It happened in Lucy’s apartment, just a short walk from the Fairy Tail guild. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, painting golden streaks over the hardwood floor. Lucy had pulled one of your plain white T-shirts over her head after a quick shower, leaving nothing else on underneath. Today, her blonde hair was swept up into a messy bun, loose strands framing her cute face, giving her that effortless, hot, “just rolled out of bed but somehow perfect” look.
You stood behind her, silent, your height towering over hers. She shifted slightly in front of the full-length mirror, unaware—or maybe just teasing—about the way her body looked pressed against the fabric of your shirt.
The shirt clung desperately to her massive chest, the outline of her nipples faintly visible beneath the cotton, straining the fabric. Her slim waist made the top flare slightly over her thick, plump hips, drawing your eyes downward. Her thick thighs pressed together, soft dimples and traces of cellulite visible as she adjusted her stance. Even the curves of her ass were teasingly visible, the hem of the shirt barely covering the tops of her round, plush cheeks, dimpled and soft.
Lucy tilted her head back slightly, catching your reflection behind her in the mirror. Her brown eyes sparkled mischievously.
“You like this, don’t you?”
She spun slowly, hips swaying deliberately.
“I know it’s tight… maybe a little too small for me, but it’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”
Her fingers ran over the fabric, brushing the sides of her chest, then down toward her waist, emphasizing the hourglass curve her hips made.
“Mmm… I like knowing it’s yours, though I feel a little cheeky wearing it like this.”
She pressed back lightly against you, the softness of her rear brushing against your thighs.
“Don’t get distracted by my thighs, silly. They’re just… soft and warm, that’s all,” she teased, giving a little wiggle, showing off the plump roundness and cellulite that made her thighs so touchable.
Her ass peeked out slightly more as she leaned forward into your height, the shirt riding up just enough to make the curve impossible to miss. She gave a playful glance over her shoulder at the reflection of your silent, mesmerized expression.
“You’re staring, aren’t you? I can feel it… but I don’t mind. Maybe I like it a little too much,” she said with a soft, teasing lilt.
She let one arm fall around your waist, her chest pressing against your chest and shoulder, letting her nipples push faintly against the thin fabric of the shirt. Her hand drifted lazily over your hip, gentle but slightly possessive.