Unbuttoned Blouse Novels & Stories

I quickly denied. "Well, um, your blouse's buttons are open," she hesitated to say, so I glanced at my clothes and realized that Drake had managed to undo some of my buttons without me noticing. "Ah, thank you," I said as I hastily buttoned up my blouse. "It's a bit tight, so it tends to open on its own." I made up an excuse, aware of the look she was giving me.

Before buttoning it, he reached up and caressed my tits, rubbing his palms against my hardening nipples. Then, with a sigh, he fastened the three middle buttons on the shirt, leaving two buttons above and below undone. You could see from my belly button all the way down to my bare pussy, and a generous amount of cleavage pushed against the open top. My nipples were clearly visible through the fabric, especially now that my uncle had teased them erect. He pulled a pleated plaid skirt from the hanger on the back of the door. I stepped into it as he slowly tugged the short skirt into place.

I stripped my suit off, exposing my white button up shirt. "Go on" Fabrico urged, his armd crossed in front of him, his brown orbs were dark as they trailed down my body . I started taking off the buttons on my shirt, until I stripped it down to the last. His teeth bit on his button lip. My pink cotton bra came to view making me cringe. I don't have anything lacy or sexy, but still Fabrico is staring at me as if I'm the best thing he's ever seen. I unbuttoned my pant and slipped it off. Thankful, I was wearing a matching set of undies today even if they were cotton.

I nibble softly at them through the fabric of her clothes and as she moans, softly but unmistakably, my balls tighten, and my cock stiffens. How can I not smile? This beautiful innocent wants me. She may not yet, understand how or why, but she wants me... I suggested the dress for her but, perhaps in a spirit of rebellion, she wore blouse and skirt. And now, slowly, carefully, I unbutton the blouse. As it falls away, her eyes widening once more, I reach around her to unclip her bra, to leave her beautifully bare-breasted. Her breasts are large enough to be a little pendulous, swinging free, the nipples bronze in the candle-light.

she told me. I got up slowly; not in the mood to try the clothes on; for I was not interested in going. I started to take off my blouse. I was now half-naked with my firm round breast showing. I did not like wearing a bra and so I chose not to. My mamma helped me put on the shirt. "It fit well," she told me. I lower my head staring at the long sleeve white blouse. Seeing that it did fit very well. It too was not too showy and hid my upper body very well. It was a very beautiful stylish blouse, but I was not in the mood to wear it to the cruel beast home.

London I had been digging through my wardrobe at a loss for what to wear for my date with Adam when I’d stumbled upon this really cute pink blouse. It was an old cloth but I had never won it because it had been too big at the time I had gotten it. Almost five years later and it was now perfectly my size. It was also perfect for this date paired with dark skinny jeans and black ankle boots. It gave the vibe I had meant to go for which was cute but not too sexy to look inviting. A little stern, but still lovely. The blouse had big flowy sleeves that I loved so much.

I wanted to make sure I got Carter's attention, hopefully in a similar way as I did on Friday night. At the very right side of my closet, tucked behind a bunch of clothes I never thought I'd wear, was a dark blue, low-cut blouse. My mother had bought it for me years before and I don't think I'd worn it a single time, with the exception of when she'd made me try it on. I didn't like it then. It only covered up half of my breasts and the rest it smashed into cleavage. I snatched it now, smiling as I slipped it on.

Then I hold the yellow blouse up next to the screen, comparing every inch. The neckline — with its delicate string tie. The long sleeves. The soft cotton fabric. Identical. My chest tightens. This is the same shirt. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, then slip a razor blade from the inside pocket of my coat. In one quick motion, I press it gently against the back of the blouse, slicing through the fabric. A clean cut — then, with my fingers, I tug the tear wider, making it look rough and accidental, like the cloth got caught on something.

Needless to say, this is a fucking hard task. The blazer falls somewhere near his feet, but I don’t bother to look. There are still too many layers between us and it’s annoying. With precise skill, Angelo unbuttons my blouse in the blink of an eye, leaving me in my bra, tailored pants, and the pumps I decided to wear this morning to look presentable.