King Coral - Honey Bare

“That I’d like to see.” Then I whipped my head away from her and concentrated on my driving.

“Would you really, Lincoln?”

Her hand was gripping my thigh, the fingers fidgeting excitedly. “I consider that a compliment!”

“I consider it a treat.”

I felt her hand still momentarily and I knew that she’d understood what Id been trying to tell her. Her hand didn’t move away, and the fingers were resting on the inside of my thigh.

Then in a low, husky voice she was telling me that she was a bit nervous about her first performance in front of a live audience and the trouble she’d had with her agent, and her routine. Finally she was going into detail, telling me about what she’d planned.

According to Honey she wanted more than just a straight topless act where the dancer comes on stage, flips ‘aside her bra and begins the dance. Honey wanted something more because eventually she hoped to get into TV and movies. Because those were basically art forms, she’d decided to make her topless act an art form, too.

“I’d like to do my act for you, Lincoln,” she was saying now. “If you’re not in a rush to get home, or you’ve nothing better to do, would you stay and let me perform for you?” She’d turned in the seat; and she was looking at me, her shoulder shoved hard against mine. “And give me your honest opinion what you think of it?”

If I’d had something planned I would have forgotten about it because I had to see Honey’s act I’d let her dance especially for me any Saturday night.

“It would be my pleasure, Honey. I’ll pick up some scotch at the first liquor store we find, and then we’ll make a party out of it.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “That would be fun.”

We didn’t talk much after that but she remained snuggled up beside me, her warm young body molded against my side. There was a liquor store three blocks from her apartment. I dashed inside and bought the scotch. We arrived at her apartment a few minutes later.

After I’d parked, I scurried around the car, opened the door and let her step under the tent. Quickly we went up to the entrance. Honey’s apartment was on the ground floor. The building was old and in a rundown condition and inside her apartment I saw that the furniture was faded and worn. It was a bachelor apartment. It had a large room, with a small alcove for the stove and refrigerator, and the bath. The couch along one wall apparently made up into a bed.

“It’s not much,” Honey apologized as she hung my coat in the closet, “but I’ve been unable to afford anything better.”

“In a couple of weeks you’ll be moving to a high rise.” I told her.

She was shaking the dampness from her hair and then the fingertips were combing it sensually again. “I hope so,” she said. “I want so much to be a success.”

“How old are you, Honey?”

She smiled. “Eighteen. Does that matter?”

“No,” I said. “Why don’t we have a drink?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “And then I’ll dance for you.”

Together we made the drinks and then we clicked glasses and had a sip. Quickly she said, “Now you just settle down over there on the couch. Make yourself at home, Lincoln. I’ll just duck into the bathroom and get into my costume.”

“Fine,” I said. “As long as you get out of it in this room.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “I fully intend to.”

She whirled around and then with the ice cubes tinkling in her glass she walked to the bathroom, entered it, and closed the door.

I kicked off my shoes and settled onto the couch, leaning backwards with a cushion at my shoulders. I sipped my scotch and waited. There was a small combination radio and phonograph on the other she of the room. Three records were lying on the frayed rug in front of it.

“Oh, Lincoln,” she called out the moment the bathroom door had opened, “would you do me a favor?” No part of her was visible.

“Certainly.”

“I forgot to fix the lights. Would you turn out all those, except the one by the couch? And tip the shade so that it will flood the center of the room?

That’s the best I can do for a spotlight.”

I flipped the light switch by the door and tipped the shade the way she’d requested.

“Oh, another thing,” she said. “Would you put the record – it’s on the floor and it had a blue center – onto the phonograph?”

I found the record she wanted, switched on the turntable, and a second later I’d placed the needle in the outside groove. Then I trotted back to my ringside seat, grabbed my glass and settled back.

“Thank you,” she said, but her voice was barely audible above the sound of music. It wasn’t a fast rock and roll number, although it did have the jarring beat. It was about half tempo, with rather a sensual rhythm, and the moment I caught sight of Honey, moving towards the center of the room, I knew her act would be a success. Tonight and every night!

She was still wearing the high-heeled pumps; but she’d exchanged the capris for a skirt. It was black, its hem was about three inches above her bare knees and it was snugged tightly to her hips and thighs. The blouse was sleeveless and also black with a very sedate and high neckline. Her fantastic breasts shoved out the material so far there was about a six-inch gap between her stomach and the bottom of the blouse.

Along with that she was wearing long black gloves. As she moved about in the center of the room, slowly removing her gloves, the long honey-colored hair shimmered and swirled around heir shoulders.

She tossed her gloves aside and slipped out of her shoes. Now as she turned around and faced me, standing in one spot. Her hips swayed and moved sensually while her hands went to the zipper of her blouse, running it down the tracks.

Then she was slipping out of it, moving it off her arms. Gracefully she tossed it aside.

Honey was topless, except for the bra that she’d been wearing under the blouse.

It wasn’t a costume bra with the usual frills and fringes, but rather an everyday bra that women wear.

But on Honey it was special. It wasn’t really everyday in any sense of the word. Black and sheer, it tried to cover all of her breasts. But there was just too much for it to handle, and there were luscious mounds above the cups.

She was still facing me, letting her hips sway provocatively in time to the music as she brought her hands up the sides of her face. For several moments she let her fingertips sweep the mass of honey away from her shoulders, as though getting ready for her bath but not in a hurry to get undressed.

Of course that series of movements only caused her breasts to surge forward even more and strait against the restricting bra. And then, quite casually, her hands were going behind her back. It took her a long and agonizing period of time to get the hooks undone.

The wait had been worth it. I couldn’t see the back of her but I knew the moment the hooks had been unfastened. The front of her bra suddenly shot forward due to the pressure. Her right arm crossed her chest, just under her breasts, and while she wriggled sensually out of the left shoulder strap the tips of her lovely breasts were still concealed.

After that the left arm took the place of the right one; and she was finally slipping out of the other shoulder strap. Now that her shoulders were beginning to sway as seductively as her hips, she suddenly took the bra away from her breasts and let it fall to the floor.

They were lovely breasts, the shade of light-caramel. Proud and magnificent, they rode high on her chest, so heavy that it seemed impossible for them to resist the force of gravity.

I remembered that I was holding a glass of scotch and!’ took a quick sip, recalling my wish earlier that evening. I’d wanted to get a good look at her, at her breasts; and now she was giving me more than just a good look.