She usually swam at the pool in her neighborhood, but on occasion, and on this occasion, she swam at the Hollywood Y, where the water was warmer and there was a Jacuzzi for a soak afterward.
The timing was perfect. Work had been annoying, moreso than usual, and she'd hurried to get done so she could leave the job behind and lose herself in water.
She felt refreshed by her laps and was glad to find the Jacuzzi deserted. She slipped in, the heat bringing her blood flashing to the surface. She laid back for a moment, then reached down to loosen the thong of her bathing suit and let the hot water swirl around her crotch. She and her boyfriend had given her a fresh shave on the weekend, and she gave her bald pussy lips a gentle brush with her fingers. It was still smooth and pink, and she liked that.
When she climbed out of the hot tub her body was enveloped in steam; wisps were still rising as she sat in front of her locker. She opened her gym bag and fished around for her clothes, a tee shirt and that short (not micro, just short) skirt she liked to wear. She glanced around once to make sure she was alone, and then pulled out something else, a pair of skimpy leather g-strings. They came out in a tangle; she smiled a little as she sorted them out. One had three chains of glittering polished links that hung a patch of leather to strap over the pussy; the other had slit down the middle of the crotch with a length of chain that laid right over the clit. She considered for a moment, then settled on the single chain. She knew it would be a while before she got home, and she liked the idea of that chain annoying her mons. Besides, she knew he liked it; it made chewing on her cunt kind of crazy, like chunks of heath bar in ice cream.
The g-strings were something she and her boyfriend had picked out at a sex shop -- they looked intriguing on the rack, but positively provocative when strapped around her cunt. Each seemed to serve more as a harness than for clothing, squeezing the flesh around her pussy, plumping her flesh. He'd found that when he pulled the g-string up from behind, up the crack of her ass, she'd squirm a little and the leather would squeeze the lips of her pussy until they fairly puckered. He liked that.
And he liked the way the leather looked on her, the way it looked like it must feel, kind of slick but warm and thick. With one of those g-strings reaching around her thighs to wrap her pussy, with maybe a simple link chain around her neck, it seemed to change the whole geography of her body, setting her pussy squarely in the center, a luscious triangle surrounded by her thighs and the lovely globe of her stomach.
He'd always liked pussy -- as much as the next guy, I suppose -- but in the months since they'd gotten serious, he had become seriously enamored of her cunt, insatiably, whimperingly, yearningly enamored of her cunt. Maybe it was simply because she gave it to him -- not as often as he'd like, but plenty, really. Maybe it was true that hers was a particularly sweet and juicy cunt, which he liked to point out. Or maybe it was true that it was because he loved her, which he also liked to point out. But there was no question he had found a new sexual focus. He told her time and again that he wanted to be her pussy slave. She hadn't quite taken him up on it, but she wasn't objecting.
****
She hadn't been planning anything, but she kept the g-strings in her bag so that she wouldn't have to. And after a day like today -- long hours, and her boss snapping at her for no apparent reason -- she decided she wanted some undivided attention. Some sheer adoration wouldn't hurt either.
She put on the g-string, with the crotch cut out and the single strand of chain stretched vertically across her slit, and took a moment to adjust it. She pulled the straps up over her hips and spread her feet a little, reached behind to pull it taut, and then reached down, two fingers splayed, and opened the lips of her pussy so the chain would slip in between. When she pulled her hand away her lips settled around the chain in a gentle embrace. For much of the length of her cunt, the chain fairly disappeared from view. That's right, she thought. She quickly pulled on her skirt and threw on a silky blouse -- no bothering with a bra. Then she kicked into a pair of black-leather sandals -- she was pleased to notice they kind of worked with the leather straps around her pussy -- grabbed her bag and headed out.
It was kind of fun to walk out into the early evening, her pussy bare to the cool air, framed in supple leather, the chain shifting as she walked. It wasn't particularly intense, but she could feel it, and she was plenty aware of what was going in under her plain skirt, and it made her feel excited.
She decided to stop for a drink on the way home. There was a dive bar nearby, just neighborhood type. There was parking right in front, and a stool where she usually sat. She ordered a greyhound.
She knew the bartender. They shared a couple of jokes. She laughed easily and infectiously. The place made her feel at home and she made everyone there feel the same. One of the regulars turned to her and made small talk about the latest Hollywood drama, a star who'd made yet another run from rehab. She settled back on her barstool and propped the heel of a sandal one rung off the floor. That spread her pussy and, she noticed, drew the chain a little taut across her cunt. She shifted her weight again and realized she might have to be careful that nobody noticed the charge she was getting off her clit. She took a deep swig off her drink.
She decided to drop a couple of quarters in the juke box. She lifted up off her stool and as she swung her leg around her pussy lips gave the chain a squeeze. She walked a little slower than usual across the floor and studied the Rolling Stones playlist. She picked a pair and returned to the bar.
The regular was getting a little friendlier -- his overtures were usually a pretty good measure of how many drinks she had. She was friendly right back. And she was getting a horny -- but not for him. She had plans, and she decided to quit screwing around. Besides, she had to be careful -- too much alcohol would spoil the sex. She drained her glass, said her goodbyes and split to the tune of Some Girls.
The freeway was jammed with the last of the evening rush, and she soon settled in for the 20 minutes on autopilot it would take to reach her exit. With the traffic setting the pace, she had little to do but stay patient. She lowered the window a bit to enjoy the cool air, lit a smoke and settled back. Rolling along with the stop-and-go, listening to a familiar CD, she thought about another time she'd been caught in traffic, this time on a drowsy summer day with her boyfriend. That day she was the passenger, and she'd decided to pass the time by leaning down into his lap, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. For 20 minutes she'd lost herself in slurping, gurgling and long, languid licks, leaving him to hang onto the wheel as best he could. She smiled at the memory -- it was fun to think how excited she could make him -- but then she noticed she was getting excited herself.
That didn't always happen. She was pretty widely experienced, and tended to think about sex with a healthy dose of humor, but tonight she was feeling a little randy, and she was headed home where she knew she had erotic attention on demand. Besides, the chain on that g-string was riding right on her clit.
She decided to help it along. She hitched up her skirt, letting her thighs and her ass rub against the sticky-slick vinyl of the car seat. It was a little cooler than the leather strapped around her pussy, and the combination had her shifting and squirming to get just the right feel.
When she hit the exit she accelerated. She had a hot little sports car -- her first, after a lifetime of clunkers -- and she enjoyed the still-new feeling of being able to beat the traffic. Besides, she was in something of a hurry. She liked the sexual thrill she'd been cultivating, and she didn't want to lose it.
She made the familiar turns through her downtown neighborhood, past the market, onto a side street, then up the twisting slope to the tall palm that stood in front of her home. She had expected her boyfriend would be home, but she was glad to see the lights on anyway. She was in no mood to be disappointed.
She pulled into the driveway, pulled her skirt back into place and headed in. As she entered the front door she was met by the familiar smell of the place, and by her old dog, who offered his usual tail-wagging greeting. Her boyfriend hollered from the rear office.
"Hey baby."
She went down a short hallway to find him at his keyboard. "Hello, darling." He lifted his face as she approached and offered his mouth for a kiss. She complied, and he was surprised when she lingered, her full lips soft and slightly parted.
"Ummmm," he said. Then he added a gentle kiss on her neck.
"Been to the pool?"
"You can tell?"
"Yeah, that chlorine doesn't wash off."
