~finally~ an erotic story by m.


I am so looking forward to seeing him again. It has been weeks, months even. We both long to feel and touch each other again. To enjoy one another. Usually, those moments last only a short hour, sometimes two. Time always flies. It always is passionate, wild, pure, and utterly satisfying. Exactly because they are short, unpredictable encounters. And because nobody knows about it. Just him and me.

We did manage to have occasional contact lately: text messages, usually very short messages. An expression of longing, a hint. Allusions to what's to come. Soon, thank goodness. Very soon.

I fantasize about our long-awaited encounter. What will it be like to see each other again after such a long time? The warm, sweet scent of his skin, his slim body under his shirt. Of course, I want to make a crushing impression…On the bed lies the Inessa lace blouse from Escora: chic, transparent. Now I just need to choose a lovely sexy bra for underneath. Le Petit Secret Open bra, by Maison Close…tastefully exposed, a bit cheeky. Or the Clea Cage bra, in black? Also a very sexy one and gives just a little more support for my bosom. Hmm…I know what he prefers to see: my natural breasts, rocking freely when I walk or change position. So the open bra it is…just an underwire and a few straps, and not much more.

And what else? A short skirt that shows a lot of leg? Or do I opt for something more covered? The Diane skirt by Catanzaro is a bit longer, with a nice slim cut, and slightly transparent. In any case, I am wearing a pair of gorgeous stockings. He likes to touch the smooth transparent fabric, glide his hands over it, admire the curve of my calf. Thin black stockings of course. Classic and very sexy. The Le Petit Secret suspender goes perfectly with the ensemble.

The skirt is a bit tauter than I remember. I've gained a little weight lately, getting a little fuller here and there. He probably doesn't mind: a little more roundness, more softness to enjoy. I think of his hands on my hips, his hard body against my ample tushy. I enjoy the way he kisses and nuzzles my neck. His hands slide up, feeling my breasts, while he whispers tantalizing words in my ear, as he lifts them up and presses them together. It excites him that they are so wonderfully soft, so heavy.

When he slowly pulls down the zipper off my tight skirt, he will notice that I am not wearing a thong or panties underneath. Only the suspenders and stockings. I know exactly what the look on his face will be then: that crooked smile, a little bit surprised, naughty. His gaze will eagerly glide down my buttocks, down my stockinged legs, my tight calves and slender ankles, to my high heels.

I long for his strong body. Not extremely muscular, but slim and firm. I want to feel and see his rigid hardness, I want to pleasure him with my hands, my mouth. How much patience can we endure? We will force ourselves to wait a little longer. Pour a glass first, toast to the reunion.

We probably won't manage to last that long. My skirt is already on the floor somewhere, just like my blouse and his clothes a little bit after that.
He wants me to sit on top of him, beautiful and upright, to see me, my heaving bosom, the ecstasy on my face as I ride him. Then we switch positions so that I can see his strong upper body, feel his angular shoulders, holding on to his rhythmically swaying, hardworking loins, clamp my long legs around him and press my razor-sharp stiletto heels indenting his buttcheeks, while he enjoys me and while I enjoy him. And if he has some energy left after that, I want to feel him between my soft breasts, see his handsome manhood grow big and hard again. I know exactly how to push him to the limit.

I see myself in the long mirror, I look at my legs, wrapped in shiny stockings, the tight skirt, the open bra that is shimmering through my blouse.
On my phone, I notice that it's almost time.


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Images: Pleasurements & Pinterest