He was quick to get off from work. He had to. He wanted to. He just had to see her, again. And there she was, getting out of her office building. Karen was her name. He followed her.
She had, as every other day, tight jeans. In fact, it was an euphemism. It was beyond tight. Tighter than humanly possible. He was watching her, wiggling her tightly encased butt, walking down the street. He followed her, just at the right distance, watching her struggling to keep her balance on her skyscraper spiky heels, which were making her wiggle her butt even more.
The faded blue Guess jeans were so tense he could clearly see the seams ready to burst open. She walked for about half a mile before taking her place in line to wait for the bus, which arrived right on time. He followed her in. She had to struggle to get the steep stairs. Her jeans were so tight that she could barely lift her leg high enough.
She kept standing up, grabbing a dangling strap for balance, probably because it was too much of a hassle to sit in those extremely tight jeans. He positioned himself so he would have a better view. At some point, she turned her head, and looked at him. He smiled, she responded by a wink.
A couple of stops later, she got off, and of course he followed. She walked, wiggling her tightly encased butt for a few blocks, before entering her apartment building. She could take either the elevator or the stairs. She chose the stairs, much to his delight. Yes, he followed her, watching her twist her butt to get her foot to the next step, her bun getting squeezed, her hip pushed upward as she dangled on the tip of her high heeled shoe.
He was close. So close, he could almost touch her butt, the tensed denim. He could clearly see the center back seam screaming for release, ready to explode under the pressure.
She reached her floor, and he followed her inside her apartment, her heels clicking on the tiled floor, her butt wiggling along the way, until she reached the bedroom door.
She entered and took place beside the bed, and then…
The screen changed to show text, and he took place at the keyboard, cracking his fingers. He had a lot more programming code to enter into his virtual tight jeans gal simulation program, but things were getting better every day.
© Pete / monsterp63, February 5, 2005
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