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You giggled as you spun yourself dizzy in front of your mirror, admiring the fluttery spin of your brand new pajamas. You’d be saving up for so long, for months, staring at the lacy chiffon hanging in the shop window until you had enough to splurge on this thing of beauty. And now you finally had it!
You squealed with delight, letting gravity take you down to your bed, kicking your feet as you aired your delight.
Little luxuries like this were far and few between in your family, it was a miracle you had gotten into college at all, so to say you were tickled pink was an understatement. And sure, it was a little too cold for it given the snow hadn’t let up for a week straight, piling up so high that Mrs. MacHenry had to call someone to clear off the porch, and some of the more conservative girls in the house had passed a few looks your way, but whatever! Nothing in the world could bring you down.
The chiffon was light and airy against your skin, bringing goosebumps to your skin, the skirt was short and the neckline was tied loose, in some lights the lace became outright sheer, but you felt like a spoiled princess.
And considering how badly you had worked during final exams, you deserved to be a little spoiled.
You thought it and so did the visitor taking up residence in your closet, more or less. Billy didn’t necessarily enjoy the way you paraded yourself in that flimsy little slip. He could imagine how easily he would be able to shred it with his teeth, like a shark in frenzy, but he could hardly be bothered with how you beamed.
He also couldn’t be bothered when the lamplight kept searing through the lace. There would be less teasing at a burlesque show. He was more than entertained, but he was seriously wishing he had chosen looser pants to wear.
His cock ached for some kind of pressure other than the rough scratch of denim. Something a little softer to calm the stirring in his gut. His first instinct was to start panting and groaning his perversions, but this wasn’t a phone call and if you realized who exactly was holed up amongst your clothes, you could scream bloody murder and then he’d have to kill you.
You sat up and Billy’s idle thoughts of strangling you, of seeing the light leave your pretty eyes, were instantly forgotten in favor of the playful look in your eye.
You looked like a spoiled, sexy princess. Your door was already closed for the night and you doubted there was anyone still awake. So there was no one to see you acting like a fool. You got up and scurried over to your old stereo, popping in a new Barbara Streisand cassette tape, an early Christmas Present.
The first track started and your hips started to sway as you got into the feel of the music. Meanwhile Billy was genuinely considering if he had walked into his own personal strip show.
He didn’t care for this singer more than any other singer out there, but he was gaining a new appreciation as he watched your breasts bounce as your dancing found more energy, moving beyond a simple sway. That and it covered the sound of his zipper being dragged down.
He knew your bedtime routine well enough that after this little performance you would be straight off to bed and Billy could move up back to the attic, but for now, why shouldn’t he enjoy what you had to offer? Teasing him like this, naughty whore. If the house was more empty he would’ve taken his chances in mounting you like the pig bitch you were.
Barbara Streisand crooned as you seductively ran your hands up and over the curve of your hips, taking your slip with it. Your ass filled out your panties and Billy shoved his hand into his pants. He never bothered with underwear, more than aware he was constantly at risk for a painful pinch, but it saved him from a few more seconds of suffering.
He wanted to grab your hips and shove his face into your ass just to get a good smell of you. You started to hum along with the song, drowning out Billy’s ragged gasp as he grabbed hold of his cock. It was blisteringly hot in his calloused hand. He panted, swiping his tongue over his lips a few times to avoid drooling all over the place.
He doubted you would like boys who drooled and Billy couldn’t have that be his first impression if he was ever going to get the chance to cram his tongue down your throat. He moaned softly, a sound lost in the music as he started to fist his cock, pulling his foreskin down to massage the head of his cock as the thought perused. How hot your throat would be, shoving his tongue as deep as it would go, shoving his cock even deeper.
He didn’t bother with working himself up, he was already halfway there and the dry pull of his hand only added to the feeling. Billy giggled to himself as his hand dragged down to the base of his cock, squeezing his flesh.
Billy tried to imagine that it was your sloppy whore cunt squeezing down on him rather than his own hands. You were certainly helping his fantasy along, so oblivious to your surroundings as your slip fell back into place, but your hands moved over your breasts, pushing them up.
Billy swallowed down a squeal as he tightened too much and pleasure quickly burned into pain. He hissed, releasing his cock, hips shifting anxiously while you approached the mirror, bopping your head to the final few thumps of the song.
You smiled bashfully at your reflection and pressed a kiss to the mirror, leaving behind the tinted smear of your chapstick. After you safely went to bed, Billy would have the time of his life licking it off of the surface.
His thoughts shifted as you spun around a few times again before striding into the bathroom you shared with the next girl over. You had a nice mouth, plumpy lips you kept shiny and healthy, fat pink tongue to suck on, Billy even found an odd endearment to your teeth. If he ever decided to take the plunge and kill you in the dead of night, he’d probably steal some of your teeth before running off into the night.
A sweet keepsake for him. He’d give you something in return, something to be buried with, something he doubted anyone else would find if he buried it deep enough. Billy laughed, smothering the sound in his free hand while the other continued to work his cock over, grateful for the precum running down his cock.
You sang softly to yourself as you scrubbed some ointment onto your skin, hips refusing to slow their back and forth sway as you wound down for the night.
You flicked the bathroom light off and returned to bed, crawling into your thick duvet, sighing softly as the heavy warmth weighed you down. You reached over to your lamp, flipping the switch and pretending you didn’t hear the faint sound of a choked groan. He was so easy, you honestly thought you’d have to flash a tit for him to get anywhere and he was so oblivious to how much noise he made. Although, you supposed they called him The Moaner for a reason.
You hoped he enjoyed the show.