Date Night Jitters

(A short story featuring a sweet, polyamorous, cis, hetero couple. Contains light female submission, male domination, and free use.)

You've just met yet another really hot guy. You're getting ready for your first date, and you're nervous. A little self-conscious. A little overwhelmed.

You call me over. I hug you gently. I tell you to slow down. Take deep breaths. He's already agreed to go on a date with you. He's into you. And you're so irresistible yourself, in body and in personality. You've got this.

You feel better. You also feel my bugle pressed against your thigh as you hug me thanks. You ask if I'd like that taken care of, for being so sweet. I say no, tonight's about you and your date.

I tell you I'm going to pick out what you wear. It makes the mood a little playful, but also makes you a little wet.

You watch me browse your closet with anticipation. Imagining you in any of these clothes is only making me harder. But I stay focused.

I make a joke about one. We both laugh. I let my eyes fall down to your jiggling tits before turning back to the closet. Yeah, I think, she's gonna get fucked tonight.

You've already agreed to yourself that you'll wear whatever I tell you. I pick out an unsurprisingly thin dress. I watch feverishly as you strip out of your clothes and put the dress on.

You weren't going to wear a bra, like usual. But you wanted to hear me tell you to take it off. So you put one on first. It does prop your tits up so nicely, presenting them.

I look at you knowingly, with a smirk. I tell you we both know your tits don't belong in a bra, babe. Give it to me.

As you shift your weight to your other leg to try and contain your wetness, you take off the bra from under your dress and place it in my outstretched hand. You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted.

Your tits now look even larger. I watch you adjust the dress to cover them.

No, I casually say, before brazenly reaching to your chest, and pulling the dress back down so more of your cleavage is on display. You let me. You like it. And you leave the dress where I put it.

You're ready a little early and there's just a few minutes of spare time. I tell you I want you nice and wet for your date, and wave you over to where I've sat down, patting on the chair's big armrest. You come walk over, an absolute wet dream of a woman, and sit down obediently.

I very casually reach around, sliding my fingers up your thigh and onto your clit. You spread your legs slightly, instinctively. You sigh in delight and tell me I'm going to make you need to change your panties before your date. You won't have to change, I say. I'll just take these off before you go.

You only had a few minutes to spare, so my play time is up. I peel off your wet panties for you, give you a sweet forehead kiss, tell you you're going to kill it, smack your ass on the way out, and get ready for my movie night with friends.

...

Once you shook your nerves off, the date went so well. You weren't fully planning to fuck on this date, but your body and the way I dressed it made getting fucked all but guaranteed. Fateful.

Your date was disarming, despite him being so hot. Your nerves turned into anticipation. You feel your anxiousness melt away through your wet pussy.

Your confidence grows throughout the night, and you teasingly flaunt your body for him. He eats it up, before eventually taking you to his place and eating you out.

The sex is excellent. He's hard, and thick, and eager, and asks you what you need. He keeps making you come before you're ready, your own body catching you off guard.

...

Morning comes, and after making you come twice more, he brings you home.

I've just started cooking breakfast at your place when I see you walk in. You had a good amount of sex in the dress, and it's a total mess. Your morning-after hair looks so sexy. Your eyes are smiling, but also a little glazed from a long night of getting fucked.

You look incredible.

I sarcastically ask if the date was a bust. No, this is a bust, you jest, slipping your tits out of your dress.

We both freeze for a moment.

I curl my finger toward you, and you set your purse down and slowly walk over to me, exposed tits bouncing with each step. I can't stop cooking breakfast, but I need to hear how your date went.

I turn to you, the stovetop to my left. You face me, arms relaxed by your side.

Waiting.

I drop my soft pajama pants, my hard cock springing free and slapping lightly against your lower stomach. I step back, letting it slide down between your legs. I can already feel your wetness.

I pretend to turn my attention toward breakfast for a moment, but we both know my mind is stuck on you. Without looking at you, I slowly slide forward, my cock head sliding down along your clit and between your thighs. You don't move. Your arms stay at your sides. You just take it, your breasts rising and falling sharply with your breath.

Why don't you tell me about your date, I ask, feigning nonchalance. You already walked in bleary-eyed. Now with my cock sloshing along your pussy, forward and backward, you're almost delirious. You notice, but just barely, when I use my non-cooking hand to start playing with your hard nipples, in awe as always.

You tell me all the details I want. You never move your body. You just let me use your pussy as you talk about how much you got fucked.

Such a nice way to start a Saturday.