More on that later. Tonight I’m wearing a set of the luxe new lingerie I’ve been bragging about: red satin bra, skimpy, slinky red satin skirt, black lace garter belt with red satin accents, incredibly tiny (and perfect) red satin thong with a fetching satin bow that rests right above the cleft of my ass cheeks. Oh, and silky black 100% nylon stockings.

They’re so very sheer and delicate (can’t be more than 10 denier) that I’m afraid they might not be worn again after tonight. Enjoy them while they’re here – I know I am.

Get on Niteflirt with me tonight. Let’s get decadent. I’ve got weeks of pent-up webcam teasing to do and I’m sure you’d make the cutest willing victim…

Nylon Fetish Cam

$2.99/min

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I like to remember.

Right now it’s like this:

Tonight I just went back to the first place he gave me an orgasm.

…Kissing in the kitchen – all over the kitchen, up on the counter, bent against the stove. I was bent over against the table and I don’t know if his hand was down the front of my pink capris or over them but I remember thinking they could all hear me from the next room, even though I bit my lip…

…And he just lay on top of me, and kissed and kissed me until I came…

…That was the first time anyone had ever facefucked me. I mean, grabbed my hair and just used my mouth. And I liked it. The next time he stroked my hair and told me how beautiful I looked like that (on my knees, licking the underside of his shaft) and I believed him.

…When I saw the lightning, I looked over, sure it was a camera flash and we were caught with our pants around our ankles, in the woods, with me bent over presenting my ass to him. Oh my God, I twined my fingers in the grass and clutched at the earth and the thunder sounded, and the lightning crackled overhead, and I know the earth didn’t move but we were shaking and sweating and I fell forward and all I could think was I’m not drunk, I’m not drunk, I’m holding onto a blade of grass and I haven’t fallen off the earth. The rain didn’t start until we were clothed and out of the woods…

…He holds me down and spanks with his whole arm. Mmh. And waits for me to safeword, no matter how I squirm.

I told him I liked leather. I like to smell it, touch it – I just love the way it looks. He put on a leather jacket, leather pants, leather boots, a leather belt, and a skintight spandex shirt. All black. I creamed my panties right there and I was so obviously in his thrall… He looked over his shoulder at me and said, “You can call me Master now, if you want.” So I did.

I wore a little red plaid skirt and fuck-me boots up to there. And he did. Up to there. In the backseat. Pray for us sinners now, indeed.

…”Have you ever done it on your computer before?” Clearly cybersex doesn’t count. Neither does masturbating to internet porn. Neither do naked pictures, or recording orgasms… So, no. And damn.

“We’re running out of places to have sex in this town. Soon, it’ll be like, ‘Oh, look, it’s yet another place we’ve done it in _______.’”

…Can’t keep his hands off me long enough for me to install this damn case fan. Curses! Another screw lost. Can’t… fumble for screw… Hands on clit… clit on fire… Oh holy gods what is he DOING?…

…He bound my wrists together above my head with the pantyhose. Brand new pair. Silky, tan, reinforced toe. The nylon tightened around my wrists, and he gagged me with my own lace panties… He took the gag out of my mouth once. “How many times did you come?” “I… I don’t know?” “Wrong answer.” Then his fingers slammed into me and oh. my. GOD. My panties were filling my mouth and the lace scratching on my tongue kept me here holding on for half a second before I was just gone.

…Exhilirating, that’s what this has been. A fucking mental rollercoaster ride, but not in the moody sense. I love it.

This time he let me, or rather I did, well…

He was in the chair and I was tugging at his hair and kissing him slow and I decided to have some fun, so I did, and he got sort of still and passive and receptive and I think this boy could really dig on a little T&D.

Also being bitten and manhandled makes him twitch down low and YUM.

That’s promising.

Goosebumps on his neck when I kissed it, and held his hair back, tugging his head back, running my teeth along his neck, and he liked the vulnerability, he didn’t have to say a word. My tongue licking right where his pulse was, the goosebumps when I ran a nail down the side of his neck slowly, the little moans when I just straddled his thighs, fully clothed the both of us, and didn’t touch anything below his collarbone except his arms and back, but touched everything above his collarbone with fingers and lips and teeth and tongue.

I swear we went into a trance when we kissed. It was very sensual and still and sacramental…

…Bent over doggystyle on his bed and I can’t walk right for a week after, he’s pounding me so hard, and it’s worth every limping step…

And there are so many times he’s just gone to town on me, and I’ve become nothing more than a bundle of oversensitized nerve endings and jumbled rushing feelings, and I’ll just lie there with my arms bound above my head and twitch, and rise up toward his touch, and whimper, and moan, and scream into the gag because it’s all I can do, just respond, as he overwhelms my body with sensations of warm breath and wet lips and strong hands and thick cock…

There you have it, chronological order be damned. The juiciest parts, of course, I’ll keep to myself. I’m not going to regale you with every saucy detail – he likes his privacy and my face is attached to these posts. I’m just going to start keeping a private journal, so that my private life can inspire my public fiction. And vice versa.

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Sound familiar?

Right.

We chatted for a few minutes about when we’d each gotten interested in stockings and in T&D… His was a lifelong obsession, and in turn I told him about my experimental teenage goth years and how fishnets and lacy black panties led to corsets and silky sheer hold-ups. (My thing about slit skirts dates back to the Black Eyeliner Days when I’d show flashes of fishnets or black pantyhose underneath an ankle-length skirt slit to mid-thigh.)

So he found me in the office, in a crisp white blouse and a knee-length black pencil skirt with a back slit (you might have seen it around here), with nude stockings held up by black garters underneath. My stockinged feet were tucked into black leather pumps. He was sitting in front of my desk and I knew he wanted me.

I ordered him not to touch his cock yet. First rule of phone domination: The one thing they need the most, the thing they crave to be forced to do, first deny them, then make them beg for it.

I just love hearing guys beg.

Instead, I told him to stroke the inside of his thigh, stopping right before he reached his balls. He was to keep stroking while I teased him with glimpses of my stocking tops stretched by my black satiny garter straps. I stroked the nylon, telling him how smooth it felt against my fingers. I ran my hands over the stockings stretched out over my soft bare legs… snapped my garter strap… asked him if he wanted to touch his cock yet.

“No, you don’t get to touch your cock yet. Keep stroking.” Yeah… keep stopping short.

I made him tell me how much he wished it was my stockinged thigh he was stroking. I could hear the need in his voice. (I fucking love that.) I lifted the hem of my skirt to tease him more. Oh, and then I made him beg. He begged to touch my garter strap. Not me – not my bare skin – not my nylon-encased leg. My garter strap, smooth and shiny, black satin stretched flat against my thigh.

I let him. He was practically trembling.

I kicked off my black leather high heeled shoes and wiggled my toes inside my stockings. He could just make out the color of my pedicure through the nylon. (Red, of course. Matches my hair.)

And did he want to lick them? I didn’t care; I wanted them licked, dammit. And sucked. Through the nylon.

I’m sure he knew they’d be salty with sweat. My feet had been inside my shoes all day.

He was so, so good.

Good enough to be rewarded.

I ran my foot along his thigh and held it poised right above his cock. He told me it was starting to leak.

I could hear it in his voice.

“Please, please, may I stroke my cock?”

I thought he wanted to be ordered? Hah!

I made him beg. I had to hear it, wanted him to make me believe how much he wanted to feel my stockinged foot on his cock. No footjob for this guy… why should I make an effort? He was perfectly capable of jacking himself. I rested my foot against his shaft and wiggled my nylon-covered toes against the head of his cock. I pressed the arch of my foot against the side of his cock and rubbed just enough for him to feel a hint of nylon-on-skin friction.

I ordered him to jerk his cock for me. It’s always fun to watch a guy wank – especially when he’s doing it not because he wants to, not because it amuses him, but because it amuses me, because he’s giving me a show. And oh, how he begged to be allowed to come all over my pretty stockinged feet.

(Aww… But he’d just cleaned them!)

I almost said no… almost. But the idea of my toes sticky with warm cum starting to soak through worn nylon appealed to me.

I gave the order for his release – for him to come all over my feet, then, then and no other time; right then, or be denied for the night.

Oh, he came all right.

I heard it.

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“Queen of Pentacles, reversed: The dark essence of earth behaving as water, such as ice. A cold but generous host, driven by an overwhelming need to accumulate and maintain opulence. A person so preoccupied with wealth and security that they can never stop to enjoy either. One who reflects the weaknesses of others, breeding suspicion and mistrust.”

I cross my legs. He jerks his head up at the nylon swish. He can’t see up my black pencil skirt from this angle, but maybe if I crossed my thigh a little higher… I slide my nylon-covered thigh up maybe half an inch, just to feel the faint silky texture rub against my skin. His eyes follow but he gains nothing.

“Do you think I’m cold? If I were cold I wouldn’t be keeping you company right now. I’d leave you where you’re sitting, with the bowl of water next to you, go upstairs, and lock the door. The best part of living in the mountains is the privacy, you know. I could turn up the Voltaire and never hear you yelling.”

He kicks the stainless steel dog dish; water splashes over his bare feet and the bowl slides a few inches to his left. I let the metal clang die in the air and wait for him to ask his questions.

His eyes have gone from panicked to blazing but he isn’t saying a word. Oh. I lean forward and pull his wife’s panties out of his mouth.

His mouth opens and he breathes in sharp, then out in puffs. Hyperventillating. His face is red and his fists are tight, and the words finally burst through: “Why am I here? Where’s my – what did you do with my clothes?”

“You know why you’re here, Paul. Or did you think you could just get away with embezzlement?”

“-It was only a little skim! I promise I can pay you back. I had some, ah, some gambling debts, and-”

“…and you were being blackmailed, by an anonymous stranger. I’ve heard your crap before, Paul. The money wasn’t coming fast enough for your blackmailer and you were getting nervous. But you didn’t just mess with me; you messed with my money.”

He works his jaw but no words come out. Then: “You knew about the blackmail?”

My crisp white blouse was buttoned obscenely low, just below my breasts. I’d had the fabric pulled forward to conceal my bra and make a last stab at decency. I lean forward and the blouse edges fall back and my breasts are pushed out over the tops of my bra cups, almost spilling out. I let the tarot card I was holding fall to my feet. His exposed cockhead twitches and stretches forward, toward what he can see of my areolae. He’s cold; he’s got to be cold, he’s naked in my basement and covered in goosebumps.

“You can’t just keep me here. The police will blah blah blah…”

I like watching his soft cock extend and swell with blood. I liked feeling it harden in my mouth, right against my tongue. I wet my lips (red lipstick, his favorite) and smile. “I found out about your wife.”

He looks like I’d hit him with a brick. Not that I would – the red and yellow bruises on his side said he was fun to kick with high heels on. “No – I never told her about us.”

“Thank you for that, at least.”

He spits the words out like they taste more bitter than the cum-soaked panties that were just crammed between his teeth.

“Thank you? Sarcasm doesn’t work with a hard cock, Paul.” He winces. “Go ahead.” My fingers are at that one button just below my breasts. My eyes never leave Paul’s cock. “I want you to look at my breasts while we talk about this.” Second-to-last button: undone. “Maybe it’ll help you pay attention.” The last button pops loose, and I draw the sides of my shirt back, baring my white lace bra and my belly. “Tits and money, Paul? Predictable.” I stand up and pull the white cotton blouse from my arms.

“You were freakier in bed than she was, oh, I’ll give you that.” He’s sitting up now, on his knees. Half-laughing. He’s seen the steel doors, the rolls of duct tape. “But she has a fucking heart! She’d never put some guy she fucked in a basement with a dog dish and… she… she would never just fuck some guy.”

My back is to him. I unhook my bra, pull the straps over my arms. My pink nipples stiffen in the cold air. I kick the pile of white lace out of my way and turn to face him, cupping my hands over my bare breasts. My palms feel good and warm drawn over my nipples, down my tits, my sides. I don’t need to look up to know he’s watching. “Really? I wonder…”

I pick up the deck of tarot cards and hold it out to him. “We’re going to play a card game. Take one.”

He does. I’m watching a bead of sweat roll down his forehead, timed perfectly with the first clear drop of precum oozing from his slit.

“Show me.”

He shows me the king of pentacles. It’s the traditional Rider-Waite artwork, nothing fancy.

The zipper on my skirt sticks before opening to flash Paul the top of my black lace garter belt and prove to him that I was serious the day I said underwear were a waste of time. I tug my skirt from my hips – slowly.

“That was you. That was you. Another.”

He draws from the middle of the deck: three dancing women, raising their feasting cups, smiling. They’re dancing upside down.

Three of Cups, reversed. I start laughing. “A time of shallow overindulgence, followed by depletion. The successful but utterly unfulfilling conclusion of a matter. Satisfaction from sensual pleasures divorced from any sense of love. May indicate problems prematurely dismissed or a victory claimed before it is certain. Good choice, Paul. This is going to be all about shallow overindulgence.”

I step out of my skirt and bend over to take off my heels. I take my time – Paul loves breasts and legs and nude stockinged feet and he’s getting an eyeful of all three.

I grab his hand and put it on his cock. I curl his fingers loosely around the shaft and move his hand up and down, to get him started. My tits are in his face, close enough to lick, and he tries to catch a nipple in his mouth. I lean closer to whisper in his ear: “Stroke it.” I step back. “Stroke it for me while I watch.” He rubs his thumb over the head of his cock and nods a yes.

I lie on the couch, in my stockings and garter belt and almost-bare feet, and I caress my inner thighs through the nylon, and I tease my nipples with my nails, and I watch him circle the palm of his hand over the head of his cock.

He has a well-shaped, girthy cock and it’s always a treat to watch him stroke it. I like to watch him do it like I did it for him, use what I showed him. I like to guess which tricks were his and which were hers…

“I have some pictures for you, Paul. Pictures of me, new ones, for you to look at while you jerk that cock for me. Look in the deck.”

I’m not cold. I gave him something to remember her by before I offed her: cum-soaked panties and dozens of photographs of her and me in every possible position (and a few that stretched belief), photos of her tied, legs apart and begging like a whore, photos of her angel’s face in absolute bliss as the man I brought for her slid home, of her tear-streaked and screaming as the fifth, and the fifteenth, slammed her raw.

They’re mixed in with the cards. He finds them all. He cries, full-body racking sobs, broken and screaming and horrified and resigned. He doesn’t stop moving his fist up and down, up and down.

“Did you recognize the panties you were gagged with?” He’s nodding and crying and saying yes, yes, he thought they were hers, he knew they had to be hers, and oh God, her taste is still in his mouth…

“She was a good little slut for me, Paul. Your wife loved it when I told her I’d keep her secrets, never tell you what a whore she is, but she wanted you to taste her panties. She was wearing those when I fingered her until she came all over my fingers. I had the boys wipe off with them… thought you might like that touch.”

“Oh God… oh God. Where is she? Where’s Amy?”

I smile at him from the couch. “Last picture.”

He knew before he looked that he’d see her limbs splayed, legs wide open, cum staining her thighs, lips parted as if sucking a ghostly cock, and a dark red blotch where her heart was. The photo is blurry; I hadn’t used the tripod for that one, and my hands shook a little when I thought of that poor bitch on her knees for him, someone sad enough to cheat on such a vixen and stupid enough to steal money from me to pay me off.

I watch his expression change. His face is blank for the moment it’s too much and he steps out of himself. Then it’s over, and he’s aching visibly, and he’s beat up and empty inside and still crying. His erection somehow never wilts. The man makes me look sane.

In that perfect moment I slide my fingers into my wet, waiting cunt. My toes curl inside my nude stockings. What a perfect, perfect cock that bastard has…

“You’re going to kill me.” He groans. His hand squeezes tighter around his dick; his knuckles are almost white. His wrist keeps working; the head of his cock keeps reappearing above his fist, then disappearing from view. I don’t think he wants to stop, but he doesn’t want to come either. He doesn’t know what will happen after.

“I’m going to… I’m going to rub my stockinged feet all over your face, let you lick my soles through the nylon. I’ll let you unfasten one of my stockings, pull it down my leg, rub that cock all over my just-bare skin, maybe I’ll let you jerk off using my stocking – Mmmh, I’d love to watch that! – let you flick your tongue over my clit, 69 me, and I’d press my lips against your cock, let you push it into my mouth slowly, feel them tight around your shaft as I take you down my throat…”

I’m stream-of-consciousness sexing him from across the room, and he’s moaning, and loosening his grip, and his hand is sliding on a cock slick with precum and it just looks so juicy and I want it in my mouth right then…

He’s waiting for something.

“Yes.” He gasps, and shakes, and his body bends in half to curl over itself. I fuck myself hard and fast watching the cum shoot out of his swollen, poisoned cock and drip down his chest, thick and sticky. I’d lick it off if I could.

“Yeah, I’m going to kill you.” And he smiles, and looks up at me from the floor, and his lips blow me a kiss right before he screams.

I come hard.

—

…That is the most fucked up thing I have ever written. Gah.

That was fun!

In other news, you’re going to want to check out Audacia’s thing if you’re in New York. She’s curating a sex worker art exhibit, and it is going to be crazy fun. The press release with details is up on Full Frontal Politics (which will experience a relaunch soon, it’s been quiet for a reason).

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Shut up.

Hold still.

You could tug my garters off with your teeth, from where you’re sitting.

You know it’s never going to happen, but I want you to think about it. Think about kissing me right where the nylon stocking tops almost give way to skin. Think about darting your tongue over that border, feeling the smooth texture of the nylon, tasting my thigh.

You’re leaning in so close; your head is almost under my skirt. My panties are just out of view but you can barely smell the tang of heat and musk. The nylon swish when I crisscross my legs distracts you, then you feel my bare stockinged foot pressed against you there – firmly – my toes pointed to heaven.

Do you want it?

Do you want me to touch you there, again, with my hands? Do you want to feel me run them over your thighs, up your sides, rubbing my palms over your nipples?

Do you want my tongue – I wet my lips – do you want my tongue there, or higher up? Tell me where you want it. I’ll straddle your lap and grind my wet lace panties against you right where my foot was and there will be no mercy until you tell me exactly where you want it.

You don’t have to use words. I’ll just experiment… you can just twitch, and breathe, and moan. Just don’t hold back. I love to see you squirm.

Want the audio? Right-click here and save to keep. (just under 3MB, 192kbps, mp3 format) Who loves ya, baby?

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This is so, so totally wrong.

…Yeah. I totally came.

I recorded it.

My cats kept wandering in.

I recorded that too.

Of course, I can’t publish the “good” parts or I’ll have to also publish my home address (disclaimer: stalkers will not get actual tease and denial scenes). But I love you in that you’re-still-not-getting-anything-next-Valentine’s way, so stockings and garters tease clips you shall have.

(320×240, mpeg4, just under 3 MB – click below to play, right click here and save to keep)

I’d never jilled off in stockings and garters before. They definitely add something. I love the way nylon feels on bare legs (and toes!), and garter straps just look sexy.

I’d never taped myself jilling before either. While I was working my fingers against my slit it seemed playful and sexy and even a little adventurous but looking at the finished product is totally bizarre. I just keep wishing I’d had somebody around to tell me to use different angles, tilt my chin, or move my arm to the side when I was playing with my nipples.

That would’ve been fun.

I hold my legs almost completely still when I’m coming hard and I never realized that before now.

…

Audio you shall also have (tomorrow?). It’s 9am and I’m awake because Mia needs audio porn, and dammit, what Mia needs, Mia gets. I was waiting for privacy. This is fucked up because I still don’t have any privacy and now I’m half asleep, marinating in my own juices and still don’t have any audio for Mia.

So, tomorrow: HNT, audio for the queen of erotica and fishnets, maybe even a real post or three… G’night.

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The knock on the door froze me. I stopped unbuckling my heels.

“Room service.”

Not likely. I hadn’t ordered any. Your voice caught my attention – it was familiar in an impossible way. You couldn’t be here. Not now.

I knew better, and I answered the door anyway, with my shirt half unbuttoned and my pale pink bra strap peeking out. You had the fucking nerve to be on the other side of it, without warning me, without any…

“Hi. Sabrina.”

…any precursor other than the emails, the voicemails, and then nothing for a month.

“…Hi. What are you doing here?” You looked good. I didn’t tell you where I was staying. But you looked so, so good.

“I came to see you. Surprise.”

You came in – I don’t remember if I invited you in, or if I just stepped backwards and you followed me into the room. I looked at my feet, at your feet, at the cheap teal hotel carpet; never at your eyes. You were smiling, I was smiling, but I wasn’t sure why. I think I said something about being glad to see you. Funny thing to say, but I was too confused to be mad. Yet.

I just wanted revenge.

I could feel your eyes on me and I knew just how to start. One hand, along the unbuttoned collar of my blouse, like so. Tugging it open. I’d stopped unbuttoning it just under my breasts – you were getting a narrow eyeful of cleavage edged in a crisp white cotton blouse. The deep V gave my hand enough room to caress the swell of my breasts and almost, but not quite, cut off your view.

“So you came to see me… Do you like what you see?”

My left hand slid up, stroked the back of my neck. My right was toying with the bottom two buttons of my blouse. Pop. It’s a trick I learned from a stripper. Pop. Start at the bottom and work your way up… builds anticipation. He sees bare belly before he sees breasts.

I only looked down once, the second to last button; I looked down, and smiled coyly, and played innocent. I liked keeping my eyes on you, watching you smile, and shift, and run your eyes over my tits like you were using them as stand-ins for your hands. I liked watching your pants tent up when I let the shirt slide off my arms and crumple by my feet. I stepped on it, kicked it aside; you’re next.

Cherry red lips shifted into a grin. My tongue flicked out, danced over my lower lip for a second too long. Yours followed. Mirror mirror. I stepped into your space. My hips were shifting in some slow unconscious dance. I rested my high-heeled foot on the arm of the chair you were pinned to; my fingers circled my ankle, slid up, broke apart. The faint hiss of my palms sliding up my calves over the sheer black nylon of my stockings… I closed my eyes, and when they flickered open your mouth was parted. Hungry and wanting.

My skirt slid up just enough to expose the lace band at the top of my stocking. I wiggled my stockinged foot inside my shoe and kicked it off, flexed my now almost bare foot for you. You knew what was coming. You leaned back and thrust your hips forward. Your breath stuttered.

Your cock stretched out your pants obscenely – I could see where your shaft ended and your cockhead began, and I followed that sweet hard line with my nyloned toes. The ball of my foot pressed your shaft up against your stomach and when I released you from that firmness the arch of my foot just barely rubbed right above your balls.

I made you unzip, watched you pull your cock out. Were you hoping I’d touch it?

I raised my leg and rested my foot on your shoulder and I know you could see my panties underneath my skirt. You could see how the pale pink satin clung to my mound and the wet spot, that giveaway trace of juices right along my slit… It made your cock jump. Oh, and when I ran my hand up my inner thigh, tracing the garter strap and then the edging of my panties…

My fingers slid to the side. Just enough. I ran two fingers over my panty-clad lips.

My breath caught. I leaned forward until my satin-and-lace bra was pushing my breasts right into your face. One pink nipple popped out and your greedy lips rubbed it raw.

I straddled your thighs and grazed your pulsing cock with my silky panties. I know you could feel the warmth and wetness of my pussy right through them. Your shaft pressed the crotch of my panties between my pussy lips so that the length of your cock was wedged between them. I could feel the head of your cock twitching against my throbbing clit.

You groaned. I slid – up and down along your shaft, teasing you with the wettest part of my pussy, right where you could feel me indent and imagine pushing up – I think you did push up, but so did I – and feeling my slick walls tighten, then expand around you. I’d hover right above the aching tip of your cock and laugh as you bucked your hips into the air. I held your arms down. You were pinned to the chair. You were hoarse, begging – it just made me wetter, and you could feel it, and it drove you crazy.

“I need to come, babe… Let me slide down just like this, feel you parting my lips, pressing up against them…” Right in your ear, whispering. Voice husky and almost moaning and I could feel the weight and thickness of your swollen cock pressed up against my slit, against my belly as I slid down, then back up.

I pressed forward, riding your cock with my clit, sliding every inch against my silk-covered pussy lips. Faster – the friction had to hurt, had to burn a little, but you let out a low moan and worked your cock pressed against my pink panties, worked every bump and curve against my throbbing pussy.

You weren’t getting enough – I made sure of that. Your legs shook as you got close and I’d raise my ass, denying you enough touch to get off. Your face was flushed and your whole body was trembling. Mine was too. I was so, so close just seeing how much you ached. The quivering was a low rumble coming from somewhere deep and my cunt clenched around nothing as I rocked back and forth against your body, my hair in your face…

11:10 PM. I slid down your cock and left a streak of sweet girl-juice. My smile wasn’t a smile. It was the biggest shit-eating grin you’d ever seen on a face this flushed. I dismounted and left you, sweaty palms, soaking wet dick, and blue balls, in my hotel room.I took your key, your coffee, my purse, and your wallet and walked out.

The door locked behind me. I didn’t need to look back to know you were nearly crying.

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I’m pressing down against my office chair right now and bouncing up and down a little, just rocking back on my hips and thighs. It feels like all I am is warm, wet, and hungry and all of that is just melting out of my body through my throbbing pink cunt. Another hour like this and I’ll be in that state where I’m ready to bend over my desk, spread my legs apart, thrust my ass out like a bitch in heat and grind my aching clit against the edge of the desktop. I’ll growl, I’ll whimper, I’ll beg to get fucked.

I have class in two hours. I have to go sit in a room filled with people, potential warm slippery bodies against mine, all night long. The work is boring and repetitive – exactly the kind of stuff that makes my mind wander to more interesting topics, like which of the objects in the room would be best to impale that pretty little blonde with…

I can’t think when I’m like this.

I wonder if any of them read this. I wonder if the guys and girls behind me will be able to smell how wet my panties are.

They probably will.

The thought humiliates me and makes me wetter at the same time.

I’m tugging the crotch of my satin thong up between the lips of my pussy. It slides easily and I just know the slippery evidence will be visible on the black satin hours later.

I have an old pair of pantyhose. Black. Matte, sheer-to-waist and ripe for ripping. I can’t decide if I want to put them on, feel how smooth the nylon is against my legs, run my short nails over the seam (pressing it right against my clit) and then rip out the crotch and fingerfuck myself through the hole, or if I want to wad up one of the legs and force it inch by inch balled up into my pussy. It would be lumpy, unless I twisted it just right. It would push out my walls at angles I couldn’t predict until the nylon was there, compressing just enough not to hurt me but rough-edged enough to feel very interesting indeed.

Right now I’m not just wet but slick. The nylon wouldn’t absorb so much as get coated in my juices. Gods, I want to come. I’m riding the edge of my panties that got pushed up against the inner lips of my pussy, just enough to tease me but not give me enough of what I need to send me over. I lean back… the silky smooth satin shifts back and forth across my ass, right there, and it’s driving me crazy. I need more… Two fingers go to my lips, then three, and it’s your cock muffling my moans, my lips wrapped tight around my knuckles… tight around the base of your cock. My tongue flicks out to tease the head of your cock, running around the ridge, teasing that sensitive spot right and the underside, and I suck right there. My panties are starting to leak. I’m shaking, but not enough… not yet.

My cunt actually hurts, I need to come so badly. I need to make this hard and fast. Hands off the keyboard now – I need something more inside me than just the edge of my panties. Two fingers go to my lips, circling, before pushing in and kicking back and forth, teasing right at the back… harder, then nothing, then more, more, more.

I don’t think I screamed but I damn well made noise.

It’s a blur, my panties are askew, my hair is mussed and I’m realizing I actually do need a job where it’s okay to go lie down for a minute and have five mini-orgasms one after the other until I can stop feeling like a hole that needs to be fucked and start feeling like a person again. I’m wondering if there’s someone out there this is enough for, instead of too much. I’m wondering why the hell my fingers always smell and taste like vanilla musk, afterward. I mean really… vanilla?

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