WEATHER REPORT
The first time I heard her remark on the weather was when she and I were at a coffee shop, sitting outside in the shade in the late afternoon of a spring day. Actually, that's not quite right; I think it was the night before at dinner.
At any rate, we were in a secluded spot, our chairs turned to face each other and our knees close and partially hidden by the table. The air had just a touch of chill to it. "Nipplish," as she would say with a smile and mischief in her eyes.
We were early in our relationship, learning about each other, gaging the depth of our potential commitment, relishing the depths of our mutual attraction and enjoying our time together-whether clothed or not.
I was thoroughly enjoying the fact that she was an immense tease, that stilettos and fully fashioned stockings weren't just '
Saturday night fuck me'
attire. She was a girly-girl; loved long nails, high heels, real stockings, garter belts and corsets. 'Visions of loveliness' as she termed anything that caught her feminine eye.
On that day she was wearing an outfit that had instantly become a favorite of mine. It was the gray pinstripe jacket with a matching pencil skirt she had worn when first we met. It was a nice classy look that was just right for revealing her stocking tops when seated if she chose.
It had a longer than normal slit in the back and stopped above her knees. Sometime later she confessed she had done the modification to the slit once she understood how much I loved to see her from behind in stockings and stilettos.
Her blouse was cobalt blue and her legs were sheathed in silky sheer black fully fashioned stockings. Those delicious limbs were finished off with 'visions of loveliness'as she called them. A pair of 4.25 inch black patent leather d'Orsay pumps with about a half-an-inch platform to them. She loved the height the stilettos gave her and loved them more for the femininity they represented.
Her blouse had mysteriously become unbuttoned to the point that I had a clear view of her impressive cleavage. A hint of black lace was ocassionally visible and suggested that her bra was likely as lovely as its contents. How I envied it!
She sipped her coffee, legs crossed with a touch of the stocking's shadow welt deliberately visible, a heel dangling idly from her toes and a slightly amused look on her face. There was a smile in her eyes.
I was blatantly admiring her legs, my coffee long since forgotten when presented with such a visual feast. I really wanted to caress them, slide my fingers along the seam, stopping at the back of her knee - a spot I'd recently learned could make her wobbly.
As I now recalled, she had whispered a breathless confession in my ear the night before while we were seated side-by-side in a restaurant booth. My hand was under the table slowly tracing the aforementioned seam when she suddenly inhaled quickly. I didn't stop caressing but did hold my place behind her knee and looked carefully at her face.
She closed her eyes, exhaled with the most endearing warbling quality to her voice, "Oooohhhh....." She leaned into me, her red lips near my ear, "You're making......you're......the weather conditions are changing. It's going to be......be....very damp tonight."
But unlike her reaction that night, mine at the coffee shop was not so subtle, my cock was firm and getting harder. The white napkin in my lap was not providing the cover I hoped. A smile flicked at the corner of her mouth. I was certain she was thoroughly enjoying both my reaction and my discomfort.
Her shapely stockinged leg, the one with the foot dangling the lovely stiletto, suddenly dipped and the shoe dropped to the ground. Slowly, with more than a bit of drama, MK raised that now stiletto-less and sheer stockinged foot, placed it on my trousers and worked it under the napkin.
Her skirt moved and revealed more sheer stockinged thigh and welt. She kept this up for at least five minutes, maybe more. The last thing I was looking at was my watch.
"Mmmmm.....my, the weather conditions are......changing. Getting a bit damp around here." Her voice was low and a little husky. It was very sexy.
All the while she sipped her coffee, holding the cup with red-tipped fingers and leveled a gaze at me that held much promise and more mischief. Her foot continued caressing my cock, I was still learning about what a damn tease she could be. She maintained a slow massaging of my stiffness.
I closed my eyes, clenched my hands, trying to force out the images of her from the night before which blossomed uninvited into my mind. Her foot continued its mission of torture.
The memory I could not push aside was of her kneeling on an ottoman, clad only in coffee FFs, a leopard print garter belt and leopard pumps. Her 38D breasts swayed gently as she moved.
On that occasion she was supporting herself with her hands and knees. Her mouth, however, was supporting the start of a major orgasam for me. Her lips, her mouth, were encompassing my incredibly hard cock-something she was fully responsible for-as she moved her whole body in a sensual forward and back rocking motion that let her control how much of my cock she swallowed as well as the speed. The latter she knew full well would determine when I came.
Which was about ten seconds later.
She continued the rocking motion, albeit more slowly, taking less and less of my cock until just my head was in her mouth as my cock pulsed and the torrent was released. The rocking motion, her lips wrapped around the head of my cock, the wetness of her mouth, the view of her in stockings and stilettos, produced an orgasam the likes of which I don't think I had ever had before.
She swallowed, never breaking contact with my cock . She continued after I was drained and past the point where my penis got sensitive, involuntarily forcing me to shudder, curl my toes and try to pull away.
In a flash she had a hand cupping my balls exerting just enough pressure to convince me not to move. With my hands clenched rigidly at my sides, my screwed eyes shut, I rode the wave of an oddly intense pleasure I had not experienced before. Mainly because no previous woman was as interested in my pleasure as she was in hers.
The rocking motion subsided, my cock felt like it was spasaming, though I doubt there was anything left in my balls. I shuddered, took a deep breath, not realizing I'd been holding it and opened my eyes.
She was once again on all fours, just the tip of my cock held between her lips and her eyes were locked on mine. She smiled, released my cock with a flick of her pink tongue, and said, "Well, I know you said you liked horses, but I bet you didn't know you liked rocking horses."
She was clearly enjoying her goofy joke, but the result was nothing to laugh about.
"Trying to
not
picture last night, aren't you?"
Her voice broke my fruitless efforts to stop my own vivid imagination from recalling that event and pulled me back to the spring day on the coffee shop patio.
The smile on her face would have been adorable were it not for her silky foot firmly caressing my now very hard cock and the devilish gleam in her eye. Her eyebrow was arched.
