Filthy Knickers

It happened months ago, but I can still see the events of that evening in my mind's eye. Evening is wrong. It started that morning, when he chose my underwear and my dress. "I plan to fuck you in that dress when you get home tonight." Are there any words better than that to get a Friday morning started?

The panties were a black lace thong. It didn't matter that they were a version of my everyday knickers. It mattered that he decided what I'd wear. The black lace bra with pink satin insets and straps made my breasts look even fuller. I love that bra. And on top of it all was the abstract-print wrap dress he was so hot to fuck me in. Short-sleeved, with a wrap that hit slightly higher than my actual waist, the dress did amazing things for my figure. The top hugged my tits just right, with a low enough plunge to make people think naughty things without giving the goods away. The skirt hit just above my knee, flaring out over my hips, making my legs look a mile long.

I went to work giddy, already wet, and expected fantasies of the evening ahead to spin through my brain and distract me from the workday tasks. But it happened the other way around, and instead of being distracted by sex I was distracted by work. Minutiae demanded my attention, and the lovely feeling of damp panties and hard nipples that had accompanied me out the door evaporated under pressure.

By the end of the day I'd forgotten what waited at home. I was still looking forward to a much-needed fuck, but I'd forgotten that a man intent on choosing my clothes from the ground up that morning was waiting for me. Nothing serious enough had happened during his workday to deflect his attention from his plans for me. For us. Nothing caused him to forget the scrap of lace that slipped between my asscheeks all day, or the pinup-worthy bra that barely concealed my swollen nipples under the thin fabric of the dress.

I walked in the door and suddenly my bag was ripped out of my hand, I was pushed facefirst against the wall with my legs spread and my hands roughly shoved above my head. I wasn't restrained, but I was...subdued. And suddenly I was horny as fuck. He lifted the back of my skirt and roughly pulled the lacy strip aside, shoving fingers into my cunt as he held my head and kissed the back of my neck. So soft and so rough at the same time. He pressed me into the wall while his fingers sought my depths. Did I come? Did he let me? I can't remember now. He stripped my sodden panties and tossed them aside.

Then I felt his hard, naked cock against my flesh. He rubbed his head through my wetness and pushed into my tight hole. Arms still above my head, I was on my tiptoes, trying to compensate for our height difference. He fucked into me hard, but not fast. He held my hip with one hand while his other hand roamed my body, pinching my nipples that strained against the layers of fabric.

How long were we there? I was breathless; my calves cramped from being on my toes. I begged to move to the sofa. He granted my wish, but roughly pushed me over the arm, my ass lewdly displayed while my face pressed into the cushions. He was back inside me, holding tight to my hips as we thrust against each other. My still-covered breasts rubbed against the cushions, the frictiony lace of my bra almost making them hurt.

Again my calves screamed out in pain while I screamed my pleasure into the pillows, and he met me with with mercy and flipped me onto my back. With a surprisingly gentle nudge he pushed his cock into my mouth for a few moments before beginning to stroke himself. Finally he untied my dress, freeing me just the tiniest bit, and admonished me to keep my pussy wet. I watched him while I slipped my fingers through my slick folds. I could see the moment approaching, and soon he drove his cock back inside just as his orgasm began. I felt his spasms inside me as I tightened around him, holding him deep inside until he was spent.

Two days later my shoes were still just inside the front door with my filthy knickers cast on top of them. "I wanted to see them as a reminder all weekend," he said.

[This post is a part of Fleshbot's Camille Crimson Week. Read more stories from Liza at Always Eachother. Photo courtesy of Twistys.]