It started as a dare I made to myself, lying there on top of him with my knickers still on. We could fuck properly; he’s already hard, already there, one shift of my hips away from being inside me. But the idea of keeping that thin strip of cotton between us, of feeling everything and still not letting him in, has been stuck in my head all week.
He doesn’t know that while he was texting me filth at work, I was sitting at my desk, panties soaked, my fingers rubbing over the silky material, thinking about riding him and not letting either of us have what we really wanted.
Tonight, I finally get to see how far I can push both of us.
I slide onto him, my soaked pussy rubbing over his rock‑hard cock, straining against the thin cotton between us. The filthy squelch of my own juices fills the room when I slam down on his cock. I linger there, loving how he bucks and strains, knowing I’ve got him caged behind nothing more than a damp strip of pink cotton.
Today, I keep them on. The stupid, soft pink panties he loves so much become a wall on purpose, thin cotton soaking up every shove of his cock. I don’t let him inside; I just ride him, grinding down, picking up the pace until my thighs burn. I want him aching, half‑mad, feeling every inch of me through fabric and knowing it’s still not enough.
He grabs my waist, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as another broken groan spills out of him. I still don’t ease up; my panties stay stretched tight over the thick push of his rigid cock. The pink fabric is plastered to me now, bunched high on my thighs as I grind harder, ever harder against him.
Each time I roll my hips, my clit drags over the thick ridge of his cock, sending sharp, electric sparks through me. The cotton is soaked, clinging to my lips, every stroke a filthy, perfect torture. I bite back a whimper, loving how shameless this feels, how completely I can use his body and still keep that last barrier in place.
His breath rasps in and out, low, almost a growl, as he keeps thrusting up into the barrier of my panties like he can force his way through it.
“Fuck, baby, please… let me inside you… I need you, I want you, so much.”
He bucks his hips, chasing that sweet release, but I hold firm, savouring the tension twisting tighter between us.
For a second, it scares me how much I like this power, how easy it would be to forget where the edge is.
Hearing him beg like that sends a hot, possessive flush through me; right now, all that need belongs to me and my soaked, covered pussy.
I drag my nails over his chest, and he tightens, slamming his hips up into me in answer. I meet his mouth halfway, kissing him hard, clumsily, our tongues sliding and fighting for more. I break the kiss on a gasp, our faces still pressed close while I keep riding him, making every thrust count.
He tastes of heat and want, our mingled breath thick with sex, and it rushes straight between my thighs. I tear my mouth from his, panting, never breaking eye contact as I roll my hips on his cock. If this is torture, we’re both willing victims, chasing that thin, savage edge where one of us finally snaps.
The tension in him climbs with every grind until he’s nothing but strained muscle and held breath.
One more thrust and I could drop my hips, let him finally slide into me, feel all that heat where I’ve been denying us both. For a single heartbeat, I hover there, tempted.
Instead, I keep the barrier in place and grind down harder, making him take it my way.
His cock jerks against the cotton, and his grip on my hips suddenly turns bruising, all the warning I get before he goes. Then a low, ragged sound bursts out of him as he cums.
He jerks hard beneath me once, twice, then his cock explodes, hot cum pumping against the soaked cotton. It gushes over my pussy, seeping through the fabric, and the filthy heat rips my own orgasm out of me. My thighs start to shake, my whole body tightening as my pussy clenches and flutters desperately around nothing while I grind down on him, chasing every last wave. I ride it out on a cry I don’t even recognise as mine, milking every last spurt out of him until the pleasure blurs at the edges. For a few wild seconds, there’s nothing but wet heat, pulsing muscles and the savage satisfaction of knowing I pushed us both over the edge on my terms.
As the aftershocks fade, I slump against his chest, our breathing ragged and synchronised.
My knickers are soaked, everything warm and sticky between my thighs, both of us all over me. It feels wrong in just the right way, like we got away with something we’re never going to confess to.
I kiss his neck, feeling his heartbeat drum against my lips. “Was that what you needed?” I ask, my voice low and wrecked.
A small, private glow settles low in my chest; there’s something intoxicating about being the one who can wreck him like this and still hold him close afterwards.
He nods, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me in for another deep, possessive kiss. “God, yes,” he breathes against my mouth. “But next time, I want to feel you wrapped around me, skin to skin. No barriers between us.”
When the trembling fades, we stay like that – tangled, sticky with sweat and cum, laughing faintly into each other’s skin.
“I think we both needed that,” he murmurs against my collarbone. My fingers draw idle circles on his chest, a gentle smile curving my lips. “Needed isn’t even the word,” I murmur. “It was everything.”
He tilts my chin up and presses a slow, lingering kiss to my mouth. The warmth between us says more than any promise ever could: no barriers, no games, only the steady pulse of what we’ve just shared.
