Update

She ordered it. I'm nervous. And I can't stop thinking about it.

Memorial Day

So we talked about the tit for tat thing; she really does think it's a cool idea. Not a long term thing she'd be into, but something kinky, fun, fresh for that weekend, anyway.

Seems that a CB chastity device can be had for not a terrible price. Do I really want to go down that road?

The unfortunate thing is, that as I type that question, something is stirring in my panties.

Do I want to wear a chastity cage? Hell no.

But why is there physical evidence of how exciting the thought it? If I wasn't wearing a girdle today, I'd have a tent in my trousers.

I suspect, with little pushing, I'll acquiesce.

I also suspect that if not mentioned again by her, I may practically beg for it.

Bizarre. What kind of boy (yes, yes, girl, I know), begs to be put in chastity.

Personally, I think it adds an element of excitement, anticipation, heightened awareness, a certain tease.

The weekend is more about tease than anything else (maybe...or maybe she will fuck him silly).

I think it adds to the tease, which is why it seems so exciting. Now, at least.

[UPDATE]

To clarify, the tit for tat is just a tit. Or just a tat. If we indulge, it will be chastity for me, only. Emily will retain her freedom.

Girlfriends

I did not get a chance to blog about Saturday. Emily dragged me shopping Saturday afternoon, a precursor to the teasing the other morning in a way.

"I want to get a new duvet cover for my bed and I saw some things at Nordstrom's that I'd like you eye for."

Well, there is no question I have an eye for design. Sure, not every woman's boyfriend is going to be helpful in picking put a new duvet cover, but that's one of the benefits of a boyfriend that's part girlfriend, too.

After an hours of looking at bedding, we found a lovely duvet set with some adorable pillows:

We bought it, took it out to the car, but were not done.

"I want to run back in and look at something else I want your eye for," she said, batting hers in that way that makes me melt and do anything she wants.

"Okay." I guess I assumed something else in bedding, so was somewhat surprised when we wound up in the dress department.

"What do you need a dress for," I asked, my brain about half a second behind my mouth.

"For Memorial Day Weekend, silly," she said, touching my arm. "Evan said there is some fancy thing at his country club on Saturday night."

"Oh," I said, the jealously part dominating anything else. Of course. Evan. Her weekend. With him. I was pouting, I don't know why, it wasn't as if I was an innocent in all this, as if I did not play along, even encourage her, as if I didn't enjoy it, toeing the line, as much as she. As if I didn't fantasize about her with him, whether I wanted it to happen or not.

Given her own hesitancy, her own enjoyment in playing around that forbidden line, looking at it, approaching it, testing it, she wanted lightheartedness, I sensed, by the look in her eyes.

To this day, I do not know if she has slept with him.

Wait, no that isn't right. I'm certain she slept with him.

I just don't know if she slept with him since we've been together.

She has gone to visit him twice now, once in late 2007, last Memorial Day Weekend. He has been at her house once.

I don't think she has had sex with him since we have been together. But I'm not entirely certain.

Does she want to?

Don't know.

She teases me about it.

She fantasizes about it.

But is the teasing all?

"Sara," she looked at me using my feminine name in public, her soft voice melting away all of my masculinity, melting away the "boy" clothes I was wearing, mentally uncovering the lingerie I had on underneath, mentally transforming me from boy to girl.

"You don't have to dress shop with me, I just thought it would be more fun doing this with my favorite girlfriend. I can ask Jill or Erin if they would rather..."

I swallowed. Feminine. Girlfriend. Dress shopping for a weekend away. A date, even.

"I..."

She smiled, widened her eyes, asking.

"Okay," I said, slipping so easily into girlfriend, only in the back of my mind knowing that I was helping the love of my life shop for a dress to wear on what was basically a date with Evan.

I'm on Nordstrom's web site, trying to find pictures of things we looked at:

"Really cute," she said, "but a bit too prom like. I don't want to feel like I'm someone's college age daughter."

"This," I asked.

"Better, if I'm going strapless, a bit more age appropriate. Pretty."

We both love the lavender, but they did not have her size to even try on.

She loved how this one could be tied behind the neck, halter style, or lower, like in the picture.

A little black dress she loved. "I could wear stockings with this one."

Yes, she said stockings. Not pantyhose. Yes I noticed.

"Too much of a 'I'm going to get fucked later tonight' don't you think," I asked.

"Maybe that's the message I want to send," she chuckled, putting it back on the rack.

The runner up, which we both decided was a tad too short, though lovely.

Above, is the winner. The length was more age appropriate, yet still above the knee. She loved the bodice. I agreed. It showed off her breasts, without having them spill all over. The empire waist gave her the illusion of curve that she does not have the most of.

Simply, on her, it was beautiful.

Walking back towards the entrance we came in through, we walked by the lingerie shop. Yes, of course.

"You...you want to look, don't you," I asked, my own eyes drawn to the racks of nighties and pajamas lining the aisle.

"I really don't want to sleep naked," she said shyly.

I picked up a set of the nearest rack, half joking, but in a way, not entirely. "Something like this?"

She frowned. "For summer? No."

"This, then?"

"Kind of plain."

"This is cute."

"Yea, I suppose. I don't know, I guess I prefer something like this, or this."

We looked around for awhile, she bought both.

So, this was the prelude to her masturbating the other morning, teasing me about her upcoming weekend. She shopped with me as her girlfriend, she teased me as her sissy.

Morning Tease

I slept in the guest room at Emily's last night. Not that I was bad or anything (well, maybe a little, it isn't my fault I snore sometimes.) After she dozed off with me gently rubbing her feet, then her legs, then her back, I read for awhile, then decided to decamp to the other room.

I tried to rub more, but was stopped. "Don't," she said quietly, but sternly when I allowed my hands to wander farther and farther up her things, glancing her pussy. "I'm tired, just the massage."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, hiding the disappointment from my voice, easily losing myself in the pleasure of serving her.

I got up early the next morning, quietly went into Emily's master suite to use the shower and get dressed. While there is a bathroom connected to the spare room ("my room" as she jokes sometimes) I did not shower or dress in there; I only slept there from time to time. (Unlike some femdom stories, Emily does not "kick" me out of her room, I sometimes sleep in the guest room when I snore. She doesn't punish me like that.)

So, I showered (Emily uses the prettiest smelling body wash from Bath & Body Works, Blushing Cherry Blossom. Yes, only a sissy would not only know which scent she uses, but so look forward to using it herself.) I felt so pretty working the soft scented wash all over my skin, over my loins.

I dressed quietly in her walk in closet. A pair of white nylon full cut briefs (they keep the girdle fresh for several wearings, plus are quite effective for "tucking," covered with a Rago six strap open bottom girdle, white stockings from Secrets in Lace, and a pretty lilac satin camisole and tap panty set.

Yes, yes, I know, I'm a full blown sissy, what can I say? How women ever stopped wearing lingerie like this is beyond me.

Anyway, I had work to do, had to fly, had to finish dressing, so had to put on my "boy" clothes, which included a tee (to better hide my camisole), a French blue, French cuff Brooks Brothers dress shirt, a charcoal suit and a lime green striped silk tie.

Yes, even as a boy, I like fashion.

Finish with shoes and socks. As I've mentioned before, I nod toward the feminine in socks, usually wearing women's trouser socks over my stockings, the one feminine garment I can pass off as masculine.

I was about to sneak out of the room, took one look over my shoulder where Emily was sleeping in bed (she was getting a later start than I was.) She was naked, on her side, twisted in a sheet, mostly uncovered.

I thought about giving her a kiss, softly, but did not want to wake her.

I had my hand on the door handle, about to open, when I heard her stir. "Where are you going," she asked.

"I have to get to the office," I said, "I have some stuff to do." I started to twist the handle, looked over my shoulder, to see her now on her stomach, the sheet around only her legs, her ass slightly elevated, her smooth pussy on display.

"Not yet," she said lazily.

"Yes, yet, I have to run, love."

"There's something you need to do first, love," she said. I saw a small movement between her legs. She was laying on her arm, her hand, fingers, were between her legs. She was flicking her fingers, almost beckoning me to her.

"Em, I don't have time," I protested, "besides, I'm wearing a girdle, it will take me forever to get undressed and dressed again."

Emily chuckled, danced her fingers again. "You don't need to get undressed, silly, all I want is your mouth."

"Emily, I want to get to work early today," I said, hand still on the door handle.

"Hmmmmm," she said, fingers not lightly touching the folds of her pussy, tapping, gently rubbing, pinching.

"Em," I said, still, staring, unable to move.

She took a deep breath, her fingers gently, slowly, rubbing.

"Baby, that's not fair."

"Ohhhh. Hmmmm."

"Em."

"You go to work...ohhh...I can take care of myself, sweetie."

I stood, watching, mesmerized. I really, really should get going.

"Hm, yes," she said, seductively. "Oh, hmm, there, right there, yes," she gasped, fingers spreading her lips.

My hand fell from the door handle, but I did not move.

"Yes, don't stop, yes," she said a little louder, almost begging.

I took a half step towards her. Fuck, this wasn't fair. Fuck.

"Oh god, Evan, that feels so good," she moaned.

I almost fell down, I was dizzy, my legs jello.

I took a step towards the bed, but it was too late, she orgasmed from her own fingers, moaning, whimpering, calling out his name, not mine.

Evan.

Evan.

Evan.

"Have a good day at work, sissy," she finally said, dismissing me, leaving me hard, teased, needing her, not getting her.

Role Playing

Friday.

It was a long day. I had to go to a meeting two hours away, first thing in the morning, spent all day at the client's office, drove home, just wanted to have a glass of wine, relax.

It was dark when I got to my house, outside and in, so, as I watched the garage door open, I was surprised to see her car there, I did not expect her to be here. Obviously she was welcome, anytime, given that we both had keys to each others' places, but usually we knew when the other would be there.

I parked the my car in the garage next to hers, walked in.

"Emily," I called out into the semi darkness. No response. I guess she wasn’t here, went out, someone else drove. Maybe she would be back later.

Wine. Then I’d text her.

I walked into the main living area, the open kitchen, dining area, living room, headed for the kitchen first, tossed my keys into the basket on the counter.

Wine. I needed wine.

I opened the wine fridge, took out a bottle, any bottle, did not look, did not care. I opened it, poured a glass, downed it.

"It's about time you got here, I've been waiting for you."

I jumped, her voice, in the darkness, startled me.

“Emily?”

A small light flickered on, I saw a strange woman, sitting in a chair, a smug, impatient look on her face. No, it wasn't a strange woman. It was Emily, but she...her hair was different, curled, dark, rather than her normal straight, blonde hair.

A wig?

"Emily," I asked, still startled.

"You kept me waiting, she said you'd be here an hour ago. I don't like to be kept waiting."

"I..." I looked at her closely now. She was wearing a black halter top evening gown, slit up her left thigh. Her upper legs were pushed together, but her lower legs were apart. Sitting as such, the slit up her left leg exposed her upper thigh, a flash of skin at the top of the nude stockings she was wearing. She held an unlit cigarette in her right hand.

"I...Emily..."

"Emily said you'd be home an hour ago. I don't like to be kept waiting my any man, let alone a little sissy." She put the cigarette to her mouth, inhaled.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, still not quite comprehending what she was doing, where this was going.

"I'm sorry Ma'am or I'm sorry Ms. Irena," she said, tilting her head. "I'd understood from Emily you were better trained, sissy."

"I...I'm sorry Ms. Irena," I managed to mumble, still stunned at the transformation Emily had undertaken, the simple act of donning a wig, a different makeup style, and she was a different person. "I didn't know that, that anyone would be here. I did not expect Emily here tonight."

"No, of course not," she answered, a grin forming on her face. "Not when she's craving a man."

I let out a small gasp, as I always did when the topic arose, when she teased me, when she inferred her need for a man, in a way that left no doubts that she understood my fantasies.

She stood, leaned against the doorway, let the slit in her dress fall around her thigh.

"What? Don't act surprised, sissy, you know a woman needs a man now and then, no matter how much she loves a pretty creature like you. You know Emily needs to dress up, to wear something elegant, like this, and catch a man's eye. You're not that naive, are you?"

"I...no...no, Ma'am."

"Of course not. I know she loves you...Sara...but sometimes a woman needs to feel, well, that she can spend the night flirting with her date, acting innocent, yet knowing the sexual tension that's building, knowing that she's looking across the dinner table at a strong, masculine man, knowing her innocent look is all it takes to seduce him."

I swallowed, put a hand on the counter to balance myself as she mimicked a seductive look.

"You're so funny, Evan," she cooed seductively, using the one name that was sure to fly through me like a bolt of electricity.

"Em...er..."

"You like that, don't you? She's told me all about him, Sara. She's told me things about him even you don't know."

My blush, my humiliation, my inability to even speak did nothing to stop her. Rather, just the opposite, they encouraged her, confirmation that she was pushing the exact right buttons.

"That makes you so jealous, doesn't it, hearing how much he turns her on, in ways you never can?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I admitted.

"You're a sissy?"

"Yes."

"I'll bet she gets nervous, Sara, standing there before Evan, nervous at that very second she's going to start undressing for him. Wondering if he'll find her attractive, wondering if she's pretty enough. I know what goes through her mind, she's told me. I know. I know. I know as she reaches behind her neck to undo the top of her dress, that she thinks about you for one quick second, pauses, but can't stop, not with Evan there watching her."

"She can't stop because as much as she loves you, she wants him, she wants a man, she wants Evan. She wants to feel him, touching her, caressing her. I know how badly she wants him, Sara."

"Did she...has she..."

She laughed, obvious to my internal struggle, the hope it wasn't true, the fantasy that it was. The reality that I wanted it yet hated it so badly that I could not stop thinking about it, hoping it never happened, yet wanting it just the same.

"He just watched her, sissy, watched her lower her top over her breasts, gazing at her thin frame, her hard nipples. He could tell she was nervous and that turned him on like no woman ever had. Wanting her for so long, so close to having her."

Emily/Irena had lowered the top of her dress over her breasts. I was erect now, of course, sticking straight forward, obvious to her.

"A woman gets so nervous the first time she's with a man, but I know Emily, I know how badly she wanted it tonight, how badly she needed it, how she could not stand dreaming about him anymore. Do you want it as badly, Sara?"

I bit my lip, looked down for the first time. "Yes," I whispered.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes," I responded slightly louder.

"You dream of it, Sara."

"Yes, all the time."

"But do you really want it? Deep inside? Do you?"

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "I think I do, then...I don't know."

She laughed.

"What?"

"The irony?"

"I don't understand."

"Of course not, because she doesn't always confide in you, Sara. It's ironic, that you're so conflicted, like it was up to you, like it was your decision."

"We have not..."

"You honestly think you have not given her permission already? How can you honestly think you can tell her how much you fantasize about her being with a man that she wants in the worst way and that she does anything but infer that she has your permission to fuck him?"

"She hasn't said..."

"You practically begged her to fuck him, Sara! You'll be surprised if she took you up on that? Honestly?"

"I...I don't know."

"Obviously. But I do, Sara, I do. I was with her earlier and we talked all about it."

I had to ask, I had to. "Has she?"

She turned her back to me, started to remove her dress.

"Has she what, sweetie?"

"Has she...has she been with him?"

"Has she been with him?"

"Yes," I said, some urgency in my voice.

She turned to face me again, struck a shy pose, looking as pretty as she ever looked, standing before me in heels, a garter belt, stockings, panties, her dark, curled hair. "I'm sorry, I'm kind of nervous, Evan," she said half seductively, have shyly.

I was shaking.

"You can't stop thinking about it, can you?"

"No Ma'am."

"Do you know how hot that is? A little sissy thinking about his pretty girlfriend fucking a man. Do you know how hot I get when I stand in front of a man, peel off my panties, wanting his cock inside me. Do you think Emily thinks of you when she's standing in Evan's bedroom, seductively pulling down her panties? Of is all that she can think about is how good his cock is going to feel inside her?"

I had both hands on the counter now, the only way I could remain upright. I wanted to drop to the floor, to crawl to her, to worship her.

"Do you think she's doing that right now? Is that why I'm here? To babysit while your precious Emily is with him?"

She laughed. It took me a second to understand why. Hands on the counter to steady myself, I was also pressed against it, my torso touching the edge of the counter, rocking slightly, humping even. I immediately stopped, horrified at what I was doing.

"Oh, don't stop, sissy, I LOVE the irony. You're imagining your dear Emily getting undressed for Evan, you're desperate to know if she fucked him, and your response is to hump the counter!"

"Look at me Sara...look...have you ever gone into her laundry hamper and found a pair of her soiled panties? Picked them up, gently, nervously. Looked at them. Touched them. Smelled them, wondering if there is more there than just her? Hoping, fantasizing."

I was still rocking, slowly, but moving, nevertheless, the pressure of the counter on the front of my trousers, my panties, incredible.

"I asked you a question, sissy."

"Yes," I said.

"Hoping they were filled with cum?"

"Yes, fuck, all the time," I blurted out.

"Licked them?"

"Yes."

"Tasted her?"

"Yes, Ma'am, yes, I...I can't help it."

"Hoping her panties were filled with Evan's cum."

"Yessssss." I started convulsing, shaking, felt it, could not stop it, the wetness spreading in my panties, through my pants. I groaned, shut my eye, fought, gave up, let it happen, did not care, even welcomed her laugh, her throaty, sinister, ironic laugh.

I finally stopped shaking, disgusted, my libido gone, washed away in with the shameful orgasm. I opened my eyes, she was sitting on the chair, her legs curled up, grinning triumphantly at me.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen," she said, with just enough scorn to feel like a slap, a rebuke.

I took one step back, from the counter, a step towards the bedroom, away from her, away from the shame, the guilt, the horror now flowing through me.

"Where are you going," she asked softly, with the obvious tone that I was to go nowhere.

"Please Em...Ma'am, I...I want to...to clean up."

"You can clean up, Sara. You can get over here on your hands and knees and clean me up...and whatever else you may find inside me."

Another editorial I LOVE

I absolutely adore this editorial, given that it makes my mind race with fantasy, thinking of Emily, some unknown man at the office, his advances towards her, her resisting, weakly, wanting, but saying now.

From: M O D E L S: Daria Werbowy and Francesco Vezzoli - Vogue Paris, May 2010

Memorial Day

Emily were in bed Friday evening; we had a "date night," well, "date day" I suppose, since it really started at lunch time when we both blew off our office jobs for the weekend. We golfed that afternoon (I won, as usual), had a few beers and a hot dog on the course, then cooked dinner on the grill and enjoyed the spring evening.

As I said, we were in bed, having showered, freshened up, pretty.

I was wearing a pink satin camisole and tap panty set, white lace top thigh high stockings, and a white bra holding my breastforms.

Emily was also dressed in lingerie, a black babydoll, sheer panties, black lace top thigh high stockings.

We had a bottle of wine in the bedroom (our second), some candles, yes, one of those evenings.

Emily was sitting up, leaning on an arm, with the other, reached up, touched my face. Her soft, stocking covered leg, was touching one of mine, gently, slowly, moving back and forth, caressing.

-You're so pretty.

I blushed, her words, her recognition of my femininity, her excitement, her reaction to it,

always brought me a rush.

-I love you.

I leaned in to kiss her, my lips barely brushed the bare skin of her neck, my favorite place to start, to smell, to savor, the scent of her, the feel of her.

She jumped, as did I, the sound startled us both. Her ringing cell phone, on the night stand. Beethoven's Ninth.

-Sorry. Let me just see who that is, turn that off.

-I...

I started to tell her to ignore it, to hold her in place with another kiss, but she was quick, with feline grace, had grabbed her iPhone.

-Oh, she said, swiping her finger across the screen, answering, not ignoring, the call.

-Hey!

Her voice, excited.

-No, no, don't be silly, how have you been?

I took a deep breath in, exhaled. Why did one of her friends have to call now? From her tone, it had to be one of her college girls. Fuck. Yea, fuck, when I wanted to fuck. Fuck.

-I know, it's been like forever!

I stared at her foot, her ankle, her calve. Perfect, made more so, encased in a stocking. I could not resist, not then, not ever. I scooted slowly towards the corner of the bed, here leg and foot rested, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Fine, if she wanted to interrupt my seduction, I'd just continue elsewhere, interrupt the interruption.

I was on my hands and knees, she was looking towards the window.

-Good, great, really, you?

My mouth was an inch from her foot, she was still paying me no attention. I inhaled again, long, deep, the perfume of her, her scent started in my nose, but worked its way, magically, into me, into my mind, my body.

I stared at her toes through the dark nylon, was almost shaking, the sight always setting my heart to racing.

I don't know if I wanted to, intended to, but I was overcome, helpless, really. My tongue darted out, licked, feline just as she was, graceful.

Emily jumped.

-Oh!

She looked over at me, crossed her eyes slightly, but did not move her foot.

-What? No, no, nothing.

I licked again, the back of her ankle, her calve.

-Memorial Day Weekend? No, that's charming. I don't think I have plans, just a sec, let me check.

She rolled onto her back, lifted her phone up to look at the screen. Intentionally or not, more likely so, the foot I had licked was on my chest, between my breasts, toes pointed directly towards my mouth, the other, with the same unaffected thought, came to rest directly against the front of my satin tap panties, unseen to me, but felt, erotically, through the fabric.

-I don't have anything on my calendar. What do you have in mind?

She was excited, by me or her free schedule for a get together with college friends, I did not know, but her toes moved forward, to my lips, presented themselves for adoration.

I opened my mouth, tongue extended, tasted, the nylon, her, encouraged by her other foot, softly, slowly, seductively, moving, massaging.

-That sounds. She paused, toes licked. -Wonderful. I'd love to come out there.

She can orgasm just from me licking her toes, something I was trying to create while she was on the phone.

-Well, email me, we can talk details later, but I'll block out the weekend. Yea, me, too. Talk to you later.

She hung up, dropped the phone on the table next to the bed.

-Who was that, I asked, looking up at her.

-Oh, fuck, don't stop, she hissed, pushing her toes back into my mouth, silencing me, rubbing me with her other foot, encouraging me, making me forget, for the moment, anything but her stocking covered legs.

Minutes later, I had worked my way up to her thighs, gently, teasingly, licking, kissing, the nylon, her bare skin just above. I enjoyed the teasing, brushing the tip of my nose over the sheer panties covering her, breathing, letting her know I was going to lick her, just not until she begged for it.

But Emily was not in the mood to beg for my oral attention, quite the opposite, rather. She lifted her hips, one, the other, her weight, force, flipping us, opposite, so I was on my back, she atop me, instead of my mouth hovering over her, she was hovering over me.

Instinctively, hungrily, I stuck my tongue out seeking the sheer fabric of her panties, the dampness already evident underneath. I was almost there, my tongue may have grazed the sheer nylon, when she lifted her hips up slightly.

-Now who is going to make who beg, sissy, she chuckled

-Emily!

She lowered her hips, again my tongue almost reached her when she stopped.

-It's ironic, most women have to beg their boyfriends to lick them.

-Please Emily. I asked softly, not even bothering to deny that she was right, not bothering to do anything but beg.

-You'll do anything I want, won't you my pretty lover?

-Yes. I whimpered, shaking with sexual excitement, spurred by her body, her lingerie, mine, her scent, anticipating the taste.

She lowered her hips yet again, this time allowing her panty covered mound to rest on my tongue for a second or two.

-I know how turned on you get licking me through my panties, she teased, imagining I've just come home from a date.

I gasped, the image immediately flashing into my mind, Emily now hovering over me, wet not just from her but...

She lowered herself onto me. -Taste it, lover, taste, open, taste.

I did, eyes closed, mouth open. It took less than a minute for her to orgasm, the wave starting, shaking, all over her, the wave that when I licked her, could go on and on and on, minute, after minute, ten, fifteen, more.

-Sara, she whispered. I opened my eyes as she lifted off my tongue, just an inch. I looked at her, but my eye went to her panties, her fingers moving them aside, touching herself, spreading herself, rubbing, shaking.

-Sara, she said again. My eyes went to hers, but right back to her fingers, now wet, rubbing.

-Saraaa, she was starting to shake, starting cum again.

-Sara, look at me.

I looked up, mouth open, tongue out. She bounced on it, once, twice, three times, touching her clit to the tip.

-The phone call, Sara, she managed to say, struggling to talk through her breathing, through the orgasm she was having from her fingers, the quick touches of my tongue.

-That was Evan.

I sucked in a deep breath, his name a shot through my skull.

Evan.

She was going to see Evan.

He invited her for the weekend, Memorial Day weekend, as he did last year.

Evan.

She was over my mouth, her orgasm powerful from my tongue, of its own volition, swarming all over her, sucking, kissing, licking, drinking.

She was going to spend the weekend with Evan again.

She did not ask, like last year, announced.

Evan.

I thought his name as I licked her.

Evan.

I imagined him inside her.

Evan.

I imagined tasting him.

Evan.

Evan.

Scared

I was toweling off this morning. "Before you get dressed, will you help me with something," she asked.

"Yea," I said, eyes narrowing as I looked at the clock. I was already running late.

"I have a lunch meeting today," she said, leaning towards the mirror, carefully applying her makeup.

I waited for her to finish, but she just focused on her makeup. "Okay," I said finally, starting to get annoyed, wishing she'd just get on with it.

"It's with Jason Stevens."

"Oh," I swallowed, the name freezing me in my tracks. Jason Stevens, a new client. She had shown me the email exchange they had after their first meeting, part business, part obvious flirting on his part, borderline inappropriate. I saw her responses, too, of course, demure, sidestepping deftly his inquiry.

What was missing was the obvious. The, I'm flattered, but I have a boyfriend. She did not really flirt back but she certainly did not discourage him, either.

"We need to discuss a few more aspects of his thing, so he asked me to lunch." She continued with her makeup, still not asking me anything, not telling me what she wanted.

Again, I broke first, of course, she was more disciplined than I. "What do you need help with?"

She was applying eye liner stopped, hand in mid air, turned to me. "I want you to go pick something for me to wear."

The thoughts that shot through my mind:

Jason thinks my girlfriend is hot.

Great, I can pick something totally drab.

She knows teasing me like this excites me.

I should turn the tables and dress her like a slut.

This is a business meeting and she still has to go to the office so that's not right.

She knows exactly all the things I'll be thinking.

I know that's the truth, the last thing, that she knows exactly what she'd doing, that she's already teasing me, that I can't help it, that her sissy boyfriend fantasizes all the time about her cuckolding me, that when she teases me about it, it makes us both so excited.

She knew I would not pick out something frumpy, as much as she knew I would not dress her like a whore. She knew exactly what I would do and how I would feel. She knew the tremors of excitement that would run through my body as I imagined myself picking out an outfit for her to wear.

I went to her lingerie drawer, itself always an exercise in erotic exploration. There, I found what I was looking for, the matching bra, panty and garter belt set, stockings of course being the only appropriate thing I could pick for my love to wear.

I set the ivory and mocha lace and nylon garments on the bed, knew just what stockings were called for, the beige reinforced heel and toe nylons with the traditional dark welt.

My hands were shaking as I set the stockings down next to the lingerie. She loved to feel sexy, pretty, feminine, and wearing this, thinking about it all morning, I knew every fiber of her body would be electrified, that, whether she wanted to or not, she would be naturally aroused, confident, even flirtatious.

As sexy as she would feel because of her lingerie underneath, she had a business meeting, not a date, so I had to choose something from her professional wardrobe.

And I knew just the skirt suit that I would want to see her in. The navy blue pin stripe one, the one with the jacket that was cut to hug her trim waist, the one with the skirt that was just a tad shorter than she usually wore. The skirt, cut above the knee, but below mid thigh, long enough to be decent, acceptable, in her conservative office when standing, but short enough that when she sat she showed off a fair portion of her long, beautiful legs.

She came into the bedroom, watched me standing there, naked, carefully laying the lavender silk blouse next to the other items. She glanced at the clothing, then to me, eyes focused on my midsection.

"Look at you, all excited picking out my outfit for a business lunch as if I was going on a date."

My eyes glanced down my own smooth skin, to the obvious indicator of my own thoughts, stayed there, betrayed by my body, humiliated.

"That's what you think about, fantasize about, don't you, sweetie?" She was dressing herself in the lingerie, the seduction of dressing as powerful as the seduction of undressing.

"Cute."

"What," I asked, my mind drifting back from fantasy.

She was sitting on the edge of a chair at the foot of the bed, pulling a stocking up her leg.

"I said Jason's cute, I don't know how he's going to focus on business instead of staring at my legs, but that's what you're dreaming about, no?"

I was breathing heavily, turned on by her, the here and now, by the fantasy in my mind.

"A man reaching under the table, gently, lightly, resting his hand on my thigh. Should I stop him if he does? Should I make it clear I have a boyfriend? Or should I let his hand rest there, just a thin layer of nylon between my skin and his?"

My eyes were fluttering back into my head, her voice, her words.

She spoke softer. "If I don't say anything, he'll take that for encouragement, you know. If we sit somewhere secluded, his hand will drift up my thigh. I'm scared, lover."

"Scared," I swallowed.

"Scared. His fingers running up my leg, he'll find skin, lover, hot skin. I'm scared when he realizes I'm wearing stockings he's going to assume I wore them just for him. I'm scared when I feel his hands on the inside of my thigh, I'm not going to be able to tell him to stop, that I'm going to tell him to go further."

My eyes flew open, I felt her hand, her warm skin, on mine, her fingers on my thigh. "I'm scared I'll tell him how badly I want him to touch me, how badly I want him to fuck me and I'm scared once I say it, I won't be able to stop."

She took my erection in her soft hands.

"I know what you fantasize about, and I'm scared I won't be able to say no, I'm scared I won't be able to stop." She was stroking me, looking at me, hopeless, helpless.

"Do you want me to stop?"

I was getting dizzy, I was breathing to fast, lightheaded.

"I...I don't know," I finally managed to say, unsure if I was answering to her question to stop now, stop rubbing me, or stop later, stop Jason.

I was close, so close to the edge, when she pulled one last time, one last hard tug. "Please, please don't stop," I begged, thrusting my hips forward towards her hands, but unable to touch them, meaning to continue stroking me.

"Maybe I won't," she cooed, "maybe I'll let him have his way with me."