“And ah, yeah, open this one.”
“Goodness, you shouldn’t have,” April gushed. “You’ve already made my day, sweetie.”
“One more goodie won’t hurt, will it?” Larry smiled benignly as he handed her the final wrapped package.
“Well,“ she said, smiling brightly. “I suppose I won’t let it.”
He laughed. “Let’s hope not.”
The Phaidon coffee-table tome truly did make her birthday. Never mind the DVDs (“His Girl Friday” and “Gigi”), the Merriam-Webster thesaurus, the Godiva chocolates, and the Mikasa tea-pot to complement their wedding china. Or even the chilled-just-so cannoli they brought home and enjoyed with a couple of glasses of a pricey vintage port. Larry wasn’t one to tie a bow around an SUV and surprise you with it in the drive-way; and anyhow, April wasn‘t one to covet a new vehicle, or surprises. His gifts were always thoughtful, personal, and almost certain to gratify.
“This one’s just a bit of an add-on,” Larry said with a grin as April began gently tugging on the wrapping-paper. It was her way to extend the suspense of gift-opening for as long as possible.
“An add-on?” She smiled. “You’ve been adding them on all evening. You‘re spoiling me!” She pouted theatrically. “Well, at least this isn’t too heavy,” she added, giving it a childish shake as if to try and guess its contents.
“This one might be sortof a gift for me too,” he added, with a genuine, if slightly frozen grin.
“A gift for you too,” she repeated teasingly. “Well I might‘ve hoped for a new toaster oven. But then again,” she continued wryly, “I think I might know where husbands like to go to get gifts for themselves to give to their wives, no?” She laughed and looked at him inquisitively. His face answered her with a devilish, inscrutable grin that gave her a little flash of excitement. Silently she thanked herself for having allowed Larry to drill her for her sizes as she freed the box of its wrapping and opened it up in her lap and looked within.
“Erm,” she said blankly. She looked up at Larry.
He smiled idiotically. His cheeks looked flushed.
April looked down again into the box. “Ah, where did this come from?”
“You know, the ah, the Hot Topic at the mall.”
April released a forced little laugh. “I thought when most men wanted to buy a little gift ‘for themselves’, as you might put it, they went to Victoria’s Secret.”
Larry straightened out his mouth and took a breath. “Well, that’s true I suppose, but what I wanted was a little different.”
April curled her lip in an attempt to show amusement. Going through this effort helped her decide, somehow, that she was amused. Yes, she should be amused.
She held up the glossy pair of black trousers. “I take it this isn’t real leather or something?”
“Oh god no, it’s PVC. Your own pair of vinyl pants.”
April suddenly exploded with laughter. “Oh, goodness! I hope you’re not planning on dragging me to some rock concert or a nightclub. You know that’s not my thing.”
Larry produced a look of indignant denial. “Oh god, no. I wouldn’t expect you to wear them out of the house, of course not. Why ever would I want to offend your modesty?”
April laughed, not knowing quite how to read this. “Erm, I should think this goes beyond ‘modesty’ to a question of, oh, taste or discretion or--” she shook her head, “--acting like a grown-up or something. Certainly not out of the house. . . .” She laughed wanly. “Erm, you’re not expecting me to wear them at all, I hope.”
“Well-- I mean, they’re a present for you. You wouldn‘t want to waste a present completely, would you?”
April raised the pants out of the box and held them up above her head as she sat crouched beneath the love-seat, letting the folded pair of patent vinyl trousers fall full-length before her eyes with a crinkle. “Is the receipt in the box, dear?”
“No, it’s not in the box. They’re a real gift. They‘re meant to be kept.”
“A real gift, indeed,” she said, continuing to smirk with a show of good-humor. “How much did these cost?”
“Oh, never mind that. Not a lot. C‘mon, be a sport. I might want to see you in them.”
“Well if you see me in them I’m not sure how I’d feel about returning them because these look like the kind of thing that’d give a girl an infection. Not that I--”
“April, you‘re not returning them, dear. Have some fun,” he goaded. “It’s just a frivolous little thing and I thought we might enjoy it.”
“What, you want these to be my new house pants or something? I kinda doubt that’d be too comfortable.”
“Why don’t you try them on? They might be comfortable enough. And ah, you know, I kinda like the look, which is why I got them in the first place.”
She got a little flushed now, looking at them. Suddenly she folded them back into the box.
“So this is like, my ‘sexy’ present? Is this something that turns you on?”
Larry smiled crookedly. “Well, a lot of people find that kind of thing sexy. --Oh come on!” he stammered, studying April’s uninviting reaction without quite managing to look her in the eye, “you know, it’s kinda-- rock and roll. Sexy. Fun, funky, whatever.”
“So wearing these would like, turn me into Britney Spears or something? Some kind of pop star hottie? Is that the fantasy?” She felt embarrassed putting it that way, but perhaps a bit excited too. “These pants would add to my hotness? Or am I just boring you, dressing my age and not being ‘funky’ enough?”
“You’re forgetting Britney’s older than you are,“ he chided. “C’mon. You know you’re a hot woman. You’re definitely a doll in my book. And ah, I’d like to see you in them. Something you could do for me every once in a while.”
“Hmm,” said April, more meaningfully than she meant it to sound. “So I might get a little something out of this too, then?”
Larry arched a wry brow. “If you mean will you receive intrinsic enjoyment out of wearing a fine pair of fashion-forward pants, then your answer should be ‘yes‘. And if you mean would it make me want to ahm, fuck your brains out, then my answer, Birthday Girl, is, definitely. Yes it would.”
They sat in silence for a few moments as April processed this. Really, if Larry didn’t intend the vinyl pants just as some sort of joke to get a stupid rise out of her, then there was no point in trying to twist his arm to return them. She had laughed, but he obviously wasn’t seeking that reaction. If he really wanted to see her in them, there was no harm in obliging him, was there? And he had given her such sweet, thoughtful, such-- tasteful-- gifts besides. This would be a little piece of fun.
She lifted the trousers out of the box again and twisted her neck in Larry’s direction as she got off the floor. “Okay, Hot Topic boy. Sit here and pop star will be right down.”
Once she got to the bedroom, she dreaded the task of actually putting them on. She had already made herself comfortable in her yoga pants when they got home from dinner.
She studied the shiny vinyl pants intently for a moment. They were so unlike her, so synthetic and artificial. She didn’t own anything leather, or even spandex that she could think of. Certainly nothing PVC. Were people really wearing these things? Where? Out to concerts and nightclubs? She didn’t go to these kinds of things, never had really. When she was twelve or thirteen she had gone to a couple of teen-pop shows with other girls and their moms, squeaky-clean Disney show business stuff. In college she hardly ever went into bars and avoided any place with a dance floor.
Studying the insides of the pants, she imagined they might get sort of-- soiled-- easily. Could these things even be washed somehow? She decided to change into a fresh pair of underwear. She dropped her plain white panties and fished in the drawer. For a moment she regretted she didn’t have any thongs to pair underneath these pants. That would give Larry a thrill. She chose a pair of boy briefs that bared two modestly indecent slivers of flesh at the fringe of her buttocks. That should be more fitting. Especially if Larry intended to get her out of them again right away? . . .
April felt a moment’s heat at the thought of an imminent act of-- fucking. Was that how it was going to be? The consummation of her birthday, as it were. Already that lovely Italian dinner (had manicotti been a poor choice? But she had enjoyed it). And that Phaidon book (how had she missed that they’d put out a new title on her favorite-- well, second-favorite!-- architect?). Larry probably was just looking for a little amused embarrassment from her. The semblance of something naughty-- a little bit slutty-- in making her put on these PVC trousers. An excuse for a few shared laughs.
Oh, let him have his fun, she thought.
She pulled her briefs on and sat on the bed to work her way into the vinyl pants. She had some trepidation about this, wondering if they would even fit. Or if she could breathe in them.
There was a bit of work to it, getting the first leg past her knee. But after a momentary flash of panic, she realized they weren’t impossible at all. They squeezed tightly on her skin-- a tightness very unfamiliar, but strangely inviting. The squelchy, crinkly sounds they made had an odd allure. When she sprang up to pull them up onto her hips, there was a strange pleasure in the warmth of their cling as they slid over the tops of her thighs. She rocked her hips around, carefully tugging them over her bottom. The scrawny shiny little belt loops had an oddly vestigial quality about them, but somehow made her feel the pants were just a bit less abnormal.
As she squeezed her belly in preemptively and buttoned them, she experienced a sudden rush of accomplishment. These were from Hot Topic, eh? And here she was, twenty-six and very much capable of fitting into them!
April took her time as she slowly slid the zipper up, listening carefully to the slithering sound. As if she almost expected, at just the last moment, that the pants would defy her and pop loose. She knew she wasn’t chubby, by any means. Yet she felt all of a sudden a sense of pride in getting these vinyl pants on. They were so tight! Yet, oddly comfortable. Manageable.
April looked at herself in the dresser mirror. Her pelvis was tightly encased in the slick, oil-spill texture of the PVC. The silvery button flashed at her eyes like a medallion: the prize that announced that, yeah damnit, she could wear these. Her thighs looked slender in them, like two alien willow trunks. April smiled at her reflection, cocked her hip and stuck a thumb through one of the belt-loops at her crotch like the models in magazines.
Would Larry really want to see her in them more than just for tonight? It might be fun, maybe, to get to wear them again.
“Well well, Larry,” she whispered to herself. “So this is your desire.” She smirked at herself, raised her arms above her head and did a little shimmy. She turned to her side and thrust her hip out into the mirror and admired herself through slanted eyes.
This time she whispered exultingly, “Pop star!”
April creaked her way down the stairs, the wood groaning under her feet almost as softly as the tight vinyl creaked on her knees and thighs. She was still out of view when she heard Larry groan out her name.
She froze on the steps, feeling like a mischievous mouse. Larry continued, “It’s taken you a while . . . .”
She wasn’t completely sure Larry had even heard her. But presently she decided to put him out of his suspense. Slowly.
Thinking of Barbara Stanwyck in “Double Indemnity” and simultaneously, for some reason, of Avril Lavigne, she strode down the stairs with what she hoped was an hypnotic pace, staring into her husband’s eyes when he came into view, waiting for her there on the loveseat.
He growled appreciatively as she arrived in front of him. She touched her shiny black knees to his chino-clad pair. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she seductively whispered, “You like?”
“Oh yes,” he replied, looking into her eyes and placing his hands at her hips. She straightened up as she felt the shot of warmth from his hands on her, almost like a liquid stain against her skin as the already-warmed synthetic fabric smoothed into her. “Though I think maybe the look isn’t complete.”
“Complete?” she asked with a slight frown. “From the look of you,” she taunted, “I think my ‘look’ is about to get ripped off me.”
“Not at all,” he said with whispery assurance. “What I meant,” he continued in a low, thrilling voice, “is that, ah, maybe you should pair these hot sexy trousers of your’s with something besides that natty old ‘12 Days of Christmas’ shirt you like to lounge in.” He grinned boldly at her.
April pulled back her shoulders defiantly. “If you wanted me to have a head-to-toe ensemble to your specifications, maybe you should’ve bought me an entire outfit, Daddy Warbucks.”
His eyes glinted steel at her. “Are you inviting me to do that then?”
April’s smile died off. “Erm, well not--”
“I’ll take you up on that. Why don’t you go back upstairs and find something a little more--flirty-- to go with your shiny new bottoms, eh?”
“Have I got some spandex in the laundry hamper I should be aware of?”
“You’ve got lots of pretty things. Girls always know how to use contrasts. Something sexy and fresh to dress down those hardcore tight pants of your’s. Of course,” he added looking down, “going barefoot already helps in that department. But since you don’t own any heels above two inches I suppose that’s a lost cause for tonight.” He softly caressed her tightly-covered bottom. “Go pick out a top, something that says ‘I’ve read “Middlemarch” but I know how to party,’ that sort of thing.”
April laughed merrily. “You are a strange, sweet man.” She moaned softly as his hand continued to caress her bottom. As he squeezed her ass she bit into her lip, warmth gathering in her crotch. The bottom half of her body felt fired up, imprisoned by a damp, clinging heat.
“And you’re a sweet, sexy strange woman,” Larry added. “And make sure to repeat that little performance as you come down the stairs again.”
There was no doubt the PVC pants were hot, temperature-wise. April was sweaty inside them, making them cling all the more. But damn, it was so nice, that cling. So tight and slithery, a second skin that looked futuristic and carnal to the eye.
And then there was the heat from her pussy--
It had taken her only a moment’s work to make the change of her top; now she charged down the second floor hall in excitement before stopping herself at the head of the stairs to channel her seductive vibes.
Not that her vibes were letting her have any rest.
As she went down the stairs the second time she stroked the fabric of the camisole at her ribs, smiling all the while as she caught Larry’s eyes. He grinned back appreciatively. Her own eyes froze wide as she realized he had his dick out, stroking it.
For a moment she felt like she should stammer out some apology. But for what-- startling him? She knew his penis would be coming out in the course of all this little game, but she thought that would be upstairs. Maybe with the one bedside lamp on. Not-- surely not--
But she couldn’t deny that she wanted it. He was clearly hard. Pleased and hard, and for her. Her and her tight slick vinyl pants.
As she made her way across the living room floor over to him she stared longingly at his cock, fluttering a hand unself-consciously across her bosom as she moved forward in a daze.
“Is this better, sweetie? Does this say I’ve read ‘Middlemarch’?” She touched her glossy knees once more against his.
“Hmm, ‘cupcakes’. I always liked that camisole. It says something sweet.”
It was one of her favorite pieces of loungewear, a white camisole decorated with rows of cupcakes with pink and blue frosting and a thin trim of white lace. It never really said anything ‘sexy’ to her before; but now, paired with the vinyl pants, it suddenly felt like something a bit-- tarty.
The cami was soft and familiar, well worn-in though hardly threadbare. Only now did it occur to April how well her breasts might look in it. She was aware of her nipples poking perkily beneath it, popping up under the frosted tops of a pair of cupcakes like a set of submerged cherries.
It occurred to her, on the sudden, how sexy it would be to wear the cupcakes camisole out, as her outerwear. Some girls actually did that, wear camis out-- the slutty kind of girls . . . .
“Am I? Am I your sweet girl?” April cooed. “Do you still even want a ‘sweet’ girl, or do you want some kind of nasty slut who wears vinyl clothes and shows herself off?” Gently she shimmied her hips as she spoke.
“Oh, I like both kinds but-- if I can get myself a nasty, show-off slut who dresses slutty and makes cupcakes and eats-- I mean, reads George Eliot then-- that would be my dream girl right there. I’d even marry a girl like that.”
“Wow. I bet that’d be a happy girl then.” She looked down at the hard cock he was rubbing still, but oh so slowly, with his fingers. He was showing off too, and it made her edgy, seeing him doing this thing with himself. She wanted to take over his cock from him; even as she was losing self-consciousness about her outfit a part of her was struck by embarrassment at seeing her husband in their living room, slowly masturbating himself. It would be so much easier for them both, so much better, if she took care of him instead.
And then she said, “I bet a sweet girl like that would get down on her slutty knees and put that hard aching cock of yours between her lips.” April dropped softly down onto her knees as she said this. They squeaked on the wooden floor as she crouched her way between her husband’s opening thighs. She licked her lips thoughtfully. “A girl like that, she’d probably blow you like it was your birthday.”
“What a treat,” he mumbled softly. “What a sweet, sexy treat.”
April’s lips parted and she slid her husband’s cock between them. Softly she licked the dome as she held it inside her lips. Then she let it slide out and rubbed the tip across her slick bottom lip and then cradled it against her chin. “A cock like this would make a great birthday treat.” She planted a soft kiss on the tip, then bowed her head and licked her way from the root up the stem. She whispered, “I’d rather have a load of your sweet jiz than a silly cupcake any day.”
“Really,” he stated rather than asked.
April grinned. “Please, mister, would you mind if I treated myself? What if I told you it was my birthday?”
Larry giggled. “Policy is we have to see some ID. No free desserts for fakers!”
“Oh but, I couldn’t fit my ID in my pocket, my pants are too tight?”
“Too-tight pants? I don’t believe it.”
“Here, let me prove it to you,” she cooed, standing and turning her back to him and easing her bottom down onto his lap. April had no idea, really, of how to go about giving a ‘lap dance’, but she made an effort to rub herself, back and forth, on Larry’s knees as he laughed and moved beneath her, his hands taking hold of her hips as she pushed back, bumping her ass onto his crotch. She reached her hand back and felt for his cock, clasping it, feeling its hardness up against the exposed skin at her waist as she leaned back into him, then releasing it from her grasp as he lifted his hands to her breasts, groping one and then the other with gentle determination. Surreptitiously-- or so she hoped-- she put the hand that had touched his cock between her own thighs, pressing into the tight crotch of the PVC pants.
“These pants are so tight, and shiny. I’m afraid they draw way too much attention, but that’s how my boyfriend insists I look. He wants me to dress like a-- a bad girl. A slut.” Larry snaked a hand up inside the camisole, the other hand squeezing the inside of her thigh. “A trendy little fashion whore.” His thumb was flicking at a hard nipple, sending shivery electric shocks through her. “Maybe I’ll grow up someday and read ‘Middlemarch’ but right now, I’m just a slutty dumb co-ed who likes to blow boys and fuck around all weekend. Please sir, will you believe me and let me blow that sweet cock of yours?”
She felt, as well as heard, Larry billow with laughter all the while as his dick was snuggled hard against her bottom. He jerked up her cami, leaving her tits exposed, feeling damp in the tingling air. He gave her nipple a serious tweak, rocketing through her with a pain-tinged jolt of pleasure. “Alright girl, I believe you. Have at your birthday treat.”
She twisted herself around and looked into his eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she said meaningfully, like a pouty spoiled but appreciative little slut.
“And keep that camisole rolled up above those tits. Those two cupcakes should stay out for a while.”
As she resumed her initial cock-sucking position, April faintly asked herself where her torrent of naughty talk had come from. The fetishy vinyl pants, she supposed, unlocked a certain character. As she took Larry’s cock back into her mouth and began sucking it in earnest, it occurred to her that a hard dick has a way of unleashing a certain character, too.
April didn’t think of herself as a prude. She had fellated her husband sometimes, on an irregular basis, in the cozy comfort of their bedroom, sometimes with the one bedside lamp still burning. Or did it count if you only sucked it as foreplay?
She should have felt trepidation now, at the prospect of making her husband come inside her mouth. But she understood she needed this as much as Larry did-- she wanted to give a real blowjob. What a wanton PVC-wearing little whore would do, real proud and down on her knees.
April continued eagerly to draw her husband’s cock into her warm mouth, driving it in and out with the emphatic bobbing of her head. She smelt the healthy musk of his crotch, stronger every time she felt his penis nudge itself pleasurably against the back of her throat. She massaged the inside of his thigh while she continued to fellate him. She was moaning involuntarily, lending a soft flutter of vibration that gently echoed through his hard member.
As Larry began to twist his torso above her, she felt a red wave of tension and embarrassment flood across her cheeks. The thought that he was near his release made her heart pound within her chest. She was making this happen, down here on the floor between his thighs-- she was turning him on, she was going to make him spill his seed in her throat. She pressed her hand gently into the crotch of his pants, fondling possessively the concealed scrotum, as if wishing to milk his pliant balls of all the come they could hold. Ragged little gasps came from him, like a flutter of birds beating wings against naked branches. He arched his back suddenly, as if the seat behind him were on fire, and then the first spurt erupted inside April’s mouth. She sucked down hard and flicked her tongue lovingly around the purple crown inside her mouth as his semen shot itself, again and again, into her. Gently she bobbed her head, feeling the spurts shoot into the back of her throat, the roof of her mouth, thick against her roving tongue. She swallowed and swallowed, compulsively, as if defying herself to show the slightest hint of reluctance. She wanted to show her gratitude for the rich gift of his warm seed. But as she slowed her loving ministrations with her tongue, caressing the cock lovingly with the snugness of her mouth, she paused to savor the pungent come, feel its glueyness melting in her mouth, a thing to be savored, this warm essence of her man that she greedily suckled from him.
She continued to cradle his member inside her mouth like this until it began reluctantly to soften. She let it slide out with a lovingly protracted, gentle teasing of her lips, feeling the organ flex itself in a thrilling little spasm, like an involuntary echo of arousal. She lay her head in his lap, her eyes almost closed, her thoughts distant and fluttery, like a field of fresh daffodils sleepily stirring in a warm spring breeze.
They remained like this for some time, the only sounds breaking the silence the gentle stir of their breath and the irregular squeaky peelings of her synthetically covered limbs. His hand sat restfully atop her head, stroking the soft tendrils with intent affection.
Eventually Larry said, “You feel like watching ‘His Girl Friday’?”
It took a moment’s pause before April’s mind was ready enough to form a reply. Squeakily she straightened herself and slowly stood while she said, “That might be a bit high energy for me right now.”
Larry laughed. “Yeah, I guess that might be a little too caffeinated a viewing experience. Well, how about ‘Jeopardy’ then?”
She laughed quietly. With a blush she took stock of her still-bared breasts and pulled her camisole back down into decent order as nonchalantly as she could manage. “And maybe a cup of tea too?”
He nodded. “Sure, I’ll put on a kettle.”
“No no, allow me.”
“Oh come on, it’s your birthday. I can’t allow you to make your own tea, can I?”
“But it’s our tea. And I want to do it. Stay here: it’s Birthday Girl’s orders.” And she smiled adoringly.
In the kitchen with the tea things (though not her new teapot-- she didn’t feel up to cleaning it properly for use), she took a mental snapshot of herself, still in her PVC trousers as she was, and the now rather carnal-seeming cupcakes cami, and registered the incongruity of her standing there like that, and with the salt of Larry’s jism still in her mouth and down her throat, all the while performing all the familiar parts of her domestic ritual. Digging absently in the sugar bowl with the spoon, she suddenly laughed at herself, quite loudly, and then stopped herself, afraid Larry might’ve noticed.
But it was a few moments later when he startled her by crying out, “What was that about?”
“Be ready in a minute,” she hollered back; then, fearful of elaboration she added, “Nothing.”
But as she stirred the sugar into their cups she was almost unaware of the way she rocked her pelvis, the squawk of tight vinyl in counterpoint to the gentle clanging of the spoon.
Back in the living room, April cradled her head against his shoulder while he idly scrolled through the channels. “You know something,” she said, grinning, “I never finished reading ‘Middlemarch.’”
He jerked his head in feigned shock, causing her to lift her neck to meet his outraged gaze. “Why you little illiterate! I should make you drink Diet Pepsi from these cups from now on. You’re not worthy of tea.”
“I did a paper on ‘Daniel Deronda’ though. It’s about as long.”
“’Daniel Deronda’? Isn’t that a little obscure?”
She purred. “Maybe. But doesn’t that make me a well-read girl after all?”
He smiled a look of mollification. “It shows effort, I suppose. But there’s no excuse for skipping the essentials. Not read ‘Middlemarch’! Whatever is it you do with your time?” He sipped his tea in dignified reflection. “We shall have to improve your education.”
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and sighed amusedly. “Yes, Daddy. Teach me all I need to know.”
He put his free arm around her and stroked his thumb against the underside of her breast through the camisole. “Well, drink your tea wench, and maybe I’ll give you one more lesson tonight.”
Later, upstairs, he fucked her, a hard, propulsive fucking that surprised and, if she had to admit it, shook her.
He watched her peel herself out of the vinyl pants, made her hang them up securely in her closet, and then stripped, changed into a pair of boxers. April sat on the bed meanwhile, winding up her clock, when he turned upon her and wordlessly manhandled her full length onto the bed, limbs akimbo.
Her skin where she had worn the pants was sweaty, sticky, flushed. She could smell her musk through the panties, and with a blush of horror realized how damp they were as Larry smugly peeled them off. His hands stroked her sides from the hips up, pushing her cami till it bunched up at her shoulders. She trembled in her exposure, his eyes upon her, hungry and devouring. He rubbed at her nipples with the balls of his thumbs, stiffening them, awakening her dormant arousal. She tried to will herself into complacency, hardly daring to believe it was going to happen. But then he dropped his boxers and his cock stood hard. With no further prelude he grabbed her knees and bent her legs, spreading her.
She briefly took hold of his cock as the head of it prodded her vagina. It was a gesture of possession and gratitude, but fleeting, as he sank himself within her. She wrapped her ankles around him as he took her, and she rocked away with him, snapping her hips, the wet squealches of her sodden pussy filling the air like an echo of her squeaky pants before. Little rhythmic moans cascaded from her throat, her lips open this time, in counterpoint to the wet sounds of their fucking. Her back arched and her pleasure exploded, as his seed erupted inside her.
Later, when the lights were out, he nuzzled the nape of her neck warmly as outside a soft rain fell in the dark. April kept her body still, but she was awake, restless, though not exactly alert. She lay in bed with only the camisole still on her. She couldn’t remember even trying to sleep bare-bottomed before. But it felt, now, like it would be a kind of retreat, to fish around for some panties (surely not the now-nasty things she had worn earlier tonight) to sleep in. She felt a mess down there. It was not a restful thought. Larry had put his boxers back on to sleep in. But somehow, somehow-- though it hadn’t been spoken, it just felt somehow that she should, she ought-- to remain like this. Damp and soiled and used.
Used good, for her birthday. She smiled silently at the thought. A special treat. An okay time to get a little carried away.
Hardly something that would ever be more than a once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing.
Beside her, Larry drifted off to sleep, worn but contented. But his mind too was humming with the soft lull of sensuous reflection.
The evening had gone so very well. So much more gratifying than he had even dared to imagine.
He couldn’t wait to tell Elissa all about it tomorrow.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
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