The Denim Skirt With the Bare Legs

“Turn around and bend over, baby. Bend over and place your forearms flat along the arm of the chair.  Now, leave your left leg with your foot on the floor, and lift your right leg … that’s it, lean your knee on the couch. There’s a good girl. Now, stay there. You were bad today.” 

I’d been teasing him all day. The new knee-to-ankle tattoo was too painful to wear jeans over, and the only other thing I’d packed was a denim skirt and tights. I had a thousand t-shirts and tops, but only skin-tight joggers and jeans or a tights/skirt combo to pick from. Neither of these proved to be especially comfortable for a searing hot, throbbing, brand-new tattoo.

I opted for the denim skirt with bare legs, and used it to its full potential, bending over and giving him a cheeky view of everything he wanted to see from behind at every possible opportunity. I’d teamed my skirt with some cute ankle socks, and only the hottest frilly panties too. I know he loves it when I dress up like that, ‘accidentally’. If only he knew that my clothing choices, and particularly my underwear choices, were deliberate, picked and packed solely because I knew the effect they would have on him. Just like that exaggerated bending-over motion I do when I pick up the laundry to place it in the washing machine. Or pick up that scrap of non-existent fluff from the floor. No bending at the knees when I’m horny and wearing a skirt. Nope, all from the waist. Who gives a shit about health and safety anyway?

Each time he tried to come near me I pushed him away, “Not yet. Later. My leg hurts!” It was all just a deliberate game. I wanted to wind him up, to drive him crazy. I wanted to see how much he’d lose his shit when I finally let him get his hands on me later. I wanted to see which one of us would be in for the greatest ride. There’s a hint of something Dom-like about him and I wanted to see if I could encourage it out. Without actually saying the words, of course.

It wasn’t until later on in the evening that I finally let him get to me, to run his hands over my body like I knew he’d been dreaming of doing all day. It’s pretty hard to hide when you’re walking around with the tightest jeans (you saw my Twitter pic, right?) and the biggest erection. I didn’t realise those jeans, and that zipper could be so exciting. Another story for another day …

I sat astride him on the couch, removing the remote from his hands, and sat back ever-so-slightly. Just enough for him to see how wet my panties were getting, and to allow him to slide his hands up and down my thighs, lifting the denim material as he got higher and higher. That’s the thing about teasing … I’m not great at doing it, mostly because I get myself much hotter than I’d planned on getting him. And at this stage, a good five or six hours after my prancing around the house in a barely-there skirt and frilly socks regime had started, I really was hotter than hot. I needed him to make me come.

“Can I touch you now baby? Can I make you come?”

His words were like music to my ears, and once again I was sure that he could tell what I was thinking. Lifting me up as though I weighed nothing, I found myself delicately placed on the arm of the chair, looking up at him standing in front of me.

“Turn around and bend over, baby. Bend over and place your forearms flat along the arm of the chair.  Now, leave your left leg with your foot on the floor, and lift your right leg … that’s it, lean your knee on the couch. There’s a good girl. Now, stay there. You were bad today.”

I did as I was told, positioning myself directly as ordered, and waited for what was to come next. Seconds felt like hours as I heard the clock ticking on the wall behind me, and I heard him unbuckle his belt and start to unzip his fly. As I looked around to see what he was doing, he pushed my head into the back of the couch again.

“No, you were bad today. Do you think you can just dance around in a teeny-tiny skirt all day and not let me touch you, and then get away with it?”

His laugh was almost menacing but I wasn’t worried. I know whatever plan he’s concocting, whatever ‘evil’ things he’s planning on doing to me, they’ll feel great. They’ll feel amazing. I’ve stopped worrying about whether or not he’ll be able to hold my attention sexually, because he’s shown himself to be just as sexually playful as I am, and just as filthy too. It doesn’t matter how weird or filthy I think my deepest darkest little kinks are, he’s just as bad. If not worse.

I felt his fingers gliding up and down the moist fabric of my silk pants, and then I felt his breath warm me as he almost made contact with his mouth. Almost, but not quite. I tried to predict what he would do next, where he would touch next, but there was no real contact at all. He was avoiding everything I wanted him to touch, teasing me as gleefully as I’d been teasing him all day.

“I want your hand. Give me your hand.” 

The almost-menacing chuckle had definitely gone now, replaced with a seriousness in his voice that I’d not heard before. It sent every nerve tingling, goosebumps erupting all over my skin without even so much as a touch needed. I didn’t move my face from its pushed-down position into the back of the couch, but I did reach my left arm back behind me, holding out for his big Bear hands.

I didn’t find his hands. Instead, he manoeuvred me so that my fingers curled around the edge of my panties, beckoning for me to pull them to one side and let him see.

“Oh, you’re glistening! You’re so pretty. Do you want me to lick you? Do you want me to kiss you? Do you want to cum?”

“Yes!” 

My voice was muffled from my lips being pressed into the white leather, but that one-word response was undeniable, a cry almost, definitely more than just a request.

“Tough.” 

He rubbed my ass cheek for a moment before pulling his hand back to slap me, not hard but with just enough of a sting to make me moan because I wasn’t prepared for it. He repeated his slapping motion two times, three times, four times more, each time his hand connecting with my skin just a little bit harder and faster than before. Just when I thought he was going to hit my ass for the fifth time, he stopped, paused for a moment and slapped my pussy instead. I didn’t know how I felt about that? Shocked? Sore? Stinging? Hot? Wet? Throbbing?

“Spread your cheeks wide.”

It took me a moment to take in what he’d just said, especially after the slap. Too long, apparently, as he repeated his order with more urgency in his voice.

“Spread your cheeks wide!” 

I moved my right arm from its draped position over the back of the couch, reaching behind me and following his command. I’d never felt so exposed. My bodyweight and awkward angle meant that I was pinned to the couch, and with both of my arms behind me, I couldn’t have moved much even if I’d wanted to. For a split second, I was filled with fear. But fear of what? The unknown? Of what he might do to me? What he might not do to me? I didn’t need to wait long to find out as he buried his face into my pussy and ass from behind, kissing and licking away the still-tingling sting from that slap.

He alternated between carefully and delicately tracing the lines of my labia with his tongue, probing around my ass, and sucking hard on my clitoris until my legs were shaking. When he could sense I was getting close to the edge, he used one hand to push my left leg into the couch, spreading me wider and giving me more stability, and also giving him more freedom and space to explore his very favourite parts of me. He placed his hands on my hands, forcing me to spread myself as far as I could for him, gripping me tight. I almost thought he might let me come, but he wasn’t quite finished playing yet.

“Do you want me to fuck you, beautiful?” 

“Please. More than anything.”

He released my hands from his big Bear paws and allowed me to find my feet for a moment before helping me turn around. Then he positioned me so that I was right at the very edge of his couch facing him, perched on the arm of the chair, before pushing me back so that my head and body was lower than my ass, sprawled across the three seats.

“I want you to play with your clit.”

For a man who can never make his mind up about anything in life, he certainly seems to know what he wants when he’s got me naked in front of him, and I definitely don’t mind that in the slightest. I could barely stop the grin spreading across my face when he released his cock from the zipper that was barely holding it in, and I know he saw my eyes light up when I saw how hard he was. His eyes lit up too. I know he’s used to his little chap being somewhat ‘out of action,’ so when it gets as hard as it was that evening when I spread my own ass for him to enjoy, I let him bask in his own glory. He should. It’s a magnificent sight and a beautiful cock.

I did as I was told, using the tip of my middle finger to draw small circles around my clit, and at the exact moment I burst over the edge, he plunged into me, five or six hours of tantalising teasing coming together in a wet and sticky mess. Just a few moments more and he would explode in the same way, right across my stomach, chest, and even a little on my chin. I mischievously licked it right up, of course. It would have been such a shame to waste it!

Every time I see that man he surprises me. He pushes my boundaries in a way that I thought no man would ever do. I spread my asscheeks for that man, on his couch at 7 pm. Lights-on. Panties pushed to the side. No fucks given. He could see everything. Every inch of parts of me that other people just don’t get to see.

And I didn’t give a fuck. 

I think I’ve found the Dom I’ve been looking for ❤