Shawna: Roma Revenge – Part III – Dramatic Urges [MF nc nosex]

Author's note: this chapter is less sexy than my usual work, sorry! But I'm building up to something.

I walked out of the gym feeling fresh and clean, mostly. Mostly, because my clothes were now sweaty in ways that were entirely new to me. All my life, I’d thought of breasts as magical bags of fun-filled flesh. It had never dawned on me that they could function like two extra armpits.
I switched to a spare tee in my car, but it fit me like a tent. “Fuck,” I said, looking up at the rearview mirror. “Guess I better get this over with.”
I had planned to leave the parking lot, getting about more important business, but instead I drove to a different part of the same lot. Parking again, I got out and walked into the shopping mall that the gym was attached to.
I walked into the first women’s clothing store I found. The place was a little dimmer than the rest of the mall, and trendy, bass-heavy music was playing somewhere in the ceiling. As obnoxious as it sounds, I couldn’t help but respect the subtle manipulation.
A salesgirl marked me immediately and walked over, smiling. “Hi there!” she said with a little more enthusiasm than I was prepared to deal with. “I’m Cindy. Can I help you with anything?”
“Shit, I hope so,” I said, pushing some hair back from my face. “I’m new to… well, I’m new in town, and all my clothes are gone due to shenanigans. I need, you know, woman clothing.”
Cindy grinned, and I could swear I saw little dollar signs in her eyes. “You’ve totally come to the right place…”
“Shawna.”
“Shawna. Just follow me. Do you know your measurements?”

Cindy was remarkably understanding of the unusual situation and asked very few questions about how a 27 year old woman could come to have no clothing and no idea what her own sizes were. We started with the basic measurements, confirming that I was just into the C-cup range and learning my sizes, then went from there.
Of course, before I could try anything on, I needed proper underwear. I was adamant that nobody would be seeing my bra and panties anytime soon, but Cindy insisted. “You never know,” she said, “when some handsome man – or pretty girl if that’s your scene – might happen along to sweep you off your feet.”
I finally gave in and let her pick out a few matching sets for me. I found the sports bra the most comfortable, but I had to admit the little red padded underwire deal seemed to have magical powers of cleavage-summoning. And the panties that matched it hugged my hips like a second skin.
“Gorgeous,” Cindy said, poking her head into the changeroom. “You’re about the same size as I am, and believe me my boyfriend goes nuts for the lift-and-squish look.”
I looked in the mirror and smiled. She was right; I looked hot. I ditched my initial plan of “just get some jeans and shirts that fit”. Hell, I’d earned a little fun time, right? “Okay, Cindy,” I said, turning to admire my profile, “let’s see what else your boyfriend goes nuts for.”
I’m not proud of how long I spent in that store. It wasn’t even the commission anymore for Cindy; I became her life-sized Barbie doll, and she seemed to delight in dressing me up for all sorts of different times and places. Workout gear that was sexier than it had any business being, casual shirts and cut-offs, business-appropriate suits with ass-hugging skirts… I even let her talk me into a bikini, for some reason. When we were done, it was almost lunchtime and I had enough bags that I needed someone else to help carry them to my car.
“Are you sure you won’t let my stylist friend at you?” she asked. “We could get you a full makeover.”
I shook my head. She’d talked me into a little lip gloss and sold me a couple brushes for my hair, but I wasn’t quite ready to paint my face up. “Thanks,” I said. “but I really do have to get some things done.”
She shrugged and handed me a card. “Call me if you change your mind. Or if you want to hit the town. You seem like you’d be fun in the clubs, and I’d love to see what the boys think of you!”
I smirked, slipping the card into the pocket of my new jeans. It was a tight fit; women’s clothing, while fun and flattering, is terribly lacking in the pocket-space department. “I just might,” I said, looking down at my jeans in disappointment. “And I think I’ll take that messenger bag after all.”

I had lunch at the food court. I was wearing my jeans, a v-neck shirt that matched my eyes, and a pair of shoes that had no business being so cute and so comfortable at the same time. The effects on people around me were surprising.
I didn’t even notice it at first, but the kid at the register kept glancing down and up, unable to keep from looking at my body. I had to bite my cheek to keep from reacting, especially when I noticed how much extra food he’d piled onto my plate. I immediately resolved to wear low necklines to mall chinese places more often.
There were lots of eyes following me as I sat down and ate, too. Some were intrigued; others looked envious. There was a group of fat women giving me death-glares while I enjoyed my heaping plate of greasy food. Some teenage boys whispered to each other nearby, but turned and walked away quickly when they saw I’d noticed them.
I caught myself smiling at the attention. It felt great being looked at and desired by so many people. But I was getting distracted. I shoved the feeling back down into the feminine part of my mind that I was trying to keep locked up and left the mall without finishing my food. This was getting entirely too real for me. I needed help.

Tommy Elliott had been my friend since we were kids. We’d gone to the same schools, dated some of the same girls, frequented the same bars. He was a trust-fund heir, and he’d always been into the “strange and unusual.” I figured one of his best friends growing girlparts would rank up there somewhere, so I sat in my car and sent him a message from my phone.
“Tommy. We need to talk. Got a weird problem.”
His response came right away. “Whats up.”
“Not really sure where to start. Remember that girl I bagged at the office party?”
“The temp. Fuck yeah. She come back to work?”
“Nope but her gypsy grandma cursed me.”
“LOL wut.”
I sighed, then typed a response. “You at home? I’m coming over. I’ll explain when there. But you won’t recognize me.”
I ignored his responses and the subsequent ringing of his call, starting up the car and driving out of the lot.

Tommy’s condo apartment was across town, but I got there in record time. I already knew the door code, so I rode the elevator up and knocked on the door.
Tommy seemed confused but happy to see me. I couldn’t blame him; it’s not every day a cute, sporty chick with nice tits knocks on your door at random.
“Well hello there,” he said, pouring on his usual charm. “What can I do for-”
“Shut up, Tommy, it’s me,” I said, pushing past him into the apartment.
“Hey!” He closed the door and followed to where I had sat on his couch. “Listen, miss, I don’t know you. I’d like to know you, but I don’t know you.”
I sighed. “When we were twelve, you got your dick stuck in a soda bottle. I had to help you ice the glass so you could get it out.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “How the hell would you know-”
“Because I’m Shawn,” I said, tossing my wallet on the table with my I.D. showing. “Gypsy curse. I’m a girl. Can we move on, please?”
Shawn sat down in the armchair opposite me. “Holy fuck. Shawn?”
“Yeah. I’ll just give you a minute.”
“Shit man… you’re hot!”
“Shut up, Tommy.”

I explained to Tommy the situation as I knew it, with a few details left out: I fucked the temp, her family was pissed off, gypsy curse no more penis. To his credit, he managed to keep his eyes mostly on my face while I spoke. Mostly.
“Hey. Tommy.”
“Yeah, Shawna?”
I grumbled, crossing my arms. “It’s Shawn. And my face is up here.”
Tommy grinned. “Shit man, I’m sorry. It’s just, you know, distracting. I mean, you’re my bro… but you’ve got that body now.” He leaned forward. “Can I see ‘em?”
I blinked. “Say what, now?”
“Your tits,” he explained. “I’d like to see them.”
“Fuck no,” I said, glaring at him. “Don’t be weird.”
“Dude, this whole situation is weird. But what do you care? It’s not like I’ve never seen you topless. Hell, we went to the beach last weekend.”
“Yeah well last weekend I had awesome pecs and you weren’t staring like you wanted to lick ice cream off ‘em.”
“Psht. You’re exaggerating. Besides, I don’t have any ice cream. I’m just curious is all.”
I sighed. “Alright, fine,” I said, pulling up the front of my shirt to reveal my bra. “Before you ask, C. Satisfied?”
Tommy shrugged. “Not really. I mean, damn, they did a nice job. But I’m certainly not satisfied with that little tease. C’mon, lose the bra.”
I snapped my fingers a few times. “Hey. You. Me. Gypsies. Help find.”
Tommy waved his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Just check the hall of records downtown on Monday. They’ll have some sorta trail. Taxes, carny fees, whatever.” He got up and moved over to sit next to me. “Damn, you’ve got skin like a teenager.”
“Yeah, it’s a new body,” I explained. “No sun, no wrinkles or laugh-lines, no scars.”
He whistled. “It’s been a while since I felt up a virgin, and never one who was all grown up.” His hands were moving as he spoke, and before I knew what was going on he’d pushed my bra up with my shirt and was squeezing my breasts with both hands. “God, Shawn, look at these things.”
I yelped in surprise and batted his hands away. “Fuck, Tom, quit it,” I said. “I’m not gonna gay out with you.”
Tommy grinned. “It’s not gay… Shawna.” He leaned closer and ran a hand up my leg. “You’re a woman. You can’t say you aren’t enjoying being touched.”
His hand slid higher on my inner thigh, and part of my mind told me to relax and let him touch me. Part of me enjoyed the attention, the validation. Loved being wanted. I let out a little sigh. Then his hand was between my legs and he was grabbing my chest with the other one. His mouth pressed over mine, cutting off my protests.
It was such a bizarre feeling. I was pulled in too many directions at once. My body was excited, moaning and kissing him back, wanting to give in and let myself be touched. My mind was pissed off at my friend for not taking my problem seriously and for trying this creepy shit with me. And under that, the part of me that I wasn’t listening to wasn’t excited or angry. It was afraid.
I put my hands on his chest and pushed him back. He had me halfway pushed over, so I ended up on my back on the couch. “Holy shit Tommy, what the fuck!” I snapped at him.
“I’m sorry, it’s just you look so sweet, and I can tell you’re into it. I know you’re wet right now.” His hand, still between my legs, pushed up against the warmth there and I realized he was right; my traitorous body was rapidly soaking my cute new panties.
I gasped softly at the jolt of sensation from the pressure. Tommy took the opportunity to lean down on top of me, pressing his mouth over mine once more. He felt heavy and hot and there was something rubbing against my hand. After a moment, I realized it was his dick; he’d moved my hand onto his crotch and was rubbing himself on my palm.
I shoved him back once again and rolled out from under him, landing on the floor in a graceless heap and scrambling to my feet. I had to go, to get out. I bolted for the door.
“Wait baby, come back,” Tommy called.
“Fuck you, Tom,” I yelled, slamming his door behind myself and dashing for the stairs.
It was eleven floors down, and I ran the whole way, certain he would be right behind me. The only sounds I could hear were my own frantic steps and the pounding of my heart in my ears, but I didn’t dare look back.
I hit the bottom door at full speed and flew out into the rain. It hadn’t been raining before, but it apparently was the day that everything went as horribly as possible, so pretty quickly I was soaked through. I had pulled my shirt down at some point, but my bra was still practically up around my neck, and the cold water made the shirt cling miserably to me. My eyes stung with tears and I couldn’t remember where my car was, so I ran down the sidewalk away from Tommy’s building wiping my face with both hands. Still, it surprised me when I ran into a firm wall in the middle of the sidewalk. It surprised me more when the wall put its hands on my shoulders.
“Whoa, hey, careful there! Are you alright, miss?”
I knew that voice. My body tensed and I looked up – way up – into the familiar concerned eyes of the Viking.
“C-Chris?” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”
“Just walking home from the store,” he said, nodding toward the pavement. I followed his gaze to a small grocery bag and discarded umbrella. “Hey, I know you,” he said. “Shawna,right? With the big bench press?”
I chuckled between sobs, somehow. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s me.”
“Well what are you doing out here crying in the rain?”
I looked up at him again. He looked honestly concerned, but I didn’t feel like I could tell him anything. He’d think I was crazy! “It’s… complicated,” I finally said.
“Really?” he asked. “Because from where I’m standing it looks pretty simple.” He reached over and touched the bra strap that was hanging out of my top, and I realized that both cups were showing where they’d been pushed up over my chest.
“Shit,” I said. “Look, it’s not like that… “
“Like what?”
“I mean, I’m not some kind of… you know, street girl. I was just at a friend’s apartment, and things got… weird.”
Chris frowned. “Do I need to have someone come round and talk to your ‘friend’? Maybe someone with a badge and a gun?”
“No!” I held up my hands. “It’s okay. I’ll work it out. I just have to find…” I coughed, and suddenly I was crying again. “God dammit…”
Chris stepped in again, wrapping his arms around me. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to make it worse. Come on, let’s get you out of the rain and you can dry off, then I’ll take you home.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3ko5z9/shawna_roma_revenge_part_iii_dramatic_urges_mf_nc