Chapter One

 

Shawn's long red hair swept over her shoulder as she slipped her shoes off then bent to pull off her pants. She straightened, folding them neatly and placing them on a hanger which she then hung on the hook next to her, over her blouse and jacket.

She turned in the small changing room and reached behind her, undoing her bra. The weight of her breasts pulled it down as she let the straps slide over her shoulders, and she hung the bra from the hook, as well. She felt a small tingle of excitement mixed with wariness, her eyes darting from side to side. Undressing in a public changing room always made her nervous, and yet also aroused her.

It was the strange dichotomy she lived with, that within her was a deeply sensual, sexual person, an exhibitionist with an open mind willing to try anything, however lewd, but without she was tightly bound in society's conventions, in the lessons ingrained in her by her parents since she was a little girl, and an absolute need for respect and dignity. She was not shy, but she was terribly conscious of her image, especially of her body image.

She was an extremely attractive woman, but had never allowed herself to truly accept that. She had been a skinny, bespectacled, awkward, flat chested girl, the victim of taunts and teasing through most of her teenage years, until a spurt of growth had filled out her body and smoothed the angular lines of her face.

Her hair had been a ragged mass of crinkly curls, impossible to tame when long, laughably unkempt when short, too dry, too thin, and a fierce, dark red. And while the curls had now softened into loose ringlets which were - almost - attractive - her hair was still, to her mind, a hideous mess.

Her eyes were a bright, brilliant, amazing shade of green, but were, for the most part, hidden behind her glasses. She had inquired into laser surgery, now that she had money, only to be told her eyesight was too poor to be so easily corrected. And so she still wore glasses, if small ones, glasses which had made her feel ugly and inferior since the third grade, when she had donned them for the first time.

Now twenty eight, Shawn was willing to admit she was no longer ugly, no longer even really unattractive. People had attempted to tell her she was actually quite pretty, but she put that off as patronising false compliments. Like many women, she was her own worse critic. She did not see her brilliant green eyes, lovely lashes, small, but sensuous lips or beautiful smile. She saw only her glasses.

She did not see her long, lovely legs, but only cellulite in her thighs. She did not see her smooth, trim belly, but only her too thin hips. She did not notice her firm, full breasts, but only the slight sag to them. To her mind, her body was not at all like those beautiful models and actresses' society held up as the standard bearers of beauty, and so, she was not beautiful.

And yet she did enjoy the tactile pleasure of running her fingers over her downy smooth skin, of cupping and kneading her sensitive breasts, of posing and preening before her mirror in the privacy of her apartment. And in a small, locked box there she had all manner of sexual toys with which to vent her strong sexual urges without fear of rejection or ridicule, without losing her dignity where any could see.

And beneath her always dignified exterior, her sleek, expensive business suits, she wore lingerie which would accentuate her body's curves and give her a pleasant sense of secret sexual attractiveness. In particular, the only feature she was willing to admit was quite clearly beautiful, with only the occasional doubt or hesitation, was her bottom. It had filled out considerably from the flat, boyish rear she'd had as a teenager, and was now firm and rounded like an apple.

And it looked absolutely marvellous in a thong. Which was what she was buying now. But it had to be a particular type of thong, a thong with thin strings slicing up high across the hips, and a very small, narrow triangle of fabric at the very top of her cleft. With her conservative upbringing she continued to think of thongs as wicked and sexual, despite how common they now were, and so it always gave her a little thrill to be wearing them beneath her suits.

She slipped off her thong now, and then stepped into one of those she had brought with her. Again, nude now, she felt a little thrill of excitement, and paused to enjoy being naked with people all around her, a few feet on either side of the door and walls, their voices filling the air around her.

She stepped into the dark blue thong, pulling it up her hips, then slipped the matching bra on and pulled it tight, adjusting the straps. When she was seventeen her breasts had grown two cup sizes and four inches in eight months. She was now a thirty-six D cup, and only her height - six feet, two inches, kept her from seeming busty.

Which would have given her another reason to feel self conscious.

She straightened her back and turned, rising slightly on the balls of her feet, examining her bottom in the mirror and nodding. The thong looked truly excellent on her.

The bra did too, with triangles which firmly supported her breasts, yet were comfortable, which exposed the curving ivory flesh of her cleavage in a way which was pleasing to the eye - though only her eyes would ever see it.

She shook her head and her hair fanned out around her head like a lion's mane, spilling across her forehead, floating up above her, and twisting in from the sides so that she was constantly brushing it back.

She removed the bra and then gasped at a sudden noise. But it was not someone shaking at the door's handle, but only her cell phone. She felt suddenly even more naked, more self conscious, as the cell phone's ring drew attention to that room. She snatched at her purse quickly and pulled it free.