September 18thErotic Fiction 

September 18th

I saw things going very differently on September 18th. It’s not helpful, I know, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all the things we’d planned and talked about. You were going to turn up at the door in the middle of the night, fuelled with caffeine and armed with the cheekiest of smiles. I was going to answer it wearing a flirty little sundress, full of lust and year-long anticipation.

It’s not the most conventional time or place for a first date, but at that point, I figured we were long past conventional first date rules.

I had everything ready. Everything. I chose a cute white summer dress with a zip up the back, because the thought of you slowly unzipping it, kissing my newly exposed skin, drove me insane. The cut was simple. Just above the knee. Not too much cleavage on show. Subtle, but sexy.

Underneath, a simple lace bra. White. Beautiful. I debated for a while between matching French panties or the matching thong, before finally settling on neither. No panties for me. I didn’t want them to get in the way, nor did I want to fuck around trying to slide them off.

It took me a while to figure out which perfume to pair with the occasion. My go-to has always been Forever and Ever Dior. It’s sweet, not overly sickly, feminine, and it makes me feel cute, but also sexy and powerful. 

You felt special, though. I didn’t want to wear a fragrance that reminded me of another lover. I settled on Flowerbomb by Viktor & Rolf, not that it matters now. Sexy, feminine, floral, but not too much. I thought you’d appreciate it. In fact, I thought you’d love it.  

I’ve thought long and hard about our first kiss. Sinfully hot and fuelled with lust. That’s how it goes in my head, anyway. Your hands will probably grasp at my hair as mine get lost running over your body for the first time. The first time!

The first time has always been my favourite. Undressing a new lover is a little like unwrapping a Christmas gift: excitement, lots of anticipation, tearing away the layers, eager to clap your eyes on the wonderful, mystical thing inside.

I’ve daydreamed for hours about taking your clothes off. Slowly. Your shoes get kicked off right by the door, and I’d hang your jacket on the back of the dining room chair. Desire wants me to tear away all of your layers, not worrying about ripping or popping off a button, but I want to savour the moment more. So, I’ll play the good hostess and make some drinks drinks. It would have been a long drive for you; I’m sure you’ll need one. I’d even have stocked the fridge up with drinks – proper beer for you, but non-alcoholic wine for me. Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, ice cold water, whatever you wanted. 

We’d have sat for a while. Chatted. Small talk. Nerves running rampant and little touches of our fingertips fanning the flames of embers that had been slowly sizzling for almost a whole year. It had been an endless stream of filthy phone call-foreplay that had endings but never quite felt finished. Because it hadn’t finished.

But that night, September 18th, we could’ve finished – together, for the first time, kissing and touching and wondering if it was all actually real. We could’ve kissed and kissed and never stopped kissing, all the rest of the night and long into the next day. And as soon as those drinks were finished and the small talk was out the way, all restraint would go out of the window. It would finally be time to get what we’d so impatiently waited for.

I’d tear your t-shirt off first, breaking our kiss for just long enough to get it out of the way. My dress would go next, thrown somewhere behind the couch. That’s when I’d throw a leg across and straddle your lap, desperate to get as close to you as possible because I’ve waited for such a long time. Skin-on-skin, lace on bare chest, kisses upon kisses. It would be intoxicating, don’t you think?

You kept promising me that you’d drop your knees when you met me for the first time, and with that gorgeous grin on your face, that’s just what you’d do next, lifting me up like I was weightless, then setting me back down on the couch. The cold leather would probably make me gasp, but you’d smile as you bury your face into me, maybe even mumble a happy little groan. Your beard would probably tickle the inside of my thighs, too, but that would just make your smile a little bigger.

Fuck.

I’ve fantasised about that moment more than you could ever imagine – and I bet it would feel like fucking heaven.

With one hand clamping my thigh in place and the other focusing on a nipple, you’d torture me with your tongue, bringing me to the brink, only to let me calm right back down, time and time and time again. It would make me impatient and bratty, but that’s why you’d do it. It would make you feel powerful as fuck, and that’s what I’d let you do it.

Having me right at your fingertips, putty in your hands, coming at your touch – it’s all you’ve ever really wanted, right?

You could’ve had it all – every single fantasy you’d ever dreamed of – and me, melting right before you.

But it’s all just a daydream.

So close, yet so far.


Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤

Are you in the market for a true sexy story? Here are a few of my favourites… 

 

Filthy Little Fantasies Erotic Fiction NotSoSexintheCity

Related posts

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.