When I was in my early twenties and living in my own place my younger brother took it into his head to move in with me for a while. This had its pluses and its minuses. On the plus side he was good company and could help pay the rent and utilities. On the minus side he was a bit of a slob who took up my space. I liked being on my own.
Another thing about my brother - I have to admit that at times he could be a right bastard. I've no idea where he got that trait from. Personally I'm one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet.
For some reason it seemed that that touch of bastardry appealed to a certain type of woman. Like calling to like, was how I explained it, as a number of his girlfriends seemed to be bitches of the first order. Take Karen, his current girlfriend.
Karen was a blonde, nineteen or twenty, with a really nice figure and a lovely personality. Sometimes. Other times she could give pointers to the Wicked Witch of the West. She also had a penchant for dressing in abbreviated clothing, liking to show off her assets. She had some very prominent assets, I assure you.
That's where her bitchiness showed up at times. She liked to tease. I think she knew to a millimetre how far she could bend over to expose just so much and no more, leaving the boys panting in frustration, yearning for that extra hidden glimpse.
I was home alone one Saturday when Karen dropped by to see my brother. From her attitude it was plain that she had expected him to be there waiting, but as he wasn't I invited her in and offered her a drink.
It was a hot day and Karen was wearing a wide belt masquerading as a skirt and a sun top. I was quite sure she wasn't wearing a bra and her panties, if any, were of the no visible panty-line type.
Now being a normal young man (perpetually horny) I of course manoeuvred to ensure that I could a), look up her skirt, and b), look down her top. Karen on the other hand positioned herself so that I couldn't see one square inch more flesh than she wanted me to. Not that she didn't mind me seeing a great deal, just not quite enough. An interesting and frustrating experience.
We were in the kitchen, having our drinks and lightly sparring, when my phone nudged me, telling me I had a message. It was my brother. The message read something along the lines of. "If Karen is there tell her to piss off. I won't be home for hours so she's wasting her time waiting."
That's my brother. Mister Smooth. Changes his mind about a date and leaves it to me to do his dirty work. Ah, well. His decision fitted in well with my immediate wishes. Not that I'd actually intended carrying out those wishes prior to receiving the text message. That message meant it was a whole new ball game.
I got up and walked over to where Karen was sitting and held out my hands. It's odd, but when a man hold out his hands to a seated woman she almost automatically takes them to allow herself to be drawn to her feet, which was what happened with Karen. As soon as she was standing I reached for her top and started lifting it up.
An immediate reaction. She batted at my hands, telling me in no uncertain words to keep my hands to myself. Trouble was, as soon as she slapped at my hands I caught hers. It was the work of a moment to push them around behind her and hold them there.
Now, instead of trying to lift her top, I started to undo the catches on her excuse for a skirt. Karen started wriggling and swearing at me, but I suppose that could be expected.
"Listen, woman," I snapped at her. "No need to get your panties in a bunch. All I'm going to do is have a look at this figure of yours. You've been flaunting it and teasing for so long I figure I'm entitled. I'm not going to grope you afterwards. If you behave, I won't even take a picture. I'll just strip off your things and admire your curves and then let you get dressed again. Now stop wriggling and be quiet."
I figured the chances of her actually shutting up and not wriggling were slim so I wasn't too surprised to have her continue to carry on. She did tone it down considerable, though. She did ask me rather sarcastically if I'd considered asking to see her figure.
"Of course I considered asking," I pointed out, "but you'd probably have said no and then you would have been warned of my intentions. This way I can just strip you and check you out. Sort of tag and release. A quick slap to the bottom will be the tag."
She called me another rude name at that comment, but by then her skirt was dropping down and her panties (she did have some on) quickly followed.
"Be a good girl and step out of those things will you," I suggested. "Saves me having to make you."
I only got a fulminating look for that crack but she obediently stepped out of her panties, kicking them off one foot. I could see her chalking up another notch in the 'things to get even for' mental tab she was gathering.
Now it was obvious that I'd have to let go her hands to take her top off but before I did that I pushed it up and over her breasts. I was right about one thing - no bra.
I let go her wrists and used both hands to jerk her top higher. Karen didn't really have much option but to let it go. She stood there afterwards, giving me a nasty look. Far from trying to use her freed hands to cover herself, Karen placed them on the table behind her, leaning back onto them.
She was really quite lovely, all luscious curves. Her breasts were high and firm and most definitely didn't need a bra to hold them in position. She was nicely tanned, apart from where some interesting patches of pink and white showed the type of bikini she favoured.
I stood back a little, enjoying the scenery. Karen just stood there, really sort of leaning back against the table, I should say, hands behind her, effectively presenting her figure to its best advantage.
"If you've seen what you wanted to see, do you mind if I get dressed again," she asked. The sarcasm was so thick you could have spread it on a piece of bread and eaten it.
The question was, did I mind if she got dressed again? Of course I minded.
Karen had been so busy flaunting what she had (and, yes, she had deliberately flaunted it once she had accepted the fact that she was going to be naked) and glaring at me that she hadn't noticed what I was doing. The sound of my trousers hitting the floor seemed to come as a real shock to her.
She looked down when she heard the noise, then her head jerked back up and she was looking at me with surprise writ plain on her face. My intentions weren't exactly hidden. Rather, they were standing out for all to see.
"You can't," she said, speaking almost in a whisper. "You said you were just going to look at me."
