We met on-line but didn't 'talk' much. Vicky didn't want to sit around. She didn't want to get fat on her phone. And I agreed. Life is for living. We had a few drinks but we already knew our shared interests. I asked, "Can I pop to yours? I won't try anything on." Maybe she thought I was being coy. I wasn't. I was acting outside of my comfort zone. Vicky drove to hers then disappeared. She came back transformed.
"You have one purpose in life, and one purpose only. That sole purpose of yours is to polish every single pair of shiny, tight knickers, I wear. Now, do we have a deal?"
I look at her black bobbed hair and that stern face - those authoritative unblinking hazel eyes. I glance down at her tight body that is honed for sports. Her large brownish nipples are full and aroused. But most of all, my eyes fix on her high-waisted, red and full-zipped, PVC knickers. My kinky panties stir. The plastic rubs my dancing cock. It cracks and rustles as the sheer plastic slides across my butt.
I look over her shoulder to the blank wall and mutter. I can't believe my luck. I'm floundering and indecisive. She lashes out with her whip which cracks my taut plastic covered arse. I yelp in pain. And yet I'm familiar with leather fronds as I self-flagellate, the best I can, whilst wanking. I love to whip the whip up beneath my balls as I pump my cock harder with my other hand.
"I agree," I agreed, louder than before and certainly no less in earnest. She whips my noisy knickers again. "Very good," she replies.