There was always a little bit of chatter when Corinna went over to Jon's, before they got into things. How's it going? Rough day at work, I really need to unwind. Think I can help with that...
Tonight there was less. Tonight, she came over in her usual thrift-shop finery, an oversize tee and black jeans and Doc Martens, and found Jon — usually in workout clothes, tanks and sweats, things easy to take off — in a whole suit. Dress shirt, slacks, vest, tie, shiny shoes, the whole bit. Very dapper.
"Business meeting, or you got a hot date tonight?" she wondered, and then laughed, "You're makin' me feel super underdressed here."
And he said strip.
That one word was clipped, commanding, a sudden gear-switch from friend to benefits, from Jon to Sir.
Corinna stripped.
She didn't know a sexy way to remove Docs and wasn't sure she'd ever figure one out; those got kicked off without ceremony. The rest, though...
Slow. She liked the way Jon's eyes roved over her when she was naked, the way he drank her in — didn't understand why when she was the next best thing to a stick figure, but fuck, it felt nice. She didn't have much to put on a show with, but she wanted to give him one.
First, her shirt. She took the hem in both hands and inched it up, up, up, exposing a pale strip of stomach. Higher, turning her hands in to run her knuckles up along the shallow curve of her waist. Higher still to show him she hadn't bothered with a bra. Higher, higher, off.
She tossed the shirt aside, reached down to pop the button on her jeans, to toy with the zipper a little, draw things out. Took that down too, pulled the denim by the belt loops down her hips. Hadn't bothered with panties today, either: last time Jon had taken those off her with a pocket knife. In the moment it had been hot, the cool flat of the blade kissing her skin sending unexpectedly-pleasant shivers down her spine... but later there'd been a thought of if he keeps this up, I'm gonna have any underwear left, am I? It was only her underneath, shaved smooth.
Lower, lower, lower went her jeans and she stepped out of them, revealing the only bit of dress-up she ever really played: a pair of thigh-high stockings, a band of lace at the tops. Pretty, but functional: they hid most of the scars on her inner thighs, and hopefully distracted a little from the ones they didn't quite cover.
Funny how undressed she matched Jon better: her long legs in sheer black complementing the crisp, clean lines of his suit.
Well... mostly clean. There was an interruption now, visible just below his belt. Corinna was all too happy to do something about that — whatever Jon told her to. He gave her a small smile, satisfied and a little hungry.
