GITJ Post 327: A Saturday at Melissa's, p2 (12PM, Dr. J)

And that’s how I found myself gripping her big pink double-K-cup bra, walking down the stairs, periodically drawing a deep breath from it.

I’d woken again another hour later, mortified to find my face still pressed into the right cup of the bra she’d left me on her pillow aside me. She figured I’d want  “to snuggle with it”. I’d certainly more than snuggled with it and quickly realized I’d need to clean myself and - best I could - these sheets. I’d peeled my face out, left the bra behind, and made it to the en-suite bathroom. Just a lav for a guest room but the ceiling soared, a skylight brightening white walls, chrome fixtures and beautiful pale stone tile work naturally. A big tub with multiple jets that looked like it could seat five dominated one corner, but it was in the separate glassed-in shower that I found myself getting a little queasy. I’d needed to clean myself off, but even the nicely warm water from the overhead rain head couldn’t  wash away my building nausea. I recognized the feeling, hoping I wouldn’t start retching as I toweled off, and was drawn back to the bed.

Oversized towel around my undersized waist, I’d realized that I’d begun to feel better the closer I got to the bed. When I sat down, on Melissa’s side of the mattress, and gathered some sheets in my fist to bring them to my face my stomach actually settled a little bit, breathing her in. It smelled like her, and made me feel better. Her perfume, or maybe her laundry detergent, must have some anti-nausea properties? I’ll have to ask her about that, I decided, and took another deep breath. That’s pretty helpful. Indeed, as soon as I stood up, left the bed, my nausea returned.

In the meantime, I’d known I couldn’t spend the day nakedly wrapped in a towel. I needed to get down to the laundry where Melissa said she’d done my clothes. I’d looked at the bra she’d left me, recalled how the smooth, perfumed inner surface of the right cup had embraced my face. The thought was mortifying but I didn’t know if I had a choice. Besides, there was no one else here to see me. And so there I was, on the stairs…

I took another deep breath from the inner surface of her silky-smooth, double-K-cup underwire and finally reached the bottom of the stairs. White, waffle-weave towel around my waist, there was little hiding the other embarrassment of yet another erection tenting my erstwhile skirt; each breath from her bra indeed seemed to fortify it.

Again, thank god I was alone. I was looking for the downstairs laundry and found myself wandering, bra-to-face, giving myself another tour. I meandered through the kitchen, saw the great room where we’d spent some time last night, and walked by a display table on which a number of framed photos sat. There were a number on the wall, as well.

I’d say ‘aw, adorable’ usually when finding family photos, obviously arranged by a proud mom, but whoah. These were not awkward high school portraits, or crying toddlers on Santa’s lap. Pictures of Melissa as a teen, alongside those of a redhead who I assumed was the sister she’d mentioned in passing, were far beyond ‘adorable’. She’d obviously been a hottie right out of the gate, and her sister no slouch either. Frozen, now gawping and feeling my cock rise even further and threaten to tear the thin towel from my waist, I barely registered the few blank spaces on the wall where pictures had been taken down, or the actual empty frames on the table. No pictures of any hints of parents or other family members, either. Not even a family pet. There was a cat around here somewhere, right?

Weird, I finally thought, but still found myself gripping my cock through the towel and mindlessly picking up the school-girl shot of Melissa from behind the others. I gripped myself, stroked, and tried to make out the titles of the books she was holding, or find the hint of bra through her uniform. Just a quick one, I thought to myself, as I inhaled again from the inside of her bra cup and drifted over towards the couch, one to clear the head…

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