In the dressing room

This is not a continuation of the dinner story. That's going to have to wait. This is something a little different. And, no, we're not talking Victoria's Secret here. It's so much more interesting over at Agent Provocateur.

I’m in lingerie. Black. Simple, sheer. A bra that cups my breasts, but through which you can see my nipples. You can see how aroused I am, see how my nipples are erect, strain against the fabric. I’m wearing a garter belt and silk stockings; high stiletto heels; a thong that you can see narrows to a thin band of fabric that is pressed up against my labia. I know you know how wet I am. We’re in the lingerie store, back in the dressing room, and there are mirrors on all four sides of the tiny room. I’ve been watching the effect of each outfit I’ve tried on. Some of the outfits have simply caused us to laugh. It is not sexy to look like an ostrich or a licorice humbug. But this. Well this is working, for both of us. I turn in front of you, watching you in the mirror as you watch me. I can see how turned on you are. I can see the bulge of your cock against your pants. I walk toward you, put my foot on the back of your chair, my ankle up against your neck, ask you to look to make sure that I’ve put on the thong correctly. I know what you see. I know that you see the fabric, that tiny bit of fabric covering my mound, the band of fabric that divides my labia, covering only my clit, the entrance to my sex, and then the way it snakes up my ass to meet the the two bands that cross my hips and meet in the back. I pull my leg back down, turn away from you, let you watch my ass sway away from you. I walk up to the mirror, put my hands on the glass, sway out my back, push my ass toward you. You get up, come up behind me. I can see you behind me. I watch as you wrap your hands around the front of me, both of them on my stomach. I push myself backward into you, can feel your cock against my ass through the fabric of your pants. “I think you should fuck me,” I say. “Not yet.” One of your hands comes up. You begin to tease my nipple, slow, circular strokes. I start to close my eyes and you stop. “You have to watch,” you say. “You have to keep your eyes open and watch or I’ll stop.” In the mirror, I watch you begin to stroke me again, watch my own face as I feel the friction of the fabric and your fingers against my nipple. Your stroking becomes harder, a pinching that is close to pain but which causes a flood between my legs. I can feel a rhythm between my breasts and my groin, can feel my womb begin to vibrate. You’re about to make me come just from the pressure on my breasts and I watch my face as I start to lose myself. I’m pushing myself against you, grinding my ass against your cock. Your other hand has found its way inside my thong, your fingers stroking my clit and I come … and then I come again. There’s no doubt we have to buy the lingerie now. It’s marked by my scent, by your fingers. I whip around, kiss you, my tongue in your mouth, my breath against you. I loosen your belt, push your pants and your underwear down past your hips. You pick me up, hold me against the glass. Over your shoulder I can see our reflection, my legs wrapped around you, your bare ass, as I simultaneously feel your cock enter me. I am flying, held up by your arms and your cock. You are driving into me and I warn you that we’re about to bring seven years of bad luck down on our heads if we crack the glass. As much as the feeling of you filling my pussy is driving me wild, I know what I really want. I want to taste you. I ask you to put me down, and I feel you slide out of me as you do. God you’re gorgeous. I kneel down in front of you. My hand slides between your legs, under your balls, and I begin to stroke between your ass and your scrotum, a light scritching with my fingernail. I watch your cock bob in front of my face. I can smell you, smell me on you. Your pubic hair is slick with me. I cup your balls in my hand. Your hands are on my head, in my hair. I know that you want to pull my mouth toward you, but I resist. I just want to look at you, to stroke you lightly. I want to hear you say please. You are glistening and hard and I am so hungry for you. I pull myself a little closer to you, kiss the tip of your cock, a little kiss, a feather kiss. I look up at you. You are looking at me, but you are watching me in the mirror, too. Watching me on my knees, before you, my hand on your balls, my mouth so close to your cock you can feel my breath. “Please” I hear you say, and then I begin. Slow tongue strokes on the head. I can taste me on you. I can taste the traces of my orgasm. I begin longer tongue strokes, down one side of you, up the other. My hand reaches back, and I begin to stroke the crack of your ass, with each stroke, pulling you in closer. I open my lips, take the head of your cock into my mouth, begin to suck, pulling at you and swirling my tongue around. I insert the tip of my tongue into the slit. Your hands are pulling at my hair and I look up, smile at you with your cock in my mouth. My hand has begun to stroke up the shaft. You’re too big for me to get all of you in my mouth, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try. I’m sucking you in, making room for you, as my slick hand strokes you from the bottom up. You reach out one of your hands, brace yourself against the mirror to counterbalance your legs, which are beginning to buckle. It would be easier to lay you on your back, suck you while you’re lying down, but I am so turned on by the image we make in the mirror that I don’t want to break the rhythm. Your breath is becoming more ragged now, and I can tell by the tensing of your penis inside my mouth that you are building toward climax. The closer you get, the more aroused I become. I want you to come in my mouth. “Please” I mumble against you. “Please.” You don’t disappoint me. I feel your cock begin to spasm inside my mouth, feel the pumping of fluid against the roof of my mouth. I swallow you. I pull myself up, wrap my arms around your back, kiss you, let you taste yourself inside my mouth.