I had long since decided to damn all skirts (plaid or otherwise) and the tight white asses in them to an eternity in the fiery pits of hell. Nothing good can come from ogling two small, perfect, tight, round, squeezable glutes encased in velvety fabric. Absolutely nothing.
Every time she catches me looking she blushes. Every time I've tried to touch it's resulted in my cool face meeting a not-so-cool fate at the proverbial hands of a hardback copy of War and Peace. Every time I try to apologize, I fumble and stare again, and we're back again at square one, with her flustered and angry, and me red-faced and fumbling for my dignity.
I swear it must be the shorter skirt. At least the plaid thing was partially covered by long black coat. Her ass and my eyes rarely made contact with one another. It was as it should be. Her obsession with modesty protected both my wandering eyes and my Johnson from becoming overly noticeable. As a cool dude, the classic pitched-tent in the pants look is so overdone and out of the style that I just couldn't bring myself to lower my fashion standards. And it was so easy.
Until she decided to test the limits of my manhood by filling out, becoming more feminine, and flashing my field of vision with random and intermittent glances of the woman she'd been hiding underneath.
The change in wardrobe was the first kicker. Force the normally-conservative and shy girl into a shopping spree at the behest of Kid's stolen credit card, and it was as if the floodgates of fashion had been torn wide open. Suddenly, the world of Victoria's Secret and Macy's became known to her, literally overnight. Partially on my behalf, and partially due to Liz and Patty's incessant goading that she "buy something sexy" in order to "drive him crazy," my little meister – my thoughtful, sexy, impressionable, wonderful, horrible, sinful meister – decided that she needed some new underwear, skirts, and more revealing tops in order to ensure that my lower jaw never again reached higher than ground level.
Vacuuming. Now officially my favorite sport to watch. Not on the television, mind you, but right in my own living room. I thoroughly enjoy seeing her bent at the waist, back parallel with the ground, ass slightly in the air, attacking those nasty dust bunnies under the table, with that enticing blue skirt flashing me just a hint of the white panties that Liz insisted behind Maka's back were intended "just for you." Apparently she does keep secrets, because I have yet to gain access to such sacred ground as the inside of Maka's legs. Or the outside, for that matter. Those long, slender, pale, muscular, tight, sexy legs that make a scythe just want to grip the inside of those maddening thighs and force them open so I can stick my face in her…
But I digress. Maka. Vacuuming. As good as it gets for the party in my pants. At least until she decides to stand on a chair to get the grime high above the drapes. Then my drawers are host to a full-blown disco rave complete with pounding tunes and colorful glow sticks. The invitation to this kind of samba is simply too much for any man to resist. I take the bait.
It's become quite apparent to me that Soul likes the new approach I've taken in my appearance. Liz insisted that no 17-year-old girl should still be wearing the same bras and skirts that she's worn since she was 12. I admit that I was ready for a change. But the problem was money. I didn't have a job, so I didn't make any. Fighting kishin and making Soul a death scythe were both full-time jobs by themselves, and my number one priority until the demon Asura was brought to his knees.
Not a problem, Liz insisted. Pulling out her wallet, she presented me with the key to the city, as it were. A platinum-embossed, freshly-activated, low-interest-rate-with-no-annual-fee credit card from the appropriately-coined Death City Community Bank. Complete with creepy skull face on the front of the card, reminiscent of a certain double gun-wielding meister's father present on the logo. Oh, and also his name.
How the hell she came upon Kid's credit card, I suppose I'll never know. Liz refused to elaborate, and I didn't question. Especially when loaded with armfuls of clothing, dragged by the collar into the nearest dressing room, and stripped down completely to try on the latest line of bras and p-p-panties from Victoria's Secret.
"Hey, watch where you're touching, Patti!"
"Sorry, Maka…but you look so adorable in red!"
"I look like a cheap hooker!"
Liz patted my head thrice and pulled the itchy tag out from the back of the bra, her nails tickling the space between my shoulder blades and sending an abrupt shiver up my spine.
"Maka, you have a lot to learn about what men like. Don't you think Soul would like this, Patti?"
She giggled an enthusiastic, "Uh huh!" and immediately went back to drawing giraffes on the dressing room mirror with a sample of designer lipstick. Purple was not a color I would imagine for someone's lips, but they seemed to make attractive-enough quadruped mammals for Patti's tastes.
Liz's question sent a blush straight to my face and a wave of moist heat straight to my loins. I couldn't imagine Soul seeing me in anything less than a blanket at that moment. A very thick blanket, with only my head visible so that he didn't get any ideas.
"I-I-I don't give a damn what Soul thinks!"
"Right. That's why you're blushing. And why your nipples are pointy."
Oh good lord.
"Let's make her try this one on next. Soul might like the lace. Is Soul a lace man, Maka?"
"H-h-h-how the hell should I know?"
"We might have a problem here. Hold her down, Patti."
A busty blonde projectile soared down at me from the top of the stall where Patti had been hanging like a giggling ape. "Okay!"
I became the guinea pig for a variety of different underwear sets that afternoon. It didn't help that neither Liz nor Patti gave a flying fuck about my modesty, and by the end of the shopping spree, I had blushed all the red right out of my pores hours ago. Safe to say, I felt eager to get home to Soul, and to my bedroom, where I could forget the embarrassing events of the last few hours and pretend I hadn't been at all molested by two would-be-lesbians, because according to Liz, Kid had already been in both their pants long ago, much to my virgin ears' dismay.
I was originally going to take all the items back when I was sure neither Liz nor Patti would follow me. That was the plan. More than $500 on designer underwear and other articles was way too much to spend on clothing, and I figured I'd be doing Kid a favor by not going over his credit limit.
Save one skirt. Because it was light blue and pretty and comfortable. And I actually thought I looked rather good in it. It was tighter than the skirts I normally wore, but of all the things I'd been forced to purchase over the past 24 hours, it was the one thing I could actually see myself wearing in public.
Oh, and maybe the white underwear. Because that was safe territory, and Liz and Patti had been nice enough to allow me a few articles of normal underwear among the plethora of sleazy pieces that I refused to be caught dead wearing. Especially by Soul.
But no. All that other stuff. Nuh-uh. Had to go immediately.
Soul seemed to like the skirt, too. At least, that was the impression I got when he just wouldn't stop staring as I cleaned the apartment. In fact, his eyes meticulously followed me around the room carefully and quizzically, as if her were trying to size me up, and determine this was in fact really his meister that was vacuuming the carpet.
I pride myself on being able to detect and read the souls of others like the pages of an open book. I can also detect emotions and intentions along with the nature of people's spirits, but I didn't realize how adept I'd become at sensing where Soul's attentions lie at any given moment. More than just his eyes drilling holes into the back of my head, I could literally feel his red orbs as they moved up and down my form, and I blushed profusely when his gaze lingered for a moment on my butt, as if trying to peer through the fabric itself and catch a glance of what lay hidden underneath.
In the midst of my embarrassed stupor, I found myself incredibly flattered at the same time. Soul had rarely taken an interest in me before, at least not without trying to hide it immediately upon the realization that he'd been found out, but now he wasn't even trying to keep up the cool act. All the barriers were down, and it was as if he was trying to make himself noticed. He could easily hide his soul's wavelength from me by matching his own to meet mine and that would be the end of it. Instead, I felt him slowly reach out, letting me know that he knew that I knew he was watching me like a hawk. It was like a silent dare to get me to do something – anything – to let him know that the interest was mutual.
I accepted his attentions, and made one motion of my own. Dragging a chair over to the living room drapes, I placed it directly in front of the couch where he was sitting. Standing on top of it, I made to use the extension tool on the tip of the vacuum to suck up all the dust and dirt on top of the curtain mantle. A perfectly valid excuse for weathering the height of a chair. A completely normal thing to do, hiding under its guise more malevolent and teasing intentions.
I could sense when he caught a glimpse of my underwear. I couldn't help blushing more when I felt his soul spike with my ability, and reaching higher to extend my reach down the mantle, yes, that's all I'm doing, my skirt was lifted higher until I was sure he could see everything with absolutely no trouble at all.
The problem with white cotton panties is that when they get wet, it's easily noticeable. Especially when it came to these special pieces, made of the finest, thinnest material money can buy. Pay twice as much, get half the fabric. A quite confusing concept. However, by this time I was sinfully moist and flustered despite my housekeeping guise, and it immediately became apparent when Soul noticed. Oh god, he noticed. He could see….
I suddenly lost my composed demeanor. The blush came back full force at the realization that he could likely see right through them, and I suddenly recognized that this game of wills and personal control had become increasingly dangerous. We'd teased each other before, but never to the extent that I could literally feel his need to jump me like a prime rib well done. Also, I couldn't guarantee that I'd be able to resist his advances, either. Thankfully, Soul had the foresight to save me from it.
Turning to face him slowly, still mounted on the chair, I used all of my power to force back the blush I knew was evident. Red, red, go away, come again another….never!
Forcing the contents of his hand into my face, an empty crinkly bag that conveniently hid his face from my view, I silently exalted and thanked him one thousand fold for the distraction from making a complete and total slutty fool of myself.
"Should I grab the bike?"
I shook my head. I needed the feel of wind in my face to get my libido back on track. The cold air would quickly spay the horndog I had become.