by Smutwriter
Copyright July 2010
They’d bought them, one for each other, as little anniversary presents. Not really much of an anniversary, one month, but what a month it had been.
In his apartment he held his out at arm’s length, stretched between forefinger tips. He grinned; there was nothing of it.
Two floors down she hung hers from a finger and gazed in surprise at its smallness.
His was small too and a vivid electric blue and he pictured her in hers.
Hers was an iridescent green, the colour of a mallard’s head and she pictured him in his.
Naked, he stepped carefully, awkwardly into his and worked it up his thighs. Just working his genitals into the pouch was erotic and his cock began to stir.
Naked, she stepped into hers. It was smaller by far than any pair of panties she’d ever owned.
With the narrow strap worked between his buttocks he was amazed at how erotic they were. He pictured her with hers pulled up tight and invading her. His cock was, by now, all but fully erect and the fabric could barely contain him. He closed his eyes, imagining, imagining her.
The sense of invasion, of trespass between the cheeks of her ass was exquisite. She took a few steps just to see how it felt. It felt like a probing, poking, stroking something. It felt unutterably sexy. She felt unutterably sexy, and horny. Arousal surged through her.
The fabric was oddly cool. It stretched, tightly moulding his balls into a firm package. His rigid erection strained upwards, seeking escape from under the elastic waistband. He looked good in the mirror, very good he thought. A nearly black spot formed as he leaked precum.
She moved to the dressing table and picked up a dark red lipstick and began colouring her nipples and their surrounds. She’d never done it before and it seemed deliciously wicked. It felt deliciously sexy too as her nipples were pulled this way and that. They erected alarmingly. The pussy mound in the mirror showed every contour of her through the glossy skin of the thong. Stray, escaping, copper curls glistened. He’d begged her not to shave or even trim her bush.
He pictured her puffy-lipped pussy outlined by the tight-stretched fabric. He wondered if she felt as violated by the strap between her legs as he did. He reached behind and pulled his tighter, wishing he could tease her and pull hers into her. The need to free his cock, to stroke it was all but overwhelming.
Her pussy yearned for her fingers and she yearned to finger it. She must be getting wet. She pulled up on the waistband and peered into the mirror.