Adam groaned softly, as the noise disturbed him. Trying to turn over, and fall into a deeper sleep, his shoulder hit a harder padded surface. Slowly, he became aware he wasn't lying down. His eyes scrunched shut, he went to pull the sheets higher.
Grabbing the edge of the material, it felt wrong in his grip. His fingers curling the wrong way. But still sleepy, and eager for a longer snooze, he tugged it higher. It was then that he felt an answering shift come from his chest. A warm fleshy shimmy, that felt entirely wrong.
Eyes snapping open, Adam found himself in a ... he wasn't sure. It took him a few moments for him to adjust to the muted light of the room. But, as he adjusted, it was clear the walls were lined with shelves and the shelves were lined with bottles. It was the back room to bar. An old stuffed chair in need of repair in a back room.
However, Adam had more pressing distractions. The waist hugging orange hot-pants, Even that was only visible through the canyon of cleavage that pulled at his... her shoulders. The fabric yanked high, serving more as a collar or necklace than a top.
Erupting from the chair, her chest heaved wildly, threatening to throw Adam wildly around. A heavier rump also threatening to pull her back into the burgundy, velour padded chair.
Instinctively, she tugged her top back down. The friction as it brushed over her ripe nipples pulling a soft moan from her lips. Snatching her fingers back, as if afraid of contamination, a hank of golden blonde hair flashed past her eyes. She muffled the startled scream, as her heart raced.
"Adele." a voice called through the door.
Intuitively, Adam knew this was her. She was Adele. Her hair flashed back and forth, as her head turned to look for any other escape, any other door. Hell, even a window large enough for her to crawl out. But the pale, bare light above showed no other exit.
Unwilling to be cornered, you reach for the handle with your trembling fingers. The hubbub jumps as the door opens, the noise of eager customers being unmuffled by the door.
Stepping fully into public view, Adele felt like a piece of meat. A sumptuous feast for the customer's eyes to devour. Their gazes lewd and open, as they leered at her curves. The soft swell of her rear in the fluorescent orange pants, the even more unsettling feeling, as they checked for camel toe. She was only barely aware of how much her bust moved, each shimmy making her top climb just a fraction higher. The curve of her breasts emerging further and further into sight.
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The customers were also rather brightly dressed, with the latest in high-fashion from the eighties with mullets topping far too many heads, and clothes too heavily inspired by Micheal Jackson, Prince and Miami Vice. Adele even forgot for a second, her own outfit, her own changes.
The resounding, 'complimentary', slap on her arse, as a customer squeezed past her felt like it burned, felt like the sound would echo around the room. She was too shocked, to humiliated to even respond before he was out of reach, triumphant smiles reflecting back from his table mates.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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