03. Orla's Research - Sex Stories

03. Orla's Research

... normally wore this shapeless floaty summer dress and it was quite a shock to see her shape suddenly so clearly defined in black rubber! I am not particularly into all that but it was brilliant seeing her slim waist, shapely figure and little pot belly for the first time. The sea was quite chilly and she had bought the outfit to go snorkelling; she was just trying it on. We were both crimson as I handed over the bag of magazines ranging from an ‘innocent’ lads-mag to some kind of imported hardcore. She took them out, nodded and tossed them onto her pile of books, then asked if I thought the wetsuit looked ok. It looked fine, but she turned around asking about ‘VPL’. I had to admit; Visible Panty Line was an issue but really didn’t diminish how lovely her bottom was. She wagged a finger at me like a naughty dog. “Do you know about wetsuits?” she said, looking down at herself. “I mean are they like swimsuits. Do you go, sort of ‘commando’ in them?” I said I supposed it was a matter of personal preference and she skipped off upstairs again. When she came back down, beach bag all appallingly stuffed with her famous floaty dress and a beach towel, I was made to check again. No VPL. She threw open the lounge doors with the intention of hitting the beach. Only to be greeted by a huge glowering rain cloud. “Bollocks,” she announced and considered for a moment, before slamming the doors, sighing. “Oh well…” She rummaged around in her bag, yanked out the floaty dress, and tumbled it ...

... down over her head. I kept my head down behind my drawing board politely as she wriggled and writhed and cursed out of the wetsuit underneath it. “Okay then.” She settled on the sofa, perused her papers then picked up the magazines. “Let’s have a look at these. Thanks so much for getting-- Oh my!” I looked up and she was flicking through the hardcore one, eyes wide, jaw dropped. She looked up at me, amazed, as if I had made the bloody thing. She slapped it shut. “It’s very… strong … isn’t it?” She said. “I don’t know,” I said, “I just got you a range of … explicitness.” I suddenly felt oddly protective of her as she looked down at the cover of this thing in her lap. “Try the others if it’s too gross?” Orla shook her head and opened up the mag again, more fascinated than repelled. “It’s just I didn’t realise they would show quite so many…. erections!” She laughed. “Is this really what men like to look at?” “Monkey see, monkey do,” I said but she wasn’t really listening. She peered at the pages, legs crossed, her foot flicking like an anxious cat’s tail. I waited for the grimaces, the revulsions and recriminations but she sat there looking. Impassive, serious, and quiet. After a minute or two she let out a long sigh. “Oh dear,” she said, leaning back in the seat. “I like it…” She chuckled lasciviously. Minutes past. I sketched and tried to put it out of my mind. All was quiet but for the sound of pages, slowly turned. Orla’s growing horniness heated the room, like a radioactive ...