Idle Fantasies: Center Of Attention

Spencer Bradley walked into the studio looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. Doctorate in her pocket, chair at the conference waiting, zero interest in her reflection. Penny Barber took one look and knew the rest of the afternoon belonged to her. She stayed professional long enough to get the tape measure around Spencer's hips. Nothing flashy, Spencer insisted, just something that wouldn't draw eyes. Penny smiled, the private kind, and kept the needle moving. Jacket off. Blouse open. Skirt sliding down. Each request came easier than the last. Spencer shivered but let it happen. Fingers brushed ribs, then lingered under the band of her bra. No accident. Penny's breath warmed the nape of Spencer's neck while she noted bust, waist, the faint jump of her pulse. She told Spencer a woman like her should own the room tonight, not hide in it. Spencer tried to answer, lost the thought when Penny traced the swell of one breast and didn't pull away. Encouragement turned to command. Be honest, Penny said; you've earned every stare. Then her tongue followed the same trail her fingers had taken. Spencer tasted copper and need when their mouths met. Hands cupping, squeezing, trading heat. Penny dropped to her knees, parted Spencer's thighs, and the shy scientist stopped thinking about fabric or rules. She stopped thinking altogether. Afterward, strap heavy in Penny's fist, harness already snug, Spencer climbed onto the fitting table without asking. There was no going back to the woman who didn't want attention. Only forward into the next sharp, slick thrust that proved the room was hers for the taking.