Angela is in “presentation mode” when she helps her boyfriend Tyler move into his new Manhattan apartment. She’s showy, flirty, and affectionate, with a little bitchiness thrown in to keep the moving men off balance.
Tyler loves Angela’s teasing games. She can liven up a dull chore, and enthrall men who don’t know she’s playing with them. He’s just not sure if she has her games under control. Can he trust her? How can he love her if he’s always hanging on for dear life?
In the course of an afternoon, Angela turns up the heat on Buddy, Jimmy, and Arno, three lucky movers who get to watch, lust over, and finally touch this wild and gorgeous woman. Angela goads them mercilessly until the move is complete. Tyler is about to add a tip to the fee, when a distinctly uncomfortable moving man asks if Angela can be the tip: “No disrespect. We’re just a little bit in love with her.”
Angela is flattered and willing, but Tyler has to decide what he wants from this relationship.
Told from Tyler’s view, “Angela and the Three Moving Men” is a cheerful erotic and romantic novelette with themes of exhibitionism, teasing, touching, and a vivacious Manhattan dream-babe who loves to please. It contains explicit scenes of groping and oral sex with multiples, and is not intended for readers under eighteen.
(This story was first published as ‘Angela Seduces the Moving Men’ but was completely rewritten in 2013.)
“Four!” she said.
“I’ve been grabbed four times. Can you believe it?”
“Jimmy grabbed my calf, then Buddy grabbed the back of my thigh. He said something like, ‘So you’re all toned? Let me feel.’”
“Did you play along?”
“I giggled girlishly,” she said, giggling. “Then Buddy brushed my breast as he gave me a box. It was innocent, of course. But then he had to make sure I had a good grip on the box. I waited him out and made sure it wasn’t innocent after all. I kept talking nonsense like a bimbo, pretending not to notice. And later, the young one—Arno—goosed me.”
“His fingers went under the hem of my skirt. And you can see how short it is today.”
She spun around and darted up the stairs on those astonishingly toned legs. When we jogged together, she ran me into the ground. She was faster than any of us on those stairs, so obviously she’d been slowing herself down like a rolling roadblock. If the movers piled up behind her, could she be blamed if they stared up at her ass?
In the apartment, I found her shortening the folded hem of her skirt. The stiff fabric held everything in place. Her skirt flared outward stiffly, so it hung two or three inches away from each thigh. By the time she was done, it stopped one full inch above her butt. Since Angela was checking her adjustments from above she didn’t see this.
I said, “That’s much too obvious. They’ll know you’re teasing.”
She twirled in front of the mirror like she was chasing her tail, trying to see herself from the rear. “They’ll think it worked itself up, from all this stair-climbing. Isn’t that smart of me?”
She was so excited I had to smile.
“I thought of this in the subway on my way over,” she continued. “The better things go, the higher I fold the bottom. Bah-bam!”
She locked her knee and struck a pose. The skirt rang like a bell.
“Think of me this way, Tyler: I’m standing in the subway car, and then I get the brilliant idea to fold my skirt. I don’t know why. I’m not feeling particularly sexy or flirty, but I am feeling boring. The skirt is too long for a young hottie like me.”
Even unfolded, it was not ‘too long,’ unless you were a stripper going on stage. I told her as much.
“I’m always a stripper going on stage,” she answered in a husky voice. “Tyler, imagine you’re on the subway too, watching me do this. I put a leg out. I fold up the bottom of my skirt, making sure it’s even all the way around. I focus on my work, not noticing anybody else.”
“You were surrounded by people…”
“People were swaying and watching. By the end of the subway trip, I was ready to play.” She checked herself again in the mirror. “I think a button came off my blouse. Too bad!”
She took a steak knife from the basket of silverware she’d just carried up, and sawed at a button in the middle of her top. When the button popped away, we had a small diamond-shaped window into her cleavage. Now that it was there, and showing me the inside curves of her breasts, I wanted it bigger and more revealing. But then, I feel that way about most women’s blouses when a button is missing.
She gave me a brief, sweet kiss.
“You’re the best boyfriend ever. Thank you for this. I know this is all for me. I will make it up to you.”
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