"I must go," she said. "It's getting late."
She kissed me fondly, gave my prick a little farewell tickle and got out of bed.
She crossed the room to where her clothes were scattered. Some were providentially on a chair, the others anywhere they'd come to rest when, in our urgency, she'd thrown them away – or I'd ripped them off.
As I watched her pick up her clothes, I marvelled at what a great afternoon it had been – especially marvellous in the light of the circumstances in which she'd come to me.
Her husband – yes, she was married as I'd known all along – was, to the world, a likeable conservative type – butter wouldn't, as they say, melt in his mouth.
But a closer association with him – the association he had with a wife – revealed a very different character.
He was much older than Gerry, as I was accustomed to call her. (Her full name was Geraldine but that was a bit of a mouthful. Mostly I called her darling anyway or a variation of other expressions that a lover customarily uses with his best girl.)
When he wasn't happy with her – often in some inconsequential way – he would lash out at her. He was a big man – or at least tall – and sturdy enough to pack a hefty wallop. Mostly he hit her in the guts or – even more dangerously – in the chest, where the bruises didn't show. Or they did not, in any event, show in public but I had seen her bruising – which, admittedly could have come from a bump or a fall. But the odds were that the stories she told me were true.
Now she had gathered up her clothes and was putting on her panties.
If I've got a fetish at all, it's seeing a girl take off her panties – or put them on, which – curiously, perhaps - is nearly as good.
It's the revealing or concealing of that precious niche that arouses me.
Now, as she put one foot and then the other in the legs of her panties, I began to feel my prick stir. As she drew them up her legs and around her hips, I got harder – and harder.
Surely, after all the loving we'd already had that afternoon – and it had been what the romantic gurus would call "Quality Loving" – I didn't need any more.
But it looked as though I did.
My cock was throbbing to go back where he knew he belonged.
And I was keen to put him there.
I said if I have a fetish, it's about seeing a girl take her panties off; but the important thing is of course the meaning she gives to the act of taking them off.
What she's really doing – in the presence of her lover – is to confirm her availability – to say to him, "I'm all yours – and she's all yours.... She's ready and waiting to receive him...."
And a crucial feature in this invitation, of course, is what she reveals when she takes her panties off.
It's not just a matter of revealing the delightful little device that snuggles between her legs waiting to convey the visitor into an unbelievable wonderland.
There are other features of attraction or distraction. For example, I love to see the upper thighs and the curve of her bottom, gradually revealed as she slides her panties down.
And that was what was turning me on now - in a contrary sort of way - as I watched her pull her panties up and I noted again the perfect curvature of her bottom.
My mouth – if I can put it that way – was watering at the sight of how her body moved when she bent down to put her feet one after the other, into the legs of her panties. Then she straightened up and started to pull on her white stockings which she secured with a pink garter at the top.
My lust grew into a frenzy.
I could see the sweet fullness of her thighs as she drew each stocking up – and note again the curve of her bottom – not the bottom full on, but a side view that, for some reason, gave me a special delight.
She looked towards me and smiled as she saw how perfectly my throbbing prick appreciated the contours of her thighs and bottom. She knew I was imagining how it would be to slip him between the lips of her delightful little honey pot....how he would be clasped and fondled until he could stand no more and he would...
She pursed her lips to send me a lover's kiss....
