Stress Relief
by SweeTV

******

People deal with stress in many different ways. Some flirt with danger;
some find better living through chemicals; some find yet other outlets.
My most effective stress relief comes from the adrenaline rush of being
Noreen -- my tarty TV persona.

An admirer of Noreen's once described her as "jailbait with a cock."
I'm five-foot-three, and a small-boned one-hundred-ten pounds, with
long dancer's legs, always immaculately hairless; a svelte,
small-shouldered torso, which I also depilate regularly; and a ripe,
feminine ass that Noreen loves to show off. I have soft Asian-doll
features, to which I can apply flawless makeup with a skill born of
long practice.

I got home from work about 10 o'clock one midweek evening in the early
summer. I was tired from two weeks of late nights and weekends at work,
and anxious about my impending project deadline. But I was also filled
with the kind of restless energy that sets Noreen roaming. I
contemplated the possibilities as I daydreamed in the shower. I toweled
off, slicked a light moisturizer all over my baby-smooth skin, and went
to my bedroom to outfit myself for adventure.

>From my lingerie drawer, I withdrew a wispy golden length of
transparent gossamer -- a catsuit with a spaghetti-strap top. I drew it
carefully up my coltish legs, tucked my boy-clit firmly into the suit's
sheer crotch as I wriggled it over my hips, and smoothed it up the
subtle curves of my torso. I slipped the spaghetti straps onto my small
shoulders, and admired the view in the mirror. The catsuit was a honey
glaze airbrushed to my skin; every cleft, dimple, and curve of my
heart-shaped ass was deftly accented, and my oversized aureolas, like
double-sized Hershey's Kisses, were spots of melting chocolate in the
silken mesh. A subtle tracery of roses climbed my thighs and hips,
while my trim bush played peek-a-boo through a strategically placed
blossom. I kept glancing at my pussy-rose as I sat at my makeup mirror.

To contrast the sluttiness of my outfit, my makeup was fresh and light:
a light, matte foundation, clear mascara on my long lashes, subtle
eyeliner, peach lipstick, and just a touch of blush. I angled long,
full bangs across my forehead, and wove the rest of my hair into a long
ponytail hairpiece that spilled from the top of the back of my head and
halfway down my back. My attention kept straying to the gamine,
doe-eyed girl who now appeared in my mirror as I continued my
preparations.

I slipped on a pair of brown suede three-inch pumps, then wrapped a
dark brown linen sarong around me, fastening it to one hip. Except for
the loose knot, I was almost completely exposed on that side, and the
brief skirt barely covered my ass. Fingerless gloves, made of the same
sheer honey-gold as the catsuit, covered my willowy arms to the elbows.

Feeling especially naughty, I left my Hershey's Kisses nipples covered
only by the catsuit's sheer nylon. The stretchy, shimmering fabric
gently mashed my pubescent breasts, keeping my straining nipples
perpetually stimulated. I pinned on a pair of gold pendant earrings,
put my keys into a tiny purse whose thin strap matched my catsuit's,
and stepped out into the warm summer's eve.

Beyond the alley behind my apartment building lies a quiet business
district of cappuccino shops, pastry bakeries, small offices, and an
art-film theater. I strolled down the alleyway, my heels clicking on
the asphalt and echoing off the surrounding buildings. The tight nylon
that sheathed my body whispered softly as I moved through the darkness.

I crossed the theater's parking lot from the alleyway toward its street
entrance. In the silvered glass walls of a neighboring medical
building, I admired the petite, leggy tart who strutted so brazenly
through the mercury-lit space. A group of college students sat toking
in a parked car; they goggled at me in pot-benumbed silence as a I
strolled past. "Oh, God..." one groaned as I left the lot and stepped
onto the sidewalk.

The hour was late, and most of the shops were closed. I sauntered down
the sidewalk, pausing now and then to admire Noreen in their darkened
windows. I nearly ran into a fiftyish couple who emerged from a
cappuccino shop; the gentleman stared at me with frank admiration,
while his wife looked stonily away, tugging on his arm. He stepped
aside, waving me through with a gallant gesture of his free hand. I
smiled up at him and touched his arm in thanks as I sauntered past.
"Young hussy," I heard his wife mutter as I walked away.

I crossed the street at the corner, and headed back in the direction of
the theater. The late show had let out; cars sat gridlocked on the
street in front of the theater, waiting for the light to change, while
others were poised to spill from the parking lot. My heels clicked to a
stop at a phone booth as I pretended to place a call.

Phone at one ear, I casually turned to survey the traffic. A man with
wavy brown hair sat in a black Cadillac convertible, one arm draped
across the seatback. His fingers drummed with the jazz that spilled
softly from his radio. His gray eyes were avid in his thin, poetic face
as he looked me over, his lips quirking in a half-smile. I turned back
to the phone, slipped the knot that held the sarong around my hips, and
let it fall to my ankles. After a heartbeat or two, I peeked over my
shoulder at him; his expression was one of amazed delight as he drank
in the sight of my nylon-sheathed ass.

I hung up the phone, and bent from the waist with limber grace to
retrieve my skirt, presenting a full view of my curvaceous butt. As he
gaped, open-mouthed, I smiled at him, knotted my sarong, and walked
away, a little extra swing in my step.

The light changed briefly, let a small pod of theater traffic through,
then went red again. I crossed with the green, and looked for the black
Caddy. It sat about five cars back, its driver eyeing me intently.
"Follow me," I signaled with a small inclination of my head. His turn
signal flared in reply; I smiled, and walked down to my street to wait.

I stopped in the glare of the corner gas station, and looked back. The
man in the black Cadillac was starting his turn. I waved at him, then
walked to the gas pumps. I shed my sarong, slung it over my shoulder
with my purse, and minced through the fluorescent emptiness with only
sheer, shimmering nothingness covering me. The attendant stared, locked
inside his glass booth, as I pranced through, heels clicking on the
concrete.

The Cadillac sniffed after my trail as I walked through the gas station
to the driveway on my street. The driver's gray gaze never left me as
he paced me to my building. He parked as I stood watching from my
security gate; I left it ajar, entered the building, and crossed the
courtyard. I looked back when I reached my stairs; he stood at the
entryway, smiling across the space between us. I ascended to my
apartment and entered, leaving the front door open.

I knelt on the divan, my back to the door, spotlighted in the halogen
glow of the track lights overhead. Suddenly, he stood in my doorway,
resplendent in black: black boots, black jeans, a black poet's shirt
with a bolo tie. I smiled at him over my shoulder, placed my hands on
my thighs, and rocked my hips slowly up and down. Without a word, he
stepped to the divan and started caressing my ass.

His warm, strong hands roamed my backside for long, heavenly time, his
breathing growing longer and deeper as he caressed my curves. I turned
to face him and gently placed a hand on the bulge in his crotch, then
unzipped and unfastened his pants. He wore no underwear; I tugged his
jeans down to his thighs, and stroked his cock as it popped free.

The eye of his erect glans stared wetly at me as I lifted in my palm; I
kissed up and down its length, enjoying the sight of my peach lipstick
on its shaft, then slurped it slowly into my mouth. I sucked his cock
like the proverbial ripe mango; I savored its spongy, juicy firmness as
I stretched my lips around its girth and surrounded it with hot, wet
friction.

I popped his cock out of my mouth with a slurp, pulled off my pumps,
and lay back on the divan. I encircled him with my legs, massaging his
bare ass with my small, nylon-smooth feet. "There's something I should
tell you," I said in Noreen's clear contralto.

"Unhhhh?" he asked, his face to the ceiling, his eyes closed in
rapture.

"I have... an unusually large clit."

He looked down at the boy-clit mashed in the sheer mesh between my
legs. His eyes widened, whites growing around the silver-blue irises.
"You're..."

I put a finger to my lips, knelt on the divan again, and shook my ass
at him. "What do I look like?"

He stared, then sighed, and answered, "A goddess."

"Good answer," I purred. My ponytail spilled over one shoulder as I
turned and sat facing him again. I hooked my thumbs under the catsuit's
straps, and peeled it to my waist. I pulled my nipples into erect
peaks, and smiled up at him. "Now what do I look like?"

He moaned, and took my nipples between his fingers. He pinched and
pulled my hard knobs and soft breast-buds as I leaned forward and
slurped his cock into my mouth, massaging its soft underside with my
tongue as I slowly inhaled its length.

I withdrew my lips from his shaft with a long, wet stroke, peeled my
catsuit past my hips, and lay face-down on the divan, my full, creamy
ass centered in the spotlights. "And now what do you see?" I asked him.

He stripped the catsuit from my body with one pull, and straddled me. I
felt the cool spit-wet head of his cock on my hot pucker; then he was
deep inside me as my butt-cunt eagerly devoured his thrust. I felt the
onset of orgasm as his delicious probe split my  ass-pussy wide open. I
surfed the waves of pleasure as he rode deeper and harder into my
pliant boy-slit. As the ecstasy crested, I gripped his meat in my hot
fuck-tube and milked his shaft as I spasmed mindlessly. "In, in, in,"
he grunted as he pumped. His tool grew even harder, then spewed hot
pudding deep inside me as we bucked and moaned into blackout.

Some time later, I found myself in the back seat of his Cadillac with
the top down. I wore my catsuit again, and nothing else, and lay back
against the seat, making my mouth a perfect peach pussy as he kneeled,
his hands in my hair, and fucked my eager face. I gently pushed him
away, kneeled on the wide leather seat, peeled the catsuit to my knees,
and spread myself against the broad, black seatback. The fragrant
leather was cool against my nipples as I lay against it and looked out
over the trunk, the deserted street framed between the Caddy's fins.
His tongue-lubed cock drilled balls-deep into my cum-slick butt-cunt as
he mounted me.

It wasn't the most public sex I've had, but it was the most sensuously
satisfying -- the warm scent of leather mingling with the cool morning
air as I gasped for breath; the delectable friction of the buttery-soft
seat against my skin as he crushed my slim, creamy body into it; the
gentle rocking of the Caddy as we fucked in its leather-lined expanse,
exposed to the graying sky, on the street where I lived. Stress relief
didn't come any better -- or, after minutes of frenzied reaming, more
intensely.

FIN