If she prefers whisper-soft touches or aggressive pawing.
Both, it seems.
There’s nowhere I touch her, no manner in which our bodies mesh together, that she doesn’t respond by deepening the kiss, becoming more frantic in her own exploration of my body until she’s clawing at the buttons on my shirt.
Her dress is up around her hips as I trace the skimpy undergarment covering her pussy.
Lacy.
Small.
Are they black? Red? Pink?
Any option makes my eyes cross.
I hook my thumb beneath the string waistband. “I’d like to bite these off you.”
“Have you been a good enough boy for that?”
“Was parading naked to sell burgers for you not good enough?”
She palms my hard-on through my trousers. “It wasn’t a private show.”
My cock swells harder as I imagine her splayed on my bed in nothing but black lace undergarments, teasing her own clit and playing with her own breasts as she watches me strip out of my clothes.
I should lift her and carry her into my bedroom and live out the fantasy, but I’m incapable of walking at the moment.
Not enough blood flow to my legs.
It’s all stopped in my cock.
“I’m afraid private show bookings are sold out for the next week,” I murmur against her neck.
She laughs. “By who?”
“Privileged information.”
“You mean you’re in the doghouse and this is your only night without your kids for the next week and there aren’t actually any tickets available at all?”
She punctuates the question with another rub of my cock.
My eyes cross.
My balls tighten.
My lungs cease to work.
“Yes,” I manage to reply. “Please don’t stop.”
“This?” she asks, stroking me through my trousers.
“Yes.”
“But wouldn’t it be better if I did…this?”
My trousers are suddenly unbuttoned, and she has both hands down my boxers, caressing me now.
“Yes.”
