(continued from “blind date: first instance”…………………
One last look into my eyes on reaching the end, the stopper which without waiting for any approval from me he undid leaving just my hands holding up my skirt which now hung unfastened, revealing the lace tops of my hold-ups flush to my thighs………… )
He’d now leaned back again, saying… well, a dilemma. Emma’s dilemma [corny!]. What do we do now, take it off?… I finally found my voice again which seemed to have abandoned me for the past 10 minutes or so, replying dumbly… I don’t know really, maybe not… to which he softly interrupted… or maybe yes? Take it off Emma… it wasn’t a request… go on, I have the feeling you want too so why not, go on, take it off, it’s almost off anyway.
This truly was a dilemma: torn between my sensibilities and an emerging thrill that had clearly entered the room, and me, en masse. I stepped back. I couldn’t believe I was considering it, barely holding my unzipped skirt in a not-too demure fashion. Then I was opening my arms and the two sides of the skirt with it exposing myself and what I wore beneath. He looked approving, thankfully I suppose. For a moment held it there, wide, displaying my all, or almost: stockings and my balsam green French knickers. The cheeks on my face burned embarrassedly trying to hold back my own almost pleased smile.
I’m sure I knew what I was doing when I turned around with my back to him and instead of zipping myself back up, as I could have done, I moved the skirt from side to side, teasingly, and then just took a deep breath and let go dropping it to the floor, my bottom in part hidden by my loosely-hanging blouse obscuring my knickers. At this point I honestly thought I heard him say… naughty girl… which seemed to flick the horny switch in my brain and I began feeling quite brazen and weirdly in control even though I was far from that.
Bend over…. I couldn’t believe he just said that but like a reflex I did it, bending over as I stood there in front of him sat… you are indeed naughty, I wonder how naughty… I was beginning to wonder too. It felt good, it felt right, it felt wrong, it felt bad, displaying myself pretty much, my green underwear, so intimate, my rear, my pale soft thighs where the lace-tops almost reached my knicker-line.
I could blame the coffee, I suppose.
Maybe it’s time to lose the shirt, come here… again I just did, like a captive. He began from the lowest button, large buttons easy to manipulate, and worked upwards until the last came free along with my shirt draping open. I can’t believe I was doing this but I was. It was me, all me, no excuses… take it off… his brevity compelled me to keep going, committed. I slipped it from one shoulder then the next to reveal my matching green, front-fastening racerback bra hiding my small breasts letting it join my skirt on the floor and stood before him in just my underwear and stockings. Touch your breast… again, I did what he asked running my hand over the right cup, fondling, feeling my nipple beneath excited by the attention. I got into it feeling the other, closing my eyes intoxicated by the ripples it was beginning to send through me. It’s so different too when I’m alone. There I stood in front of him as he didn’t take his eyes from me, semi-stripped, just for him.
Put your hand between your thighs Emma… I hadn’t misheard such a bold request but found my body reacting immediately as though just waiting for permission: slipping one hand down my tummy over my belly button and then my lace knickers to feeling my warmth underneath the thin fabric. I was excited and could tell he was too. Still, he hadn’t moved, just watched, commanding with so few quietly-spoken words. I started rubbing my inner thighs through my knickers feeling inside a moistening seeping. It was invigorating enticing me on. I felt I got into it more than he expected… slip your hand inside your underwear. My fingers easily found their way under the elastic and over my mound, bare naked soft skin curving down between my closed legs, exploring my clit and rubbing more circling. He wasn’t even touching himself, just watched, hands on his legs.
I continued exciting myself so intimately and wantonly too. Addicted to the intensity soon I was leaning forward and thinking I should sit or lie down before I crumple and fall. I could feel my body rising and descending inside in waves, the need to pleasure front and centre, craving expression, needing to make it last which I did, my fingers finding exactly just where they were needed, where I wanted to be. I was masturbating, pleasuring myself in front of him.
Maybe you should show me one of your excited nipples… as though almost reading my mind and my body. I almost held back but with one hand still between my thighs I let the other run across my bra peeling one cup away and out it freely came, almost relieved, the erect nipple for him to enjoy. I had strange irrational cravings for him to bite it, suck it, but didn’t say it out loud.
Tell you what, just unfasten it, I’m sure you’d be more comfortable, I know I would be…
Surely I couldn’t but I found its front clasp and duly released it letting both cups now fall away to one side freeing my breasts completely… good slut… there, he said it again, ‘slut’, surely I wasn’t, was I? If I was is that really a bad thing? It didn’t feel it, unless bad meant good, very good… show me how you touch them… I clearly hadn’t needed to be asked twice as it felt entirely natural to do so being I’d offered them so openly now. I run my fingers across both nipples, around their areoles, underneath lifting them watching him watching while still my other hand played inside my knickers bringing me ever-closer to near-collapse.
And collapse I did, but luckily not before he was there, stood in front of me, holding me and slipping his own hand down my knickers to join mine using his fingers to push my own further inside me as we both now penetrated my sex, filling me with three maybe four, finger-fucking so indiscreetly, so vigorously, so ecstatically. I almost lost consciousness, grew light-headed, literally weak at the knees when sure enough my orgasm overwhelmed. Falling against him he held me up shaking and shuddering, legs like liquid under the cataclysm of my own orgasm, his fingers prompting more and more still forcing my own inside until I couldn’t stand unaided.
Guiding me to the sofa he gently let me collapse fully with my bra dangling from my shoulders and my knickers soaking tight to my inner thighs. He slipped two of his fingers into my mouth and I tasted myself and how sweet and refreshing it was: I was.
Before got my breath his hand slipped back inside my knickers. On the sofa we lay, half on top of me his fingers moved inside them pulling them away for a better look then easing into my wet folds to more vigorously masturbate me, pressing his palm against my clit. I was almost convulsing, it was so aggressively exciting, such sensations, my thighs shaking, nipples sore they were so hard. To his manhandling I exploded once again inside, gripping his fingers, stronger than the last one all the time watching my face and I, his.
I heard myself exclaim in utter exhaustion while my body still reeled inside and out…