It started with a glint in the eye, a forbidden glance. Are the eyes the windows to the soul? If so, his were yearning, burning with desire, with wanton abandonment. His demeanour was quiet, low key and residual. His body language sublime, in a way only few would understand and the experienced would get to appreciate.
She found herself next to him at the buffet table, delighting in the scent of his cologne, a musky pheromone, agile with his masculinity. She could make out the slight ripple of a body used to hard work under his clothes and instantly wondered what he’d be like between the sheets. She felt the heat of a blush spread across her chest, cheeks and face. Why would she have these thoughts of the stranger next to her? Her eyes darted to the bulge in his Levi jeans, etching out what was in the forefront of her imagination. The line shifted at a snail pace, or did it just seem an eternity as her body heat radiated off her in waves of teenage derision. She noticed the curve of his tight bum, imaging her hands touching, groping and fondling... what had come over her?
Finally! The line moved and she was able to gain a modicum of composure. As she lifted the soup ladle, her hand brushed his arm, only slightly. The jolt that coursed through her caused her to drop the ladle, splashing soup on his expensive shirt. Akin to the proverbial Cinderella, her plate crashed to the floor and she ran, as fast as her stiletto clad feet could transport her.
She had not yet reached her car and the hot tears welled up and spilled onto her cheeks. Her limber body was drenched in shame and embarrassment. How could she have been so clumsy, her of all people, so fucking clumsy! She was grateful that she did not know his name and that she didn’t introduce herself. He would never dare to find her, after all, she hadn’t lost a slipper and there really weren’t princes on white horses ambling along to rescue clumsy soup ladling dimwits.
The evening had been long and emotional. What better way to soothe a bruised ego than in a hot, luxurious bath, soaking away the memories of the man with the silk shirt. The feel of the new pyjamas transported her to her childhood and the security that a warm bed and a hot drink offered. Tonight, she was alone. Sad. Miserable. Horny.
She woke up with a start, the sound of unease, of moaning bringing her out of her slumber. Her hart was racing, her pulse quickening. Oh god, it was him, the silk shirt! He had invaded her mind, her thoughts and her dream. The smell of his cologne seemed to permeate her room and her body was powerless. She was dizzy with desire. She had no cognition and was guided by her animal instincts and innate womanhood. Trembling, she knew of only one thing and slowly guided her hand to touch her body. She felt her tits and her nipples were hard. The sensation of gently squeezing her erect nipples was good, the pain, erotic. It made her feel alive, made her feel like a woman. Her hand moved across her taut stomach, hovering over her belly button.
She felt the familiar throb of longing between her legs and slowly inched her well manicured hand between her thighs. She teased. She tormented. She touched. Oh god, the feeling. The feeling of her wet pussy, the overtly swollen labia and the warmth consoled her. Her fingers found their way into her opening and gently she started fucking them, gliding them in and out. The image of the silk shirt filled her mind and fuelled her fantasy.
Her dildo was new and hadn’t been used. It was forgotten about, until now. Unwrapping the silver six inch bullet, she lubed it with cherry flavour sensual lubricant and guided it in her pussy. Her imagination was untamed and she remembered the image of the bulge she’d glanced earlier. She fucked the dildo harder, thrusting it in and out of her cunt, harder and deeper. She imagined his tongue flicking and caressing her clit, his fingers pummelling her wet pussy. His mouth covering hers and his tongue expertly exploring her mouth, she knew woman loved him, adorned him. She envisaged him double barrel fucking her and found her deserted vibrator. Slowly easing the dildo up her ass and the vibrator into her cunt, the savoured the wave of pleasure engulfing her body. She arched and writhed, her muscles working into a frenzy. She massaged her tits and plucked at the erect nipples, the pain consuming. The vibrator and the dildo working simultaneously, her fantasies were rampant.
She wanted to, needed to cum, to explode. She had to release the cry within her. Her middle finger found her swollen clit and slowly she began the ascent to climax. The writhing and breathing quickened and her climax was imminent. Plunging her vibrator deeper into her pussy and rubbing her clit harder, her body started bucking, releasing the orgasm buried deep within. She imagined the silk shirts cock fucking her. A beautiful, big, hard, experienced cock. His cock found her ass, he fucked her deeply, while his fingers searched her wet cunt and stroked her G Spot... The explosion left her satiated. She felt renewed. She felt reborn.
Thank you silk shirt.
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