We met innocently enough. We bumped into each other now and again at the bakery/coffee shop where everyone gets coffee and baked goods for their rides to work. We’d make cracks about the weather, or one thing and another.
As the summer heat waned, I started working sweaters back into my wardrobe. She noticed and made comments. I had a thing for sweaters, and I usually wore nice ones; respectable, but natural animal fibers and well made. The cooler, the bulkier. I get a tingle wearing them. Okay, so I was a sweater fetishist. That was out of the way, anyway…
She wore sweaters, too. They were nice ones. They were sexy but indicated a woman who liked to maintain control over herself.
She was very attractive, a little shorter than myself, a few curves, lots of dark blond hair, sweet face with a touch of the devil behind her slight smirk and twinkly eyes. She was not model-pretty, but she was pretty. She had a simmering confidence that was very sexy, and I think she knew it, and seemed to be projecting it toward me.
One chilly Saturday, I went to the bakery/coffee shop to look at the paper. I had slipped into a very bulky, oversized turtleneck, over nothing. I had a need for some bulky sweater.
There she was. I couldn't believe it. She joined me for coffee. My heart pounded. We had great conversations, lots of eye contact, and I could feel her drawing me in. We finished our coffee and treats, and ended up spending most of the rest of the morning together.
We walked at a nearby pond and smoked a little something. We talked and talked. We had lots in common. It was a total surprise that I met this captivating woman. I couldn't believe it. Eventually, we each had plans for the afternoon to which we needed to attend. It was difficult saying goodbye. We exchanged numbers and made tentative plans for later in the week. She gave me a loose hug, just enough to leave her incredibly intoxicating perfume on my person. We walked away, got in our cars and drove away, looking back at each other until we were out of sight.
She worked in the finance department of a company just outside of town. She also worked a part-time job at a small television station as a video and audio editor. They were hobbies, along with photography. The part-time job gave her access to equipment. She sent me links to some interesting videos she had made.
I worked for a small ad agency where I handled all matters of media. I was a musician, and I voiced some commercials and other things.
We liked the same kinds of music. We had similar spiritual beliefs, liked the same foods, and so many other things.
I sent her a text after a while, saying that I enjoyed the afternoon. She responded almost immediately, echoing my thoughts. She sent a picture that she clearly had just taken. It was her, looking right at me. It was hypnotic. She said to download it and use it on caller ID. She asked me to take a picture of myself right then, and send it to her for the same reason. I did. She texted back a beaming smiley face. I was dizzy.
We exchanged a few phone calls before our date on Thursday. We met at the restaurant after work. She looked great. She had changed into jeans before she left work, a light mohair sweater, black, and she smelled so good, her heavenly perfume which was freshly applied, combining with the scents of the day. She knew it was intoxicating to me. She had to know.
I was in my fall uniform - jeans, button-down shirt, vee neck sweater, cashmere, a nice one. A splash of Bay Rum aftershave rounded it out.
She embraced me when we saw each other. While I still had my hands on her hips, she looked me in the eyes, and with sweatery sleeves over her hands, she touched each side of my face. I gasped.
She slyly smiled. “Mmm Hm.” She uttered and then giggled.
The world around was melting away.
We had the kind of conversation that people usually had on a first date. We had both been alone awhile. We talked about siblings and parents and places of origin and myriad anecdotes about all number of things. Lots of arm touching and a few thigh touches, it was sweet. We were there for two hours because we both had work in the morning. We lingered in the parking lot until it was nearly empty, and we each had to do the right thing. We had to go home. We texted a few volleys later that evening. She was becoming embedded.
Over the next couple of weeks, we had a couple more dates. We each took turns picking the other up at his and her homes. I had an apartment. She had a small bungalow not that far away. We had a few quick meet-ups for coffee, or one thing or another.
She made a few mix CDs with music that she said I would probably like and would make me think of her when I listened. It was all very nice and was becoming very familiar.
Smooching was becoming petting, and maybe a little mutual masturbation. She seemed to know exactly what I wanted and was not shy about offering me direction for her pleasure. I couldn't believe it.
We decided to be responsible and to be tested for STDs, even though neither of us had had sex in a couple of years, except for various levels of masturbation. We made it an event. It was nice. It was a gesture.
Phone calls were always lively with all sorts of chatter. Sometimes, they leaned a bit to the erotic side. She usually initiated it, telling me how she was feeling, and what was happening to her body, and what she was doing to it. She wanted to hear about my body parts and would give me direction, which got more and more intimate as time went on. I couldn't refuse her direction. She was like a witch who seemed to know exactly what got me hot.
She often times encouraged me to wear sweaters and use them to pleasure myself. She just knew. She knew what sweaters did to me and she was using that fact. She often described her own masturbation with sweaters, and what fantasies she had been having, involving sweaters since we met. My throat would go dry with excitement. She would tell me that she wanted me addicted to her. It was very erotic, very exciting.
While living my work and regular lives as always, I was finding myself increasingly surrounded by a bubble of her and me. She seemed to be enhancing that effect, directing it a little. Hmm.
We finally had a sleepover at my apartment. We had been out to a restaurant, did a little shopping, went back to the apartment and put out some snacks. I had a little something to smoke, and we enjoyed it, watched a couple of funny things on TV, a little news with lively debate and then, nervously, it was time for bed.
She had a few things with her, including a toothbrush. We both brushed and went to the bedroom. By this time, she had slipped out of her pants and bra, and her breasts and curves were beautifully hugged by the slightly too big, very thick, and well-worn-soft cream-colored shetland. It was long, over her hips and butt and hands. I had been lusting after her in it all night.
She opened one of two closets in my room and found it nearly floor to ceiling with neatly folded men’s sweaters of every soft wool, cashmere, mohair, alpaca, and every combination thereof imaginable. There were vee neck, turtleneck, bulky, hooded, every sort, and all of good quality. She stepped in, started feeling them, and purring.
She said that now she was seeing the bigger picture. She was getting the scope of my sweater fetish. It was making her a little hot.
She was opening her own self to the idea that such things can be highly sexual. She said she was going to use them and more to make me addicted to her,
She told me to undress and I did. I just did.
She took several sweaters out and walked them over to me, brushed them on my skin, watching my body’s reaction. My hardening erection, stiffening nipples, my weak knees, dry mouth, hot flashes around my neck and forehead.
She was becoming excited herself. She liked what she was doing to me.
“So, you like me, you find me attractive and of course, we have a lot in common. I like you and find you attractive and, it would seem, I might be able to use sweaters in subduing you.” She laughed a little.
She focused some sweater erotic massage on my nipples, slapping my hands down when I lifted them. She wrapped some sweater around my cock and gave it a few strokes. She kissed me, and brushed my face. There was no turning back, it would seem.
Taking my hand and walking toward my bed, she handed me a sweater, one I bought specifically to enjoy as a fetish item, a nine-pound oversized turtleneck with a 12-inch neck. It was like she knew it was there. I put it on.
She sat on the bed and beckoned me to stand between her legs. She played with my cock, balls, and nipples. She stroked her hands over my ass, pressing into the crack.
“Do you like that?” she asked.
“I do,” I breathed.
“Mmmm,” she hummed.
She pressed the sweater against my hole and pushed a little. I squirmed.
She giggled. “...and that?”
“Yes, please,” I responded.
She slipped her mouth over my cock and teased it. I was feeling kinda dirty but I also was kinda liking it.
“Kneel in front of me,” she commanded.
I complied. She stroked her breasts in front of me for a few minutes, telling me to just watch.
She stroked the sweater over her nipples, and squirmed, and smiled.
I could smell sex rising in her, mixed with that perfume that must have come from a witch doctor.
She exposed her lovely breasts and tweaked them. She guided my head to them and told me to just kiss them a little, and ramped up her aggression as we went, telling me to lick them and suck them, grabbing her breasts and pushing them into my mouth.
After a while, she seemed to cum. She held my head to her chest and shivered. She kissed my mouth, deeply. Her tongue, I was certain, entered my throat. She pushed me down further, playing with her pussy right in front of my face.
She had a pretty pussy. It was a clean, neatly trimmed bush. It was glistening with pussy cum.
She pulled the enormous turtleneck up my face and folded it around it, then pressed my face deep into her pussy. She guided my head all over her dripping wet, quivering vagina for at least twenty minutes. I could tell by the tremors and gushing moisture that she was shooting out loads of cum over and over. I was nearly drowning in her copious, delicious sex juices. I could hear her screams stifled with a sweater.
The sweater all over my body, her hands all over my sweatery body, her legs around my sweatery body, locking me to her, her pulling the neck of the sweater up and rubbing it on her body.
She was primal. I was feeling nasty and dirty and aroused, knowing that she was cumming so hard on my face and loving it.
She came and came and came, until she pushed my head away, and pulled me up. We lay on the bed in a heap. She shuttered and moaned and kissed my wet, pussy-cum soaked mouth and face, pulling the extra-long sweater neck over both our heads as she licked my lips and squirmed. She held me close and grounded her body against mine.
“Oh, you dirty, nasty slutty boy,” she growled. “You make me wanna scream. Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Oh fuck.”
She pulled her thick, soft shetland over her pussy and pressed it against my cock, steel-hard by now. She rocked her hips and deep, dark sounds came from somewhere within her. She reached down and spread her pussy lips and pressed my cock in again. I could feel moisture pouring through the sweater from her pussy.
