The party is over. Dinner is finished. The multitudes of guests have left and I am alone. Some 1930’s jazz is playing and I’m in my boudoir. My hair is done up- a 1960’s style with a bouffant back and pony tail. My makeup is on. I have rather fetching cats eye liner and pale pink shadow. Lots of mascara. A lipstick called watermelon.
I’m in a dress; a 60’s version of a late Edwardian shape. The Empire waist with dropped shoulders with plunging V’s in the front and back. Very plunging. In fact, if I’m not very careful, most of my extreme plunge bra is within view. Perhaps I should have pinned it, but I enjoy that the globes of my breasts are visible.
I’m very fond of my cleavage. I have good breasts. They are very white, as is the rest of me. Well, peachy. I have a friend who is so white she is practically blue. I’m not that white. But I am white enough that I don’t tan, I burn on impact with direct sunlight. No nice tan for me. It’s zero to lobster in ten minutes without sunscreen.
It’s so easy to push the shoulders of my dress down, exposing my black lace brassiere. Its a hard shell, more shaping than padding. The black is stark contrast to my skin, the scallops of the lace running along my flesh. My breasts rise above, soft and smooth. A tracery of faint stretch marks on them. They grew rather fast when I was a young girl. Now they give texture. Something to feel with the gentlest touches.
I’m laying on my bed. My feet are bare and my legs are hairless. My toenails are painted an aqua blue metallic. If one were too push my dress up along my legs, up and up along that skin. Past my knees. Up along my generous, pale thighs. Up there, one might find my black lace boy shorts.
Roll my onto my stomach and you will see how they cup my very generous bottom. Sometimes they ride deep into the cleft, painted on almost. I love being on my stomach with my arms restricted. My face down into the pillows. A little helpless. Unable to see what will happen to me next.
Will you pull my thighs open right away? Enjoying as my boy shorts fall into my body? Will you inhale and drink in the scent of my womanhood? Will you slide your fingers up those thighs? Will you grab my black lace cheeks? A finger tracing along my lacy lips? I can assure you that I’m very wet for you already.
Yes. You are here with me now, at least in my head. But what will you do? Oh yes. Just thinking about you here, behind me on the bed has me wet. I can feel it from deep inside. It’s almost a tingly feeling when it starts. Warm. Like a little engine buzzing to get me ready for you.
But I love that angle. Your palm cupping my mound through the lace. Hot. Steaming almost. You slide a finger along the lace and inside me. I squirm. You swat my rump and tell me to be still. Perhaps you are looking at me as you explore. Perhaps you are resting your cheek on my bottom.
Your fingers penetrate me, invading my body in the most delicious way possible. Into the warm softness at my core. One or two fingers. Perhaps two inside as two others slide along the growing wetness to rub along my clit. Rubbing my G-spot. Getting me ready. Widening a little. I feel your fingers stretching me open inside and I moan. It can mean only one thing.
I’ve been a very good girl this evening and now its time for my reward.
You grow impatient. Your fingers are out of me, and you are pulling my undies from my body. You lean over and give my bottom a playful nip as you do.
“Oh Daddy-Darling!” I breathe. I’m a very lucky girl indeed!
I feel your hands on my hips, pulling them up, so that my ass is up and I am on my hands and knees with you behind me.
Then I feel you pressing my head and shoulders back down into the pillows, leaving my big, juicy bottom up in the air. You pull my knees open wide, and I can feel the air on my quivering lips. There is a moment of stillness, and then you bend down and lick me from clit to anus. I moan in utter delight. Dew spills from me, but you aren’t finished yet. You want me wet. You need me wet.
You pull me apart, enjoying the look of my glistening pinkness. Sliding two fingers from each hand just inside, both thumbs are able to pinch and roll my clit in between them. They tease it from its hood as you descend again and dart your tongue along my quivering rosebud. I groan. It’s my Kryptonite. For some reason a tongue tracing its way around my anus absolutely drives me insane.
And now what…. now what….?