Please Don't Stop

　　I smiled at myself in the mirror as I applied the finishing touches to my makeup. I wore thick, black eyeliner and heavy mascara, a complete contrast to the pale shimmer of gold eye shadow that coated my lids.

　　I knew that my makeup was a little dramatic for a simple family barbecue, but I didn't care. I really thought that my choice of colours would help to compliment my tan, and perhaps get me a little bit of extra attention from a certain guest. I pouted at myself in the mirror, then applied a layer of shiny, clear lip gloss.

　　I knew I looked good, and I couldn't help but smile to myself as I squeezed into my tight red tube top and even tighter denim skirt. I completed my look with some black wedge sandals and gave myself one final look in the mirror.

　　With my long, lithe legs and firm round breasts on display like this, I was bound to get some attention – both good and bad, probably. I could smell burgers cooking on the grill as I walked down the stairs and made my way across the house towards the kitchen. There were already a lot of people in the back garden, and a few in the kitchen, chatting and drinking beers.

　　I smiled at them, recognising one as a distant cousin and the other as somebody on my stepdad's side of the family. They smiled back, and carried on with their conversation, although I could tell that they were definitely taken with the way that I looked. That was a good sign. I walked over to the fridge and opened it, then bent down low to take out a nice cold beer. I knew that the guys behind me would get a perfect view of my firm, round ass in its skimpy little thong, and listened expectantly for the gasp of shock that would inevitably follow.

　　Sure enough, I heard them and had to stifle a giggle. They tried to cover the sound by coughing and hastily carrying on with their conversation. That was just the reaction I needed to give me the confidence to go outside and find Greg. Greg was my stepdad's best friend and I'd had a crush on him for as long as I could remember.

　　He was tall and good looking, with a muscular physique and boyish good looks -- even though he was in his early forties, just like my stepdad. I would always flirt with him whenever he came to the house, and he would flirt with me too (provided my stepdad wasn't around). It was because of this behaviour; the cheeky smiles and tongue-in-cheek comments and compliments he would throw my way, that I thought he might have a bit of a crush on me too.

　　For my eighteenth birthday he had bought me a silver bracelet, which was far more thoughtful (and expensive) than the forty-dollar gift-card that my stepdad had bought for me. Since that day, I hadn't been able to get Greg off my mind, and now that I had the chance to impress and ensnare him with my tight, teenage body – I couldn't afford to miss it. I strutted outside, taking a gulp of my beer, and scanned the sea of faces until I set eyes on Greg. He was stood on the far side of the garden, talking to my mom and a few of her friends and relatives.

　　That was no good. I needed to get him while he was on his own, otherwise it would be painfully obvious what I was trying to do, and might end up causing a scene. My mom was flirting with Greg unashamedly – as she always did – and I knew that if I went over and began flicking my hair over my shoulder and fluttering my eyelashes, that she would surely become jealous.

　　Greg just seemed to have that effect on women. Instead, I decided to bide my time and went over to where my stepdad was tending the barbecue. There were two tables either side of him, completely covered in plates of food and ice buckets with various alcoholic drinks inside. I gulped down the last of my beer and went over to grab another one from one of the ice buckets. "How many have you had?" a deep voice said, making me jump as I snatched up a bottle.

　　It was my stepdad, and he sounded like his usual, moody self. I turned to look at him and smiled sweetly, before opening the beer and swallowing a mouthful. He was flipping burgers on the barbecue, but kept his eyes firmly locked onto me. "This is my second" I said, in response to his question. He frowned at me and took his attention back to cooking. "Good. Keep it that way" he said, "you're only eighteen, and I don't want you making a scene while ninety percent of our family are here." I scoffed at his words, and carried on sipping my beer.

　　This was just typical behaviour for him. He was so controlling and moody – always obsessed with what everybody else thought of him and determined to be in charge. That was probably why he and I never really got along. I was rebellious by nature, and the more he told me not to do something, the more I would strive to do just that. "I'm serious, Linzi" my stepdad continued, his voice becoming more stern "it's bad enough that you have to come downstairs looking like that, but if you embarrass me by acting up then I promise, you'll be sorry!" His words stung a little.

　　I knew that he wouldn't approve of the way I dressed, but hearing him say so with such venom in his voice was hard to stomach. I felt a bubble of rage beginning to swell inside me, and gritted my teeth. "What's that supposed to mean?" I hissed at him. I knew exactly what he meant, but I just couldn't stand the thought of him having the last word. "It means you look ridiculous!" my stepdad snapped back at me.