A Fantasy - Sex Stories
The Thin Fabric That Binds
The panties, knickers, whatever you know them as, becomes that teasing barrier. The thin fabric separates eyes, mouth, hands, and the mind itself from the womanhood that is so desired, so yearned for.
A fabric that not only constricts but contains, it absorbs the musk and moisture of the feminine. If a man is able to inspire desire, to churn anticipation, then he can unravel that yearning, invoke a need. The fabric barrier can eventually weakens and even become transparent.
In those moments leading to the nearing of a naked touch, the material no longer hides, it heightens. With his contact or whispering breathe, she can feel through it, his hunger. With fingers or mouth, a gentle tongue, the material can only hold for so long.
He may, pull, tug or tear it from her. Or she may lift, raise or remove, if she so desires. When pulled to the side, his tongue, fingers or even his manhood itself may enter. Partially restrained, it does not deny. Peering from behind the moved material, her wet nakedness awaits.
Once removed, it's heavy. Soaked, drenched, wet. The fabric absorbing the lust and nectar of her want. The material now, itself has value, her essence is what invigorates it to an object of taboo theft. To be purchased by some, or in other scenarios happened upon where the butterlfies of temptation cause thoughts of deviant borrowing. But for now, in this moment it's discarded. No longer needed.
It provided it's service. The duty to cover and restrict. The boundary to nudity, beneath it that place where imagination wonders. When worn, just a glimpse of it from between the legs, up a skirt is tantalizing and now, it's on the floor.
Without it, his mouth is free to devour. His tongue may roam, his eyes to feast and after waves of pleasure, they may unite. A deep dance, loins and groins, motion and thrusting. A fuck. Making love. Intercourse.
From it's vantage point, the damp material, now a voyeur. Not forgotten, no longer needed. Rest well comrade, in time you shall be worn again and the ritual of desire will occur, thanks to you.
Fin
A fabric that not only constricts but contains, it absorbs the musk and moisture of the feminine. If a man is able to inspire desire, to churn anticipation, then he can unravel that yearning, invoke a need. The fabric barrier can eventually weakens and even become transparent.
In those moments leading to the nearing of a naked touch, the material no longer hides, it heightens. With his contact or whispering breathe, she can feel through it, his hunger. With fingers or mouth, a gentle tongue, the material can only hold for so long.
He may, pull, tug or tear it from her. Or she may lift, raise or remove, if she so desires. When pulled to the side, his tongue, fingers or even his manhood itself may enter. Partially restrained, it does not deny. Peering from behind the moved material, her wet nakedness awaits.
Once removed, it's heavy. Soaked, drenched, wet. The fabric absorbing the lust and nectar of her want. The material now, itself has value, her essence is what invigorates it to an object of taboo theft. To be purchased by some, or in other scenarios happened upon where the butterlfies of temptation cause thoughts of deviant borrowing. But for now, in this moment it's discarded. No longer needed.
It provided it's service. The duty to cover and restrict. The boundary to nudity, beneath it that place where imagination wonders. When worn, just a glimpse of it from between the legs, up a skirt is tantalizing and now, it's on the floor.
Without it, his mouth is free to devour. His tongue may roam, his eyes to feast and after waves of pleasure, they may unite. A deep dance, loins and groins, motion and thrusting. A fuck. Making love. Intercourse.
From it's vantage point, the damp material, now a voyeur. Not forgotten, no longer needed. Rest well comrade, in time you shall be worn again and the ritual of desire will occur, thanks to you.
Fin
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