Independence

INDEPENDENCE

© Clare London

“What?” I said. I stood in front of the wardrobe and looked back over my shoulder at the bed, my fingers hooked inside the top of my new black panties. I paused, my hands resting at my hips. “Do you have a problem with my choice of underwear? I seem to remember you once liked the idea of my cross-dressing…”

He coughed, shaking his head. His eyes looked very wide, almost painfully so. “None at all,” he said, very softly. “I’m sure I can be… very tolerant.” His gaze darted up swiftly – he’d been gaping at the place where the black lace edging nestled into the top of my inner thigh.

I smiled very gently. “Fine. I’ll continue, then.” I stretched, lazily, turning my back on him again. “It’s important that I wear my best for you… from the underwear up.” The cool air through the bedroom window brushed between my bare shoulder blades. It teased at the loose links hanging down from my collar; they chinked softly. Cool silver metal; warm tanned skin. He liked the contrast of colors and textures. I braced my legs a little further apart, and lifted a hand to my chest. He couldn’t see at the moment, of course, but he’d know how it looked – the way my saliva-slicked fingertips would tease at my nipple rings.

”Just deciding on a shirt,” I murmured, though I didn’t reach any further into the wardrobe. “Just browsing.” I ran my fingers down over my belly, enjoying the way the muscles clenched up underneath my touch, even though I expected it. The goose bumps followed the line of hairs: the skin tightened around my groin. The soft, silky fabric of the panties started to strain over my swelling cock. There was a damp patch on the front, the size of a penny, staining the cloth a darker black.

Behind me, he coughed again. It might have been a groan, choked back at the last moment.

”Maybe not this color.” I sounded quite thoughtful. “I may change again.” I put my hands back on my hips, slipping a finger in under the elasticized top and teased down one side of the panties, tugging them a few inches down over my hip. The fabric bunched unevenly at the back, catching briefly between my buttocks. I clenched my cheeks, swung my hips gently from side to side and wriggled it out again.

That was definitely a groan behind me. Couldn’t mistake that pained sound. The bed creaked gently, too, as if he shifted awkwardly on it.

I smiled again. “They must fit well,” I whispered. “I need to feel good, as well as look good.” Instead of pulling the panties down on the other side as well, I slid my whole hand inside them, cupping my crotch. From the back, he would see the cloth tightening up across my ass; he’d see the movement of my fingers, and imagine them curling greedily around my cock. I bit back my own gasp, the flimsy lace brushing over my palm as I slid my hand in between the front of the panties and my dick. “Feels good,” I nodded and sighed. “Feels free.”

My other hand stroked almost absentmindedly against my thigh, smoothing the skin, moving down into the valley between my legs and under my barely covered balls. The panties shifted down, no match for my indulgent, two-handed activity. I glanced down, and I could see the head of my cock easing out of the top of them: it was purple, glistening; hungry. My knuckles nudged at the cock ring around its base, the burst of sensation even sharper.

I was getting impatient. My groin ached, the blood throbbing along my dick, the pulse of my skin insistent. I pushed the lace down at the other side too, the panties now snagged around the top of my thighs. I clenched my buttocks, knowing he’d see it from behind. A single drop of sweat trickled down from the small of my back into the channel between my cheeks. It was very warm.

He stood up from the bed: I listened to his footsteps, although he always tries to move unheard. He stumbled slightly, pausing a foot or so behind me, maybe waiting for me to speak. I wouldn’t be allowed any protest, of course.

Instead, I ignored him, tightening my hand around my cock and pumping lazily. I let my head drop back and the links around my neck chinked like coins in his pocket. My other hand slid over my hip and down my back to grasp at my ass, squeezing the flesh and tugging the cheeks apart.

A real groan this time. He’d moved very close, because I could feel his breath on my neck. He placed a hand on my ass and his knee nudged between my spread legs, his naked skin a little cooler than mine. His movement tugged the lace of the panties further down my legs. It felt good, to feel the delicate silk creeping down over the taut muscles of my thighs.

“I can wear what I like today, you said,” I murmured. “My choice. My day of independence.” I licked my lips: my head still hung back, the hair brushing the nape of my neck. “No problem, you said.”

“None,” he hissed. I was startled at how close he’d come, how hot he was. Both of his hands were on my ass now, spreading me. Then one hand slid down my crack to nudge a knuckle against my hole. He was making the slow, firm, circular movement that stimulated the muscles there, making the pucker flex open and relax with its need. It was making me damp: he’d covered his fingers with lube.

“So I’ll just… continue getting changed,” I said. I was a little breathless now. When one of his fingers teased inside my hole, I leant forward, landing both hands on the wardrobe door to stabilize myself. He pumped in and out of me, his breath shallow, his answer deteriorating to a grunt in my ear. He knew just how far to reach, to make the excitement spark deep and dark in my belly. The panties slipped down to my knees, hanging loose now.

He put a hand against the small of my back and pushed me down, almost gently. I bent over at the waist, my head hanging down between my outstretched arms. The fingers of his free hand curled around my collar and grasped it tight, holding my head in place. His groin bumped at my ass, his cock thick and heavy and pushing for entrance. The panties slid down to my ankles and I lifted one foot out of them. I opened my legs even wider, tilting my hips up.

He slid into me, pushing not slowly, not fiercely. Just right. My turn to groan.

“You can do what you like,” he sighed, his tongue flickering around my ear. “That’s what I promised.” He was pressed against my back, fingers gripping the skin of my hips, thrusting hungrily in and out of me. His skin was sweating gently: parts of it stuck to my own, making soft, sucking sounds as we moved in rhythm.

“I can’t…” I gasped, and he reached under me and released the ring. ”I’ll come,” I cried, and I did. I was already thick-tongued with desire, my flesh too sensitive to bear more than a couple more strokes of my palm. I groaned, the seed spitting out of me, dripping over my fist and arm. I looked down through heavy-lidded eyes, watching a thin rope of it dangle from my wrist, then drop in slow motion on to the small heap of lace at my feet.

He cried out: a guttural, involuntary sound. His hips clenched tightly against me, driving more deeply inside than my muscles could cope with, just for that second. I shuddered against him, gasping, making myself relax, welcoming the feeling of him swelling inside me, filling me.

I stayed leaning against the wardrobe door as my heart rate began to steady. He lay against my back, panting. I sighed contentedly, and he shifted, releasing his full weight off me, though he still clung to me. His cock was softening quickly inside my ass. When he moved, a small trickle of come oozed out, tickling the soft hairs at the top of my thigh.

“The day’s not over yet. I can still wear what I like?” I teased, clenching around him, reminding him of the pressure there’d been there a moment before.

“Like I said,” he grumbled, maybe regretting his indulgence of me. But then he chuckled: a warm, breathy sound, close to my skin. “I don’t care…” He yawned, straightening back up, loosening his hold and leaving shallow fingertip-shaped dips where he’d gripped my flesh.

“So long as it’s the black!”

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