happening to the women. She tried to be circumspect about her growing curiosity, but knew she was not being entirely successful in hiding her obvious interest.

Johnson’s soft voice close behind her startled her, “Do you like my artwork, little one?” His voice was melodious and gentle. “Most of these pieces are done by an Israeli artist who goes by the name of Samarel. Isn’t he fantastic at capturing the essence of the moment depicted?”

Molly did not turn to look at Johnson’s face as she nodded her agreement. Johnson put his hands on her hips, his long strong fingers circling her waist. “You are a most beautiful woman, Mollie. I would love to see Samarel do his interpretation of your body.”

Flushing, Molly felt a distinct and concerted yet unfamiliar flutter in her tummy. The growing moisture in her private part was becoming obvious to her. Mollie had never felt any of these sensations before.

Johnson nuzzled her ear as he whispered. “I want you, little one.” Mollie could feel his hips pressing possessively against her backside. There seemed to be a something firm in his pocket as he pressed himself against her.

Mollie felt as though she was having trouble getting enough air into her lungs.

Johnson lovingly watched as her mostly exposed cleavage rose and fell with her heavy breathing. “You are without doubt the most gorgeous woman I have had in my life time, little one. I find myself wanting to show you everything I have learned about making women happy.” He lightly kissed her ear and then nibbled at the nape of her neck. He took encouragement from Mollie’s slight gasp.

Johnson’s huge hand slid around to press against Mollies flat stomach. The tip of his finger was only a scant distance from her loins, Mollie realized, but she did not want him to stop his magical caresses. Languidly she pressed her head back onto his muscular chest.

Mollie closed her eyes as Johnson’s other hand slid up to cup her plush plumpness. She could feel the skin of his thumb where her buttons had exposed her to his gaze.

Mollie heard herself moan.

Johnson began to take slow, but increasingly firm liberties with Mollie’s aroused perfect body. She felt his lips nibbling on her shoulder, his hands caressing her breasts, first outside her clothing, but then soon inside her filmy blouse. His thumbs caressed her nipples ever so lightly as they passed over them. She felt her nipples react, swell, now standing erect as though proud of their attractiveness.

Then his other strong possessive hand slowly descended further to cup her ever so gently below. Mollie could no longer stifle her moans. She heard herself whimper softly as his finger lightly traced her sweet cleft.

Her hips involuntarily pressed forward against his fingers. Mollie opened her eyes slightly. In front of her was an erotic piece of art showing an nude Asian woman suspended from the ceiling, her chest facing down, her elgs tied wide open, her mouth engorged by a man’s rampant erection, even as a large steel hook seemed to be supporting her perfectly formed bum.

Mollie felt a sudden gushing in her loins as her hips began to shudder. “OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!” she moaned. “OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!”

As Johnson supported her, her cleft began to shudder inside. She could feel her aching body gush wetness into her panties, into his hand, run down her legs, and pool at her feet. Her face appeared a mask of pain, belying the utter ecstasy she was feeling for the first time in her life.