New Fic--Five of Victoria's Secrets
I've decided to finally post this. This is underwear fic. Yes, that's right, it features panties.
Five women, four secrets, some satin, a bit of lace, and a handful of beads.
Featuring Rogue from the X-Men movies, Mathilda from The Professional, Jess and Jules from Bend It Like Beckham, and Hermione from Harry Potter. As always, not mine.
Five of Victoria's Secrets
Clothing is a but an afterthought to many people, a matter of pride or self-expression to others, and to a few something that verges on obsession. Yet Rogue thinks that she must be the only one in all of humanity who weighs her daily wardrobe on the scales of mortality, each morning going through a checklist of possible death and destruction alongside fashion and temperature. Most days she just tosses on jeans, t-shirt, and long gloves in a self-pitying manner. Today she felt like indulging, so she prettied herself up with a long skirt and silk blouse and a little-something purchased a few weeks ago. It was a good decision, and she smiles thinking back on the day while she settles into the corner of the couch. The school is quiet now, after a full and noisy school day, and she and Logan are the only night owls left to prowl the house. Her ego has benefitted from the appreciative looks she got throughout the day, from students and professors both. She almost forgot she was the girl with untouchable skin a time or two.
She has drawn her feet up on the couch, enjoying the relaxation of being almost alone, when she notices Logan staring from the other side of the room. She follows his line of sight down to where the side split of her skirt is revealing the lacy tops of her stockings. She lets him stare a little bit longer, knowing he is wondering if she is wearing garters. She isn't, since the waist of the skirt is a little too low and tailored to coordinate with the pair she has.
She stands and wanders around the room on her bare feet, acting as if she is looking for something. Her sandals are comfortable, low-heeled with good traction, but she likes the way the fine wool of the rug tickles her feet under the stockings. She has to step carefully not to slip, however, so her stride is short and almost mincing as she moves aimlessly past the television and bookcases. She puts a bit of sway into her hips, letting them roll up and down and side to side.
Rogue glances back over her shoulder, feeling nervous triumph when she sees Logan with his head cocked to the side like he does when he's listening hard for something. Finally! She had hoped he would notice earlier in the day, but apparently the bustle of school children drowned out the little clicks.
She almost laughs when she sees him wrinkle his eyebrows, trying to figure out what he's hearing. She'll never tell. If he wants to know, he'll have to look. She's not be wearing garters, but she does have a secret beneath her skirt. The little green satin triangle in front is unremarkable, but it's the back that makes her pair of panties exotic. Silver lines thread between her legs and over her hips, meeting in the middle of her spine with a jeweled flower. And the best part, the detail she knew would get Logan's attention when she saw them, is the double string of tiny beads that dangles from the flower, tickling over her cheeks and click-clacking together with every sway of her hips.
Mathilda strips off the little white satin thong that she had to wear under the filmy white graduation dress, kicking it in a high arc toward the unmade bed in the corner of her nearly empty apartment. The little one room flat had come furnished, if you could say a rickety kitchen table, a single bed, and an old dresser was furnished. But it's hers, and she stands for a moment in the small space, naked except for the length of ribbon around her throat. She's just enjoying the space, the absence of rules and other girls for the first time in five years. For the first time in her life she is truly free, and it feels better than she thought it would, for all that she's been anticipating this day.
She catches sight of her body in an old cracked and murky mirror on the closet door. She's a few inches taller than she was when she was twelve, her figure fuller with a tone to her muscles that her prepubescent body just couldn't carry. Yet all in all she looks pretty much the same. She's pretty much the same little girl with bobbed black hair who had her life rearranged in a single day, and then blown apart again just a month later.
She crosses the small room to where her large duffle bag sits on the old table next to a small Chinese evergreen. She rifles through the pockets, finally finding a clean racerback sports bra and a pair of hip-cut cotton blend panties. The soft material cradles her, moves with her body no matter what she does, unlike that tight little thong that's meant to seduce rather than provide function. There is no room for seduction in her life right now. She has little use for boys her own age, and she doesn't think there is a man out there who can compete with the memory of Leon.
Mathilda paws through the bag some more, finds jeans and a pink baby doll t-shirt, her tennis shoes and some socks. Pulls out enough cash for bus fare, maybe a bite to eat on the way back. She stuffs the rest of her cash behind one of the drawers in the kitchen. When she gets back she'll pry up one of the floorboards to serve as a cache for her money and paperwork; she'll have to find a bigger spot for her kit.
She locks the door behind her and squares her shoulders. It's time to talk to Uncle Tony about a job.
Jules glances over at Jess, who is dutifully writing down every word the professor is saying. They're in the middle of American history, and Jules is bored out of her mind. It's a gorgeous day, not too hot for once and the smog isn't pressing in like usual. They actually have the windows open in the classroom, back door propped wide to let in the toasted coconut breeze that she always associates with Southern California.
She shifts a little in her seat, unused to the glide of fine material on her skin. Her mum had always tried to get her to wear girly underthings, and she had always resisted, preferring the no-nonsense cotton and spandex knits that serve so well on the field. But Jess had asked one day, shy and a little awkward, and so they had gone shopping. And so here she is, squirming in her peacock blue satin and lace knickers cut low across her hips, her bosom pushed up into something resembling cleavage by a very pretty matching bra. It feels a touch strange, the way the underwire sits against her ribs and the cups force her breasts upward, but all in all she likes the affect. The satin is cool and smooth against her nipples, like the brush of another's hand, and it makes her feel sexy and desirable, and she's a little pissed that her mum was right. It isn't the only thing the silly dear was right about, though she still doesn't know it.
Now Jess is nibbling on the end of her pen, looking very studious and thoughtful. They had considered buying matching sets, but their bodies are different enough that what looks good on one doesn't necessarily look good on the other. Jess picked a set in a cherry wine satin that should glow against the deep henna brown of her skin, decorated with little curlicues of embroidered lace. It's delicate yet not too girly. Both knickers and bra are cut in a deep V, the cups full and set wide to flatter Jess' more generous chest. Jules hasn't seen Jess with them on yet, but she will this afternoon at practice.
Later tonight, she'll see her without.
Hermione glances around the classroom, just moving her eyes as she peers through the frame of her long hair. It's potions, and Snape for once is letting them study quietly from their text while he grades papers at his desk. She wonders if it is a sign of the coming apocalypse, then chides herself for making fun when it very well could be. Neville drops something beside her, making her jump, and she hisses in response. Clamping her lips shut she looks around, but everyone still has their heads buried in their books. No one feels like risking Snape's generosity by acting up today. It makes her feel even more naughty, knowing she has to sit here quiet as a mouse, pretending nothing is different.
Something is different, though, and she smiles as she remembers the questioning looks Ron and Harry had given her when the owl delivered the little brown paper package this morning at breakfast. She had shook them off easily enough, saying something about a book, knowing they would return to the usual quidditch discussion at the first sign of anything academic. As soon as breakfast had ended she slipped into the prefect bathroom on the way to class, knowing the package contained something far more interesting than a book. Her mother had slipped a stack of Muggle catalogs in her things before she left on the Hogwarts train that final time, probably hoping to remind her that the Muggle world held things of interest. She ignored them for several months, but one day she was bored, having finished the initial revising for the N.E.W.T.S the day before, so she picked them up. One particular item had caught her attention, and in a fit of spontaneous rebellion, she had taken the necessary steps to have it ordered and delivered to the Hogsmeade relay post.
She still isn't sure if pink is her colour, though the strips of lace that climb her hips flatter her stomach and rear. They really aren't the point, however. What makes her new pair of knickers particularly naughty is the fact that instead of a perfectly serviceable cloth crotch, they only have a string of fake pearls running between the ring of lace. She had been taken by the idea immediately, but her imagination had not equaled the reality. The pearls dangle loose whenever she stands, so she had not been prepared for what happened when she sat down for the first lesson of the day in transfigurations. The boys had given her funny looks when she gasped out loud, but she waved them off and pretended to pay attention to Professor McGonagall. In truth she was focused on the way the pearls rubbed against her most intimately, stroking across her clit and arse, fondling her lips. Every time she wiggles or changes position they rub her in a new and definitely exciting way.
Eyes wandering the classroom again, Hermione wonders why no one has noticed her peculiar preoccupation today. Then again, no one would ever suspect their Head Girl of anything less than perfect studiousness. But today she finds books to be the furthest thing from her mind as she takes in the prospects around her. She is discovering her joy in her body to be a liberating thing, and it makes her want to share it. Unfortunately she decides that there just isn't anyone mature enough to handle the things she wants to explore, so she just leans back a little in her seat.
With her lovely new beaded knickers, Hermione thinks she doesn't need anyone other than herself.
Five women, four secrets, some satin, a bit of lace, and a handful of beads.
Featuring Rogue from the X-Men movies, Mathilda from The Professional, Jess and Jules from Bend It Like Beckham, and Hermione from Harry Potter. As always, not mine.
Five of Victoria's Secrets
Clothing is a but an afterthought to many people, a matter of pride or self-expression to others, and to a few something that verges on obsession. Yet Rogue thinks that she must be the only one in all of humanity who weighs her daily wardrobe on the scales of mortality, each morning going through a checklist of possible death and destruction alongside fashion and temperature. Most days she just tosses on jeans, t-shirt, and long gloves in a self-pitying manner. Today she felt like indulging, so she prettied herself up with a long skirt and silk blouse and a little-something purchased a few weeks ago. It was a good decision, and she smiles thinking back on the day while she settles into the corner of the couch. The school is quiet now, after a full and noisy school day, and she and Logan are the only night owls left to prowl the house. Her ego has benefitted from the appreciative looks she got throughout the day, from students and professors both. She almost forgot she was the girl with untouchable skin a time or two.
She has drawn her feet up on the couch, enjoying the relaxation of being almost alone, when she notices Logan staring from the other side of the room. She follows his line of sight down to where the side split of her skirt is revealing the lacy tops of her stockings. She lets him stare a little bit longer, knowing he is wondering if she is wearing garters. She isn't, since the waist of the skirt is a little too low and tailored to coordinate with the pair she has.
She stands and wanders around the room on her bare feet, acting as if she is looking for something. Her sandals are comfortable, low-heeled with good traction, but she likes the way the fine wool of the rug tickles her feet under the stockings. She has to step carefully not to slip, however, so her stride is short and almost mincing as she moves aimlessly past the television and bookcases. She puts a bit of sway into her hips, letting them roll up and down and side to side.
Rogue glances back over her shoulder, feeling nervous triumph when she sees Logan with his head cocked to the side like he does when he's listening hard for something. Finally! She had hoped he would notice earlier in the day, but apparently the bustle of school children drowned out the little clicks.
She almost laughs when she sees him wrinkle his eyebrows, trying to figure out what he's hearing. She'll never tell. If he wants to know, he'll have to look. She's not be wearing garters, but she does have a secret beneath her skirt. The little green satin triangle in front is unremarkable, but it's the back that makes her pair of panties exotic. Silver lines thread between her legs and over her hips, meeting in the middle of her spine with a jeweled flower. And the best part, the detail she knew would get Logan's attention when she saw them, is the double string of tiny beads that dangles from the flower, tickling over her cheeks and click-clacking together with every sway of her hips.
Mathilda strips off the little white satin thong that she had to wear under the filmy white graduation dress, kicking it in a high arc toward the unmade bed in the corner of her nearly empty apartment. The little one room flat had come furnished, if you could say a rickety kitchen table, a single bed, and an old dresser was furnished. But it's hers, and she stands for a moment in the small space, naked except for the length of ribbon around her throat. She's just enjoying the space, the absence of rules and other girls for the first time in five years. For the first time in her life she is truly free, and it feels better than she thought it would, for all that she's been anticipating this day.
She catches sight of her body in an old cracked and murky mirror on the closet door. She's a few inches taller than she was when she was twelve, her figure fuller with a tone to her muscles that her prepubescent body just couldn't carry. Yet all in all she looks pretty much the same. She's pretty much the same little girl with bobbed black hair who had her life rearranged in a single day, and then blown apart again just a month later.
She crosses the small room to where her large duffle bag sits on the old table next to a small Chinese evergreen. She rifles through the pockets, finally finding a clean racerback sports bra and a pair of hip-cut cotton blend panties. The soft material cradles her, moves with her body no matter what she does, unlike that tight little thong that's meant to seduce rather than provide function. There is no room for seduction in her life right now. She has little use for boys her own age, and she doesn't think there is a man out there who can compete with the memory of Leon.
Mathilda paws through the bag some more, finds jeans and a pink baby doll t-shirt, her tennis shoes and some socks. Pulls out enough cash for bus fare, maybe a bite to eat on the way back. She stuffs the rest of her cash behind one of the drawers in the kitchen. When she gets back she'll pry up one of the floorboards to serve as a cache for her money and paperwork; she'll have to find a bigger spot for her kit.
She locks the door behind her and squares her shoulders. It's time to talk to Uncle Tony about a job.
Jules glances over at Jess, who is dutifully writing down every word the professor is saying. They're in the middle of American history, and Jules is bored out of her mind. It's a gorgeous day, not too hot for once and the smog isn't pressing in like usual. They actually have the windows open in the classroom, back door propped wide to let in the toasted coconut breeze that she always associates with Southern California.
She shifts a little in her seat, unused to the glide of fine material on her skin. Her mum had always tried to get her to wear girly underthings, and she had always resisted, preferring the no-nonsense cotton and spandex knits that serve so well on the field. But Jess had asked one day, shy and a little awkward, and so they had gone shopping. And so here she is, squirming in her peacock blue satin and lace knickers cut low across her hips, her bosom pushed up into something resembling cleavage by a very pretty matching bra. It feels a touch strange, the way the underwire sits against her ribs and the cups force her breasts upward, but all in all she likes the affect. The satin is cool and smooth against her nipples, like the brush of another's hand, and it makes her feel sexy and desirable, and she's a little pissed that her mum was right. It isn't the only thing the silly dear was right about, though she still doesn't know it.
Now Jess is nibbling on the end of her pen, looking very studious and thoughtful. They had considered buying matching sets, but their bodies are different enough that what looks good on one doesn't necessarily look good on the other. Jess picked a set in a cherry wine satin that should glow against the deep henna brown of her skin, decorated with little curlicues of embroidered lace. It's delicate yet not too girly. Both knickers and bra are cut in a deep V, the cups full and set wide to flatter Jess' more generous chest. Jules hasn't seen Jess with them on yet, but she will this afternoon at practice.
Later tonight, she'll see her without.
Hermione glances around the classroom, just moving her eyes as she peers through the frame of her long hair. It's potions, and Snape for once is letting them study quietly from their text while he grades papers at his desk. She wonders if it is a sign of the coming apocalypse, then chides herself for making fun when it very well could be. Neville drops something beside her, making her jump, and she hisses in response. Clamping her lips shut she looks around, but everyone still has their heads buried in their books. No one feels like risking Snape's generosity by acting up today. It makes her feel even more naughty, knowing she has to sit here quiet as a mouse, pretending nothing is different.
Something is different, though, and she smiles as she remembers the questioning looks Ron and Harry had given her when the owl delivered the little brown paper package this morning at breakfast. She had shook them off easily enough, saying something about a book, knowing they would return to the usual quidditch discussion at the first sign of anything academic. As soon as breakfast had ended she slipped into the prefect bathroom on the way to class, knowing the package contained something far more interesting than a book. Her mother had slipped a stack of Muggle catalogs in her things before she left on the Hogwarts train that final time, probably hoping to remind her that the Muggle world held things of interest. She ignored them for several months, but one day she was bored, having finished the initial revising for the N.E.W.T.S the day before, so she picked them up. One particular item had caught her attention, and in a fit of spontaneous rebellion, she had taken the necessary steps to have it ordered and delivered to the Hogsmeade relay post.
She still isn't sure if pink is her colour, though the strips of lace that climb her hips flatter her stomach and rear. They really aren't the point, however. What makes her new pair of knickers particularly naughty is the fact that instead of a perfectly serviceable cloth crotch, they only have a string of fake pearls running between the ring of lace. She had been taken by the idea immediately, but her imagination had not equaled the reality. The pearls dangle loose whenever she stands, so she had not been prepared for what happened when she sat down for the first lesson of the day in transfigurations. The boys had given her funny looks when she gasped out loud, but she waved them off and pretended to pay attention to Professor McGonagall. In truth she was focused on the way the pearls rubbed against her most intimately, stroking across her clit and arse, fondling her lips. Every time she wiggles or changes position they rub her in a new and definitely exciting way.
Eyes wandering the classroom again, Hermione wonders why no one has noticed her peculiar preoccupation today. Then again, no one would ever suspect their Head Girl of anything less than perfect studiousness. But today she finds books to be the furthest thing from her mind as she takes in the prospects around her. She is discovering her joy in her body to be a liberating thing, and it makes her want to share it. Unfortunately she decides that there just isn't anyone mature enough to handle the things she wants to explore, so she just leans back a little in her seat.
With her lovely new beaded knickers, Hermione thinks she doesn't need anyone other than herself.