The Lesson Plan -- Part Three: Field Trip (Episode Two) free porn video

The Lesson Plan -- Part Three: Field Trip Chapter Two You walk up the driveway to Melanie's modest house, new, shiny heels clicking on the concrete. It's a different neighbourhood to yours: a little nicer, the gardens a little better, the cars more likely to be German than Korean. There's a large living room window and you glance in, looking for some signs that you're in the right place. You've never been to Melanie's house before, you're just going off the directions she gave you before you left the mall and went your separate ways. Before you waited in the car and then went back into the mall to get some urgent new clothes. "I can't go like this," you'd hissed to Ellen, your fake aunt for the day and your teacher, as you walked over to her car. "I don't have anything to wear," you'd protested, hoping that Melanie and her mom couldn't hear you across the parking lot. You were freaking out. Things had escalated quickly, from a trip to the mall to meeting your classmate and her mom to being invited over for pizza and a movie and a sleepover. A sleepover! So you'd waited in the car, and tried to relax. The first thing to go was your voice, Amy's contralto tones you practiced and practiced and practiced whenever you were alone. It was tiring talking like her. Tiring but worth it. No one had suspected anything, no one had doubted you for a second. The younger boy in the mall, Melanie and her mom, the college student girl in Starbucks... they were all fooled. "That went well right?" you'd said, your baritone shockingly incongruous coming from those cute pink lips. You brush back your hair, and reach down to your thighs to tug on your pantyhose, wriggling the nylon back into a comfortable position on your smooth legs. "Right?" Ellen had smiled, and shaken her head at the mixed signals your performance was giving off. "It went really well," she'd said, staying in character. Giving no indication that under the bright yellow dress and the milf curves she was not all she appeared to be either. She hardly ever spoke to you in her boy voice -- only when she was really cross or when she was teaching you how to speak. It had been one of her conditions you remember. "I'm really proud of you." You'd waited ten minutes, talking over everything that had happened. The mall, the kids, Forever 21, the prom dress, Melanie and her mom. You were excited, happy and a little horny the more you talked. You thought back to being in the changing room, Melanie just through a flimsy wall, where you'd cum. Between your legs your cock begged again for release. Being Amy was the best aphrodisiac. "I can't believe we met them though. That's crazy," you'd said while you waited. You'd looked at Ellen and watched her face not moving. "Yeah, crazy," she'd agreed in a voice that suggested it was anything but. "You arranged it?!" you'd said, your voice cracking. "You... but... what if...you arranged it?!" "I'd asked if they wanted to meet us for coffee. That my niece was in town, and that Melanie might like her. It was a nice surprise to meet them in the store though, wasn't it?" She raised a perfectly plucked and shaped eyebrow. "You both looked lovely in those dresses," she added. One of the conditions of Ellen helping you, training you, developing you is that you don't talk about sex. You don't talk about how dressing as a woman makes you hard. It makes you horny and hot and excited. You don't talk about how much you fantasize about Ellen: her amazing fake curvy body and beautiful fake face and how much you want to fuck her and watch her transform. You don't talk about the photos you have on your phone. But she knows it, and you know it and you know she knows it. She knows you're sitting there right now trying not to touch your swelling cock, tightly bound under three layers of women's foundation-wear and underwear. You'd waited and you'd gone back into the mall and bought a cute black and red polka-dot skater dress, new shiny red court shoes, red tartan flannel pyjama bottoms, a red cotton cami top, a cute rucksack, a makeup bag, a 3 pack of simple white panties and a toothbrush. Amy's sleepover kit, ready to go. You adjust the backpack hanging off one shoulder and give your curly hair a scrunch, feeling it bounce back. You look down, enjoying the view of Amy's body -- her perky tits, cute dress, long legs in pantyhose and shiny shoes. One thing you didn't anticipate was how much you loved the clothes, how much you loved playing dress-up with yourself. You had your own girl model who would wear whatever your fantasies desired. Your own half closet at Ellen's house and the locked, bulging suitcase at home under your bed could attest to that. You were pretty sure Amy was overdressed for pizza and a movie, but you were also sure Amy was the sort of girl who would be. You can't see a doorbell, so you knock on the door, watching the distorted shapes of someone coming to answer the door through the frosted glass panels. You hear the vibrating buzz of chatter, the thump of feet on carpet and the metallic fumble of locks and keys before the door opens. The moment of truth. The second time today you have faced the world as a girl. You smile your practiced Amy smile and see Melanie standing there, wearing what you guess is her go-to casual home outfit -- grey leggings and a loose cotton t-shirt. God those leggings are amazing, the way they cling to her thighs and hips. You wonder if you'd look as good in them. "Hi!" you say, your voice back in your girlish contralto -- cheekbones high, throat open -- giving a little wave with your free hand in what you hope is a cute gesture. Melanie looks you up and down appraisingly in a split second, taking in the fit and flare dress, the shoes and your daring addition of a bright lipstick. "Hi," she says in a sing-song voice, smiling and stepping back to let you in and you cross the threshold. You're barely in her hallway before she moves towards you and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you with a warm hug. You tense, at first, and then relax into the soft warm feel of her, the floral smell of her, as you reach around her and hug her back, your body relaxing into the warm yielding softness of her breasts. It feels nice, but it's over almost as soon as it's begun and she lets go, taking a step back. "I love the dress," she says, and you're glad you bought it now. Glad you wore it. You blush, hidden by the mask, but obvious in how you change your posture. It might be the first compliment you're received in your life. "I feel like I'm underdressed," she laughs. "Just dump your bag," she advises, as you swing the new rucksack off your shoulder and leave it in the hallway. "Hi Amy," Kate calls from down the hall, from what you imagine is the kitchen. "Hi Mrs Anderson," you call back in a sing-song voice. "Thanks for having me." "She's going out," Melanie says you to sotto voce. "Do you wanna come see my room?" she asks, taking off before you can consider your answer. You follow her up some stairs, studying the way her ass moves the whole way. You're disappointed you can't see any panty lines through the tight grey lycra, but it's still a great view -- her round fleshy globes bouncing tautly in front of your eyes. You wish your backside was a bit fuller. "What's your house like?" Melanie asks as she leads you into her room -- across the hall from her mom's. It's no bigger than yours really, with a single bed, a vanity, a tall chest of drawers and a large wooden wardrobe. Fairy lights dangle from the ceiling. The room is tidy, with no clothes laying around or on display. "A lot like this really," you say, keeping the lies simple. Amy's humble, not prone to bragging. Her family are middle class: her mom's a realtor; her dad's a software engineer although they're divorced. Simple lies, because that's your life too. "I like your fairy lights," you gush. Melanie smiles and sits down heavily on her bed, the mattress springing under her as she shimmies backwards. She's not being guarded or mannered. This is her in her own space with another girl. You're less scared than you thought you'd be. You're less anxious, despite being in a girls bedroom. Normally you're not great in these situations, your not sure what to say or what to do. You're not sure how to be. But with Amy you know how to be. You can be her. She's not you. It's easier to be someone else. "I didn't realize my aunt made you meet me," you add, smoothing the skirt of your dress under you before you sit down like you've practiced. You sit on the edge of the mattress, turning your head to look at your host. "If she made you do this too then..." "What? No!" Melanie protests. "Hey, get comfortable okay? No she asked my mom sure. She said she thought you'd prefer someone her own age. But no, you're cool. I wanted to." You smile, and wriggle back on the bed a little way, turning to face her better, the skirt of your dress bunching up around you. "Well, thanks. Yeah I love my aunt but..." "I love her too," Melanie says and you can tell right away that she means it. The sincerity in her voice, the honesty. And something else. Something you have in common. Is it desire? Holy fuck. "Well, she is totally hot," you say, risking it after a beat. Melanie's expression changes, her smile broadens, her eyes dance. "Totally hot," she agrees conspiratorially. "What's she like as a teacher?" you ask. "She's my favorite. She's so nice. She's so real, you know?" "Yeah." You think about the amount of makeup, glue, silicon, padding, shapewear, the wig, the teeth, the mask. "Totally. I really want to be like her." "Me too! So are you the same side of the family as Kevin?" She shifts her weight and pulls one leg under her. You don't look between her legs. You keep looking up. You're trying not to change your expression to one of keen interest. "Have you met him?" you ask, trying not to get too excited. "Yeah, a couple of times. He's cute! Is he your brother?" Your prepared answer is interrupted by a knock on the door and, without waiting for a response, Kate's entrance to her daughter's bedroom. She's wearing a pair of light blue jeans and a white peplum blouse with heels, and has made an attempt at makeup -- mainly just mascara and lipstick that you can see. She looks nice. "Okay girls, I'm going now. Be good." "Bye mom!" Melanie says, turning her attention back to me. "Have a good night Mrs Anderson. You look really nice," you add. "Well thank you Amy," she says and you can tell she's taken with the compliment. You wonder if later you'll have a chance to raid her closet and see what she's got in there. She smiles at you and gives you a wave as she closes the door behind her. You both sit and listen for the click slam of the front door. "Wow, suck up much?" Melanie says with a grin, uncurling herself from the bed and standing up. "Sorry," you say, wriggling forward off the bed to follow her. "I'm too nice to people's parents. Bad habit." "I'm just teasing," she smiles, opening the door. "I'm the same. Better they like you, than blame you right? Come on." "Where are we going?" you ask. "To get a bottle of wine." "Wine?!" You exclaim excitedly just as the doorbell rings. Pizza, maybe? "Oh good timing," Melanie says as she bounds down the staircase. "You'll love the rest of my friends." The familiar fear and dread starts again as your heart sinks down into the soles of your feet. Shit. This wasn't what you'd expected at all, and it might be even worse than you think. You watch as Melanie opens the door with a theatrical 'hiii' and see two other girls and one boy from your year -- from the drama club -- come in, smiling and hugging. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You'd sat at Ellen's vanity, wearing just your pantyhose and bra, your wig resting on a stand next to you. Your legs were crossed at the thigh, and you'd enjoyed the feeling of your smooth legs in nylon sliding against each other. You were looking at your face, checking your makeup, fixing your wig cap. You were enjoying being this undressed in Ellen's bedroom, imagining all the times she had done the same. You'd sat enjoying being this fantasy while Ellen had talked. She'd tried to give you advice, to help you prepare for the unknown night ahead. She trusted you, she was proud of you, she knew you'd be great. Make sure you change in private, where she can't see anything that might give you away. Put up your hair before you go to sleep and that'll stop the wig moving in the night. Don't mistake the warm intimate friendships of girls for anything more. Don't do anything silly. Try not to drink, she'd said. Have fun. Enjoy being a girl with another girl. You'd sat there feeling your cock pulsing between your thighs, enjoying the half-naked girl in the mirror and dreaming of rifling through Melanie's underwear drawer, fantasizing about what she might wear to bed, maybe seeing those gorgeous tits of hers stuffed into a bulging bra. You'd imagined just you and her, talking, giggling, maybe touching. A sleepover: The thought had made you breathless. You're sitting on the floor of Melanie's living room, an empty bottle of wine on its side in front of you, a full bottle next to it and a half-full glass in your hand. There's music playing in the background -- some cast recording from a musical you can barely hear -- and everyone is talking, all at once, all over each other. You've drank a little wine, but not as much as some. It's making you feel warm and a little more confident. You look around the room at the others all sat on the floor. Next to Melanie is Fiona, a chubby girl with a round face in black jeans and a faded Metallica t-shirt. Her long straight black hair is silky smooth and beautiful and her makeup is clumsy. When she was introduced to Amy you watched her glance at your narrow waist and thin legs and raise her eyebrows before saying 'hi -- which is still one more word than she's ever said to you before. Next to her is Martin, who is your typical out queen high school gay boy theatre kid. He once made fun of you for a whole term for calling the teacher 'Mom' in 9th grade but doesn't really know you. On the other hand, he's been super nice to you as Amy, complimenting your dress, your hair and your shoes almost in the first minute of meeting you. He made sure to sit next to you and, in between interrupting the other girls to make them laugh by being a bitch, he's been talking to you for a whole hour pretty much, mainly about himself. On your other side, and finishing the circle is Naomi. Melanie's best friend since first grade, Naomi is everything she is not -- loud, crude and carefree. She's also the only other girl in a dress -- a light green patterned summer shift dress that's so thin as to almost be transparent and so short that it sits half-way up her bare thighs. She's blonde with fine straightened hair, a thin face and sharp nose, and not wearing any makeup. She's also getting quickly drunk, having had three glasses for the half of one you've drank so far. Naomi started the evening testing your Seattle knowledge, but quickly fell into gossip about the show they're all putting together in drama club. You were worried that these people would recognize you, but they had at first been too interested in each other. In saying hi and catching up. In the thrill of opening secret wine and drinking and ordering pizza. What had surprised you was that they all made an effort to include you, to tell you who they were gossiping about or to give you background to why. They wanted to include you, to tell you stories. They were showing off a little for you. Melanie more than the others -- you were her prize. "Amy's Miss Bennett's niece," she said smiling at you, and causing all other topics of conversation to stop immediately. "She's just aunt Ellen," you say, looking round. Everyone is looking at you. Appraising you. "Oh my God we love her," Martin says, breaking the spell. "She's so cool," Fiona agrees. "So is she a lesbian?" Naomi asks, leaning forward. "What?" You look confused. "My mom's a lesbian," Melanie says, finishing her glass of wine. "That's why dad left." "That'll do it," Martin says, causing Fiona and Naomi to giggle. You think of the time you caught her at home, in her robe, when you were delivering pizza. When you saw her with her girlfriend in their bed, kissing and fucking. When you saw her cock, stiff and urgent between her thighs. "I don't think," you start to say before you're interrupted by Naomi. "She's too pretty to be a lesbian," "Hey! What are you saying about my mom?" "Lipstick," Martin says knowingly. "I'd fuck your mom," Fiona says. "In your dreams," Melanie replies with a wink. "So has she got a boyfriend?" Naomi asks, turning her attention back to you. You lean forward on top all fours and reach for the wine bottle, unscrewing the top and topping your glass up. "I don't think it's one or the other you know," says Martin. "Not right now," you say, sitting back down and pausing to take a drink of wine for effect before playing your trump card. "But I think she was dating your principal for a while." "Fuck off!" "Get out!" "No way! Chalmers!?" You smile, happy to have thrown that conversation grenade into the room. You feel everyone leaning into you, eager to talk, to mine you for gossip and information. Amy is popular. Amy is cute. Amy is one of the girls. Just then the doorbell rings again, and everyone cries "pizza!" You are on your feet first, happy to be helpful Amy, and leave the rest of them to their animated conversation. You rearrange your dress before you answer the door and put on a happy smile for the pizza delivery guy. You're disappointed that it isn't someone you know. After today you're enjoying the thrill of being a girl in disguise, and the feeling of fooling people. The guy is older, college age, and not wearing the uniform -- he's got too much self respect for that. When he sees you he smiles back, opening the delivery bag with a one-handed flourish. "Hi, having a party?" he asks, listening to the loud laughter coming from inside the house. "Just some school friends," you answer, folding your arms under your breasts self-consciously. He gives you a once-over, brazenly staring at your tits now you've drawn attention to them. If you were another girl you'd say something like 'eyes up here mister' but Amy is too shy for that even though inside you're delighted. "I thought it was a lot of pizza for a little thing like you," he says, like he's being charming, and slides the warm boxes out of the bag. "Enjoy." "She'll suck your cock if we can get them free!" Martin shouts out to loud laughter. You open your mouth in a shocked gasp and try not to meet the delivery guy's gaze. You start to protest but he just laughs and hands the pizzas over to you, watching you uncross your arms and take them from him. "Tell your friend he's an asshole," he says closing up his bag with a warm smile directed at you. "He your boyfriend?" "No," you reply, a hint of a smile forming on your lips. Amy's a fun girl. She can take a joke. You wonder what it would be like, if he were to kiss you. His lips look soft and nice. His hands are big, gentle -- how would they feel wrapped around you, sweeping you off your feet? Unzipping your dress, cupping your tits. "He's just an asshole," you say. "See ya," the guy says, still smiling. Still looking you up and down. Undressing you with his eyes. You never thought being objectified would be this fucking exciting. "See ya," you reply as you close the door. Carefree. Adrenaline coursing through your veins. He thought you were cute, he thought you were a girl he'd like to fuck. "Martin you asshole!" Melanie is saying as you join everyone else, while you set down the pizzas. "That's okay," you say, opening the top box. "I think he was more embarrassed than I was." "So you'd have sucked it?" Martin says. "Ew," Fiona adds. "Martin leave her alone," Melanie says. "It's not funny." "He's just jealous," Naomi says, slurring her speech a little. The movie never happens. Just pizza and cheap wine and lots of gossiping. You enjoy pretending you don't know anyone or anything, asking questions that you know will lead to good stories. Saving your voice, but playing the good girl. The party spreads as the night goes on, with Naomi missing in action, and Martin and Fiona starting to sing along to the music playing -- Martin in an annoying but occasionally funny falsetto that's not as good as yours. You and Melanie sit close together, watching everyone. "I think you're a lot like me," Melanie says abruptly, changing the subject. Her voice is still clear, although she's had a little more wine than you. You're so close to her you can see every pore in her skin. "Us divorced kids have to stick together." You raise your glass in a mock toast and clink it against hers. She's right. You look around and see people, just chatting and having fun and being together. Not another species to be infiltrated. Under your disguise you're just like Melanie. "I'm so glad I met you today," you say. "You're awesome. And you have cool friends too." "They're alright," she laughs, leaning in towards you with her shoulders. "I wonder where Naomi is actually?" "I'll go look for her," you reply. "I need to pee anyway." You stand up, a little unsteadily, and by reflex fix the skirt of your dress before leaving the party, your stocking feet landing softly on thick carpet as you check the downstairs toilet. Its empty. You roll your eyes and go upstairs, calling out "Naomi?" as loud as you dare. "You okay?" You notice the door to Amy's mom's room is ajar and step inside, into a cloud of perfume and the chaos of a wardrobe lying everywhere but on hangers. It's the opposite of Melanie's room with all of Kate's life on display for you to see -- mainly pants and tops like the one she wore earlier. You don't understand how a woman, given the option to be someone like Ellen, could instead be someone like Kate. "What are you doing in here?" Naomi asks, her speech slurred. You turn around to see her hanging off the doorframe. She might have just woken up, or that might just be her drunk face. It's difficult to know which. "I was looking for you," you reply, taking a step towards her. "Are you okay?" "I need to throw up," she says decisively, closing her eyes and forcing them wide open to focus somewhere behind your head. "Now." "Okay," you say, taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom. "Just through here." "You have such pretty hair," she says, reaching up to touch your curls. "Maybe I should have curly hair." "Maybe you should," you say, unsure what to do now. "Oh fuck," she says, and drops to her knees in front of the toilet, vomiting loudly into the waiting bowl. Something feels wrong. Very wrong. Naomi has your wig in her hand, pressed against the tiled floor. You turn to look in the bathroom mirror and see a girl in a wig cap with a horrified expression on her face. Fuck. You crouch down next to her, putting your hand on the wig. You can tell it's not going to budge. You don't want to pull it. Fuck. Naomi is oblivious, still staring into the porcelain abyss, her hair hanging down. You reach out and sweep it back, holding it with your other hand. "You okay?" You ask gently, trying to not freak the fuck out. "Here, give me your hand." You lightly brush your fingers against her and feel her let go the curls of the wig, which you pull away quickly, standing up again. "Hey," Naomi begins to protest, to look up at you but then she spasms and vomits again. "Everything alright?" You hear Melanie shout from down the stairs. Fuck no. "Fine," you call back as loud as your voice will let you. You frantically turn the wig over in your hand looking for the back, the inside, the traces of wig tape. You know you're going to have to redo that at some point. I guess because you've been wearing it all day it's gotten less sticky. Fucking Naomi. You can't do this one handed. You rub her back and let go of her hair, grabbing your own wig and tugging it back on to your head until it feels tight and in place. You glance in the mirror and primp it, squeezing some life back into it as it starts to look okay again. You crouch down again and flush the toilet, your hand sliding down between Naomi's shoulder blades just as Melanie walks in. It's after eleven when everyone leaves. Naomi too drunk to walk on her own, she leaves with Martin, who promises to walk her home safely. You get hugs from everyone before they go, and share promises to see them again. Melanie vanishes upstairs the moment they're gone, leaving you alone in the house. You finish the wine in your glass, and decide to be a good girl and clean up after everyone, taking the glasses through to the kitchen, throwing out the pizza boxes and straightening the cushions. "Now what?" you say out loud, looking around. You smile, realizing you're still using your Amy voice, even on your own. All that practice was worth it. This wasn't so hard after all. You look at your reflection in the mirror above the fireplace and smile at her, watching the pretty girl smile back. Her hair is cute, framing her face in loose curls. Her no-makeup-makeup is still perfect, although her lipstick has faded a little. You move your head, enjoying the feeling of your large gold earrings dangling heavily in your earlobes. You don't want the spell to end. You go through to the kitchen and run some hot water and start to wash the glasses, waiting for something to happen. For Melanie to re-emerge. You should probably get changed for bed. The dress is cute, and flattering and sexy but also fitted around the waist and now a little uncomfortable; your bra is digging into your ribs; your tights too hot. Maybe after this you'll get changed and find out where you're sleeping. While you're washing dishes and thinking of this, you hear a quiet noise behind you. The sound of feet on tiles. "Amy you are so lovely," Melanie says, and you feel her hugging you from behind, her arms wrapping around your middle, just inches from your breasts. You feel her warm and soft and smelling like flowers as she presses against you, her wine-soaked breath warm against your bare neck. You tense at first, then relax into her embrace, sighing happily. She squeezes and then lets go, and you turn around to say something and all your words get stuck in your throat. Melanie has changed into what you assume is her sleepwear: a white cotton camisole with a plunging neckline and scalloped edges, and matching white shorts. Her long smooth legs, soft thin arms, collarbone and neck are all on display for you to see. Her skin is perfect, with no blemishes or spots, no dry patches or hair. Whatever makeup she had on has gone too, and her face glows with the purity of an excellent skincare regime. She is young and soft and beautiful. "You okay?" she asks, tilting her head. You have your mouth open. You're staring. You both long to touch her and to be her. You blink and reboot yourself, concentrating to find your voice, your posture. You find her eyes and focus, softening your gaze. You smile your best Amy smile. "Fine," you say, a little squeakily. Fuck. Fuck fuck. "I'm good," you say, clearing your throat. Better this time, turning away back to the washing up. "Just thought I'd tidy up before your mom came home." "Oh don't worry, she probably won't be home. She'll stay at her girlfriends house," Melanie says, leaning on the countertop next to you. "I was going to tidy up in the morning. There's still some wine?" She holds up a half-empty bottle. "Or there's cocoa," she adds, looking at you. "You didn't drink very much." "I'm not.. I don't have a lot of experience with wine," you say with an apologetic smile. "Cocoa sounds pretty great though," you admit, taking your hands out of the warm soapy water. Your fake nails still a vivid blue and almond shape, to lengthen your fingers. "I'm such a square," you add with a giggle, turning your head to look at Melanie beside you. "I kinda want cocoa too," she says. "So I guess we're both squares. Why don't you go get changed and I'll make cocoa and we can just chill out down here?" You nod and smile, drying your hands and definitely not looking at anything below the neck. You walk out into the hallway and collect your bag, and take it upstairs. You decide to change in Melanie's room, so you close the door and drop your new rucksack on her bed. The room's exactly as it was before, tidy with nothing lying around. It smells of her, sweet and floral, and you think maybe she's put on some more perfume or body spray recently? You notice that the top drawer in her wooden chest of drawers is a little ajar, and so you open it to take a peak. It's full of neatly arranged cotton panties, in various pinks and whites. Down the middle are three brassieres, underwired in robust half moons and sheer fabrics -- one white, one green, one black. You're excited. You rifle through the panties, looking close to the bottom of the pile. They feel soft in your hands. You run your fingers over the hem of a peach pair at the bottom. A little worn. Older. You carefully take them out of the drawer and hold them up. They're plain, classic, granny panties. You fold them up again and put them in your rucksack, hiding them at the bottom. You can't wait to wear them. You're glad you're alone because you're not sure how girls undress in front of other girls. You've never had an audience. Would you have taken your pantyhose off first? Your bra? As it is, you can just do what you'd do at Ellen's and so you unzip your dress and step out of it carefully, folding it and leaving it on the bed. You imagine this was your bedroom, your bed, your life. You're just a teenage girl getting ready for bed. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your black pantyhose and tug them downwards, over your padded hips and ass, bending at the waist as you push them down off your smooth legs. You step out of them and pick them up, balling them up and leaving them next to your bag. It's thrilling being this naked in a stranger's bedroom. You pause in your undressing to open your rucksack and take out your new flannel tartan pyjama bottoms. You step into the soft flannel bottoms and pull them easily up your smooth legs, wiggling them over your wider hips and bottom and taking care to tie the dangling strings in a little bow. You run your hands over the soft fabric, over your hips and ass, pleased that you fill them out well, that it feels good, that you have a girlish shape. Your hands snake round to your front, checking that there's no bulges, no little tell tale signs. You want to slip your hand inside the pyjamas, inside your panties and your padding and touch your cock, which you know will explode instantly, so you don't. You just leave your hand there, over where it would be, where it's warm, just for a moment. You think of Melanie, in her skimpy shorts and top, naked under her clothes. No panties. No bra. You have a change of plan. With a happy sigh you reach behind your back and unfasten your own brassiere, threading your thin arms through the straps and taking it off, feeling a slight bounce and tug from your beautiful fake boobs. You leave the bra on the bed, and are about to put on your cami top when you stop, going back to Melanie's underwear drawer instead. You carefully unfold one of her bras -- the green one -- paying attention to how it was folded, and hold the cup up against your own perky breast. You cup your boob through the generous fabric of the bra, aware of the gaping and empty space -- the difference in size. Your fingers find the fake nipple, stiff through the sheer nylon. You close your eyes and slip your other hand inside your pyjama bottoms, grabbing at the warm mound where your cock is hiding, hot and stiff between your thighs. You hear Melanie climbing the stairs. Her feet on the carpet. The clink of china. You pull your hand out of your pants and fold the bra back the way it was, laying it back in place in the drawer gently like a wounded bird, and closing the drawer as fast as you dare. You turn and make it across the room to your bag, your hands inside reaching for your cami top when the door opens and Melanie walks in carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. "Hey, everything okay?" she asks, breezing past you towards her desk to set down the two mugs. Your fingers find the folded cami top inside your bag and you take it out, unfolding it slowly. In your fantasies, girls are topless around other girls all the time. It's no big deal. They're always getting dressed and undressed in front of each other right? You're pretty sure that right now you should be chill and not cover up or hurry. Melanie hasn't said sorry, or appeared embarrassed at all. "Yeah, everything's great," you say, smiling and turning to face her whilst making a show of getting the cami prepared for putting on. You watch as Melanie's gaze drops to check out your bare breasts, staring at your twin firm and perky mounds topped with small pink nipples. She looks at them so long that a doubt creeps into your mind that maybe they're not as perfect as you think. That maybe she can tell they're fake. Maybe she can see a seam? Maybe, maybe, maybe. "I love your... em... jammies," she says, looking away and stumbling over the word. "They look cozy," she adds, picking up her own mug. "They're really you." You giggle, feeling like you've passed another test. That you can be topless with other girls and they can't tell they're fake. If you can fool girls then you can fool guys no problem. Do you think she was going to say she loved your tits? No... You remember Ellen's advice. Girls are just closer. Warmer. Friendlier. It doesn't mean they're flirting. "I love yours too," you say, pulling the soft cami over your head and down over your chest. You love how she looks in hers, how flimsy they are, how well they show off her tits and hot ass and amazing legs. "You're so cute." Shit. Shit shit. You meant to say "they're". Shit. Maybe she won't notice. You close your eyes for a long moment, as if preparing for the worst. This is the wine's fault, you think. You should be concentrating. When you open them again Melanie is looking at you with a smirk. She licks her lips and sets down her mug. "Amy, can I ask you something?" she says. "Sure," you reply softly. "Anything." "Have you got a boyfriend?"