Log in:
Username
Password
Keep me logged in (help)

Forgot username or password?

Create new login

You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?

[ default ] [ 10% ] [ 20% ] [ 30% ] [ 40% ] [ 50% ] [ 60% ] [ 70% ] [ 80% ] [ 90% ] [ 100% ]

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version  |  Mark story  |  Mark author

Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

I didn’t put anything else on.

When I came back downstairs John had set the table. Two plates of pasta, a bottle of the same red, candles already lit and throwing soft golden light across the wood. He looked up as I entered the dining room and the spoon in his hand paused halfway to his mouth. His eyes moved over me slowly, bare shoulders, the way the silk clung, the dark bands of lace visible as I walked.

“Jesus, Lacy.”

I smiled and took my seat as if nothing were unusual, settling into the chair with deliberate ease. “What? I got comfortable. Long day.”

He set the spoon down carefully, like it might break if he wasn’t careful. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Eat first,” I said, reaching for my wine glass and taking a slow sip. “You’ll need the energy. I have plans.”

We managed most of the meal. Conversation drifted, work, the rain that still hadn’t let up, a movie we’d been meaning to watch for weeks, but the undercurrent was thick and obvious. Every time he looked at me his eyes dropped to the lace tops of the stockings where they disappeared under the table edge, or to the way the silk of the panties stretched when I shifted in my chair and crossed one leg over the other. I kept my tone light, almost teasing, and watched the way his jaw tightened every time I did it. I told him about the meeting that had run long, the client who talked in circles. He told me about the sauce, how he’d let it simmer longer than usual. Under the table his foot found mine and stayed there, the warmth of it steady against my ankle. I didn’t pull away.

After the meal he stood and held out his hand. I took it without a word. We left the dishes and the candles burning low and walked upstairs together, the rain still tapping against the windows in a softer rhythm now. The bedroom was dim, only the small lamp on the nightstand glowing, casting everything in warm shadows. I climbed onto the bed first, settling on my back against the pillows. John reached for one of the spare ones without being asked and slid it carefully under my hips. The angle lifted my pelvis, opened me slightly, made the silk of the panties stretch taut across me in a way that felt deliberate and exposed. He stood at the foot of the bed for a long moment just looking, eyes dark, then stripped, socks, jeans, T-shirt, boxers, until he was as naked as I almost was. His cock was already half-hard, thickening further as he watched me shift against the pillow.

He climbed onto the bed beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a few seconds we simply looked at each other, the rain the only sound. Then he leaned in and kissed me.

It started soft. His mouth moved over mine, unhurried, tongue sliding against mine in slow, deliberate strokes that made heat pool low in my stomach. One of his hands came up and cupped my breast, thumb brushing the underside first, then the nipple, circling it lightly until it tightened under his touch. I made a small sound into the kiss, the kind I couldn’t quite hold back. He broke away only to trail his lips down the side of my neck, along the line of my throat, across my collarbone, wet and warm, leaving faint damp trails on my skin that cooled in the air. When he reached my breast he licked the soft underside first, slow and thorough, then higher, circling the nipple with the tip of his tongue before taking it between his lips. He sucked gently at first. I arched a little, the pillow under my hips making the movement easy and natural. His free hand drifted down over my stomach, over the waistband of the silk panties, and settled between my legs. He rubbed me through the thin fabric, slow, deliberate strokes along the outer folds. The silk was already growing damp under his fingers.

I reached for him. My fingers closed around his cock, curling loosely at first, and I began to stroke him the same way he was touching me: unhurried, exploring, learning the weight of him again. My thumb brushed over the head on every upward pass, spreading the first bead of pre-cum that had gathered there. He made a low sound against my breast and sucked harder, the pull of his mouth sending sparks straight down to where his hand was working me through the silk.

I smiled even as my breath caught, the playful edge rising easily.

“You’re already so wet,” he said against my skin, voice rough with the knowledge of it.

“Your fault,” I answered, giving his cock a firmer squeeze and a slow twist of my wrist that made him exhale sharply. “Keep sucking… and don’t you dare stop rubbing me.”

He laughed softly, the vibration travelling through my nipple in a way that made me shiver, and obeyed without hesitation. He alternated between gentle suction and firmer pulls, teeth grazing just enough to make the sensation sharp and sweet. His fingers kept stroking me through the silk, pressing a little harder now, finding the shape of my clit under the fabric and circling it with deliberate pressure. I kept pumping him, matching his rhythm, occasionally lifting my hips pushing my pussy harder against the fingers

After a while he pushed the crotch of the panties aside. Cool air touched me for a second. He stroked my bare outer lips, gathering the wetness that had already gathered, then slid two fingertips along the length of my slit without entering, teasing, waiting. I rocked up into the touch, chasing more.

“Two,” I said, voice low and clear. “Inside. Now.”

He pushed them in. Slow. Steady. Filling me in a way that made my breath leave me in a long sigh. My hand on his cock faltered for a second before I recovered, stroking him tighter, faster, thumb sweeping over the head again and again. He curled his fingers inside me and found the spot that made my thighs tremble against the pillow. The angle kept me open for him. I could feel every inch of the nylon against my skin, every shift of the lace bands when my legs moved.

He released my breast and kissed his way lower, over my ribs, across my stomach, pausing to bite gently just above the waistband of the silk, hard enough to leave a faint mark I knew I’d feel later. Then he settled between my thighs, the heat of his breath ghosting over me. He hooked the panties further aside and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

The first long stroke of his tongue made me gasp out loud. He licked me slowly, thoroughly, from entrance to clit and back again, then focused on the little swollen nub, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently. Two fingers pushed back inside me, curling in time with the movement of his mouth. I kept one hand on his cock as long as I could, stroking him while he worked me, feeling him grow harder in my grip, but eventually I had to let go and grip the sheets instead. My other hand found his hair, holding him there.

“Fuck, John… just like that. Don’t stop.”

He hummed against me. The vibration shot straight through me, low and deep. I rocked against his face, the pillow helping every small lift of my hips, the hold-ups shifting slightly with every movement of my legs. The silk of the panties was shoved completely to one side now, cool and damp against my hip. I could feel the lace tops biting into my skin every time my thighs tensed around him.

He kept the same steady rhythm until I was close, breath coming in short, sharp pants, hips lifting off the pillow in small, helpless rolls, the pleasure coiling tight and bright. Then he slowed, deliberately, pulling me back from the edge with long, lazy strokes of his tongue. I made a frustrated sound and he laughed against me, the same playful edge in his voice that had started this whole thing.

“Patience,” he murmured, licking a slow stripe up my centre that made me shiver. “You told me not to stop rubbing you. You didn’t say I had to make you come yet.”

“You’re an asshole,” I managed, but I was smiling, breathless and wanting.

“You love it.”

He went back to work, building me up again with the same careful attention, fingers stroking that same perfect spot inside while his tongue teased and sucked. When I got close a second time he eased off again, just enough to keep me hovering. I groaned and tugged his hair, not hard, just enough to make my point.

“John….”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to cum! I want to cum on your tongue. Then I want you to fuck me.”

He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes. His mouth was shiny with me. “Deal.”

This time he didn’t pull back. He sucked my clit between his lips and worked it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers thrust deeper, curling hard against that spot that made everything tighten. The orgasm hit in a long, rolling wave that started low and spread outward, making my thighs clamp around his head, the lace tops of the stockings digging into my skin as I shook. I cried out, the sound raw, and he stayed with me through it, licking me through the aftershocks until I was twitching and oversensitive, laughing breathlessly at how thoroughly he’d wrecked me.

Only then did he climb back up my body. He kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue, deep and unhurried, and I reached between us to guide his cock to my entrance. The head nudged against me, slick and hot. He pushed in slowly, filling me in one long, continuous stroke that made me moan into his mouth. I was still pulsing from the orgasm; the stretch of him made the pleasure sharpen all over again.

He stayed deep for a moment, forehead against mine, breathing hard, giving me time to adjust. Then he started to move, long, steady thrusts that used the angle the pillow gave him perfectly. Every stroke dragged over the sensitive spots inside me. The silk of the panties was still shoved aside, the damp fabric rubbing against his shaft on every movement in a way that felt filthy and perfect. The nylon of the hold-ups whispered against his hips when he settled deeper between my thighs.

I wrapped my legs around him, the lace tops pressing into his sides. He kissed me again, playful even now, nipping at my lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.

“So wet,” he said against my mouth. “You feel incredible like this.”

“Harder,” I answered, voice rough. “Give it to me harder.”

He gave me harder. The bed creaked under us. Rain still tapped at the windows in a steady rhythm that matched the pace he set. I met every thrust, the pillow under my hips keeping the angle perfect, letting him sink deep. One of his hands slid between us and found my clit again, rubbing in tight, precise circles that made the pleasure build fast. I was already climbing toward a second orgasm, the first one still echoing through my nerves like an aftershock.

“Cum for me again,” he said, voice rough against my ear. “I want to feel it. Want to feel you squeeze me.”

I did, sharper this time, clenching around him hard enough that he groaned and buried his face against my neck, thrusting through it while I shook and gasped his name. He kept moving until I went limp and panting beneath him, then slowed, still hard inside me, still wanting more.

He didn’t cum yet. He pulled out carefully, kissed the inside of one of my thighs right above the lace, and then rolled us so I was on top. I settled over him, guided him back inside with my hand, and sank down until he was buried to the hilt. From this angle I could look down at him, flushed, eyes dark, hands already on my hips like he couldn’t not touch me.

I started to ride him, slow at first, rolling my hips the way I knew he liked, the way that made his breath catch. The silk of the panties was a damp, crumpled strip between us now. The hold-ups stayed perfectly in place, the sheer black nylon catching the lamplight every time I moved. He watched them with open hunger, hands sliding up my thighs to stroke the lace, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above.

“You’re keeping these on next time too,” he said, voice low.

“Maybe.” I leaned forward and kissed him, playful, nipping his lower lip. “If you earn it. You still have work to do.”

He laughed and thrust up to meet me, the movement sharp and perfect. I set a faster rhythm, hands braced on his chest, the angle letting him hit deep on every downward stroke. His thumb found my clit again, rubbing in time with my movements. I was sensitive, almost too much, but the pleasure built anyway, coiling tighter and tighter until a third orgasm rolled through me, softer than the others but long and deep, making me clench around him and cry out. He followed soon after, gripping my hips hard as he came, pulsing deep inside me with a low, broken sound that I felt as much as heard.

We stayed like that for a while, breathing together, my forehead against his, the rain still soft against the windows. Eventually I lifted off him and collapsed onto the bed beside him. The pillow was damp. The silk panties were a quim juice soaked wreck. The hold-ups were still on, a little twisted now but intact. John reached over and traced one of the lace tops with a fingertip, slow and admiring.

“These are dangerous,” he said.

I smiled, still catching my breath, the pleasant ache between my legs a warm, steady pulse. “Good. That’s the point.”

He pulled me closer, one arm under me around my waist, the other still resting on my thigh over the nylon. Outside the rain had slowed to a soft patter. Inside the bedroom the air smelled like sex and the faint perfume I’d put on that morning, mixed with the residual scent of the wine and the sauce from downstairs. I felt the residual throb between my legs, the cool slide of nylon against my skin whenever I shifted, the heat of his body along mine.

After a few minutes I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at him, hair a mess, mouth still a little swollen from bites when kissing.

“Round two?” I asked, voice light, the playful edge returning easily. “Or do you need a time to recover, old man?”

He grinned, the same slow smile from the kitchen. “Give me five. Then I’m taking those panties off with my teeth properly this time.”

I laughed and kissed him again, slow and deep, already feeling the low heat starting to rebuild between my legs despite everything we’d just done. The night was still young. The rain was still falling. And I was still wearing the silk panties and the stockings, exactly the way I’d planned when I put them on in front of the mirror.

We didn’t make it to five minutes.

He rolled me onto my back again, the pillow somehow still under my hips like it belonged there, and kissed his way down my body once more, neck, collarbone, the soft underside of each breast, the plane of my stomach. This time he really did use his teeth, gentle tugs at the waistband of the emerald silk until he worked the panties down over my hips and legs and off one foot, leaving them tangled around the other ankle like a trophy. The hold-ups stayed exactly where they were. He settled between my thighs and licked me open again, slower this time, savouring every sound I made, until I was rocking up against his mouth and begging in a voice that had lost most of its playful edge and turned into something hungrier.

When he finally pushed back inside me it was deeper, harder, the angle perfect from the pillow. I locked my legs around him once more, nylon-smooth thighs against his sides, the lace tops pressing into his skin, and held on while he fucked me through another long, shuddering climax that left me shaking and laughing breathlessly against his shoulder. He followed soon after, burying himself as deep as he could and cuming with my name on his lips, low and rough.

Later, much later, we lay tangled in the sheets, the ruined silk panties somewhere on the floor, the hold-ups still clinging to my legs like they refused to leave. Mark’s fingers traced idle patterns on my thigh, sliding over the lace every so often as if he couldn’t help himself, mapping the contrast between the sheer nylon and my skin.

“Next time,” he murmured against my hair, voice already half-asleep, “we’re starting earlier. Before dinner. I want more time with these.”

I smiled into the dark, shifting closer so one stocking-clad leg slid over his. “Next time I’m wearing the red ones. The ones with the little bows at the tops. You’ll lose your mind.”

He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against my shoulder. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Probably,” I said, already feeling the pleasant ache settle deeper, the kind that would remind me of this night every time I moved tomorrow. “But you’ll die happy. And you’ll thank me for it.”

Outside the rain had finally stopped, leaving the night quiet and still. Inside, the room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing evening out and the occasional soft shift of nylon against sheets. I closed my eyes, the warmth of him along my back, the memory of his mouth and hands and the way he’d looked at me when I first walked into the dining room in nothing but silk and lace, and let myself drift.

The night had started with rain and pasta and a quiet decision in front of the mirror while the city got wet outside. It had ended with silk and nylon and the taste of each other still on our tongues, with playful words and deliberate teasing and the kind of thorough, unhurried fucking that left us both wrecked and smiling. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I had remembered exactly why I kept those particular pairs of panties and hold-ups in the back of the drawer, waiting for nights like this one, when the rain fell and the candles burned low downstairs and John looked at me like he wanted to devour every inch of me and then do it again just to be sure.

I shifted closer still, one hand finding his, fingers lacing loosely. Maybe we weren’t quite finished yet after all. His hand slid up my thigh again in response, fingers catching on the lace, and I felt him stir against my hip, slow and interested.

“Still awake?” he asked, voice rough with the edge of sleep and something else.

“Mm. Barely. But I could be convinced.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of my shoulder, then lower, trailing toward the lace. “Because I’ve been thinking about how the nylon feels when I rub my face against it. And I haven’t done that nearly enough tonight. Not by half.”

I laughed softly, already opening my legs for him again as he moved down the bed with purpose. The lace tops of the hold-ups framed his face when he settled between my thighs once more. He turned his head and pressed his cheek against the sheer black nylon, breathing in the scent of my skin and the faint residual perfume, then kissed the soft skin just above the lace. His tongue followed, tracing the edge slowly, then higher, until he was licking me again, slow, thorough, like we had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.

I reached down and threaded my fingers through his hair, hips lifting off the pillow that still supported me, and let the pleasure build under the soft, wet pressure of his mouth and the cool, familiar slide of nylon against my skin.

“That’s it,” I whispered, the playful tone softer now but still there. “Just like that. Take your time. We’ve got all night.”

He hummed against me, the vibration travelling straight through my core, and I closed my eyes and gave myself over to it completely, the rain outside finally gone, the candles downstairs long since burned out, and the two of us still finding new ways to ruin each other under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, silk and lace and skin and the kind of banter that never quite stopped even when the words turned into moans.

The night stretched on the way the best ones always did. We took our time. And every time he looked up at me with that same playful glint in his eyes between long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, I remembered the exact moment in the kitchen when he’d first seen the emerald silk and the black lace and known exactly how the evening was going to end.

It ended the way all the best nights did, tangled, laughing, a little sore in the best possible way, and already planning the next one while the city slept quiet and wet outside our windows.

Later that night the rain had stopped completely. The house was quiet except for the soft tick of the cooling radiators and the occasional distant car on the wet street outside. The bedside lamp was still on, turned down low, throwing a warm amber pool across the tangled sheets. I had dozed for a while with my head on John’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart under my ear. The hold-ups were still on, a little twisted from everything we’d done, the lace tops sitting slightly askew on my thighs. The emerald silk panties were somewhere on the floor, abandoned hours ago.

The clock on the night-stand read 2:17. John was deeply asleep, one arm flung above his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach. His breathing was slow and even. The sheet had slipped down to his hips, leaving most of him bare. Even soft, his cock looked heavy against his thigh. I lay there for a long minute just watching him, the residual ache between my legs a pleasant reminder of earlier.

I decided I wasn’t finished with him yet.

Carefully, so as not to wake him too soon, I eased the sheet the rest of the way down. He didn’t stir. I shifted lower on the bed, and settled between his legs. The hold-ups whispered softly as my thighs brushed the mattress. I leaned in and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one of his thighs, then the other, working my way inward. The scent of him, skin, sex, the faint trace of the wine from dinner, made something hungry tighten low in my belly.

I took him in my hand first, just holding the warm weight of him, feeling him begin to thicken even in sleep. Then I lowered my head and licked a long, deliberate stripe from the base to the head. He made a small sound, still not fully awake. I did it again, slower, then closed my lips around the head and sucked gently, letting my tongue swirl over the sensitive ridge.

His breathing changed.

I took more of him, sinking down until the head nudged the back of my throat, then pulled back with a slow, wet glide. My hand wrapped the base, stroking in time with my mouth. The soft, wet sounds of it filled the quiet room. I felt him harden fully against my tongue, the first bead of pre-cum salty and welcome.

John’s hand found my hair, fingers threading through it loosely at first, then tightening as awareness returned.

“Lacy…?” His voice was rough with sleep, thick and disbelieving.

I hummed around him in answer, the vibration making his hips twitch. I pulled off just long enough to look up at him through my lashes, lips already shiny.

“Go back to sleep if you want,” I said, voice low and playful. “I’ll just keep doing this.”

He laughed once, a short, broken sound, and then groaned when I took him back into my mouth. I set a steady rhythm, deep, slow strokes that let him feel every inch of my tongue, my lips, the occasional graze of teeth that made him hiss. One of my hands stayed wrapped around the base, twisting lightly on the upstroke. The other drifted lower, cupping his balls, rolling them gently in my palm.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re actually… Jesus, Lacy.”

I pulled off again, stroking him with my hand while I spoke, my breath warm against the wet head of his cock.

“You fell asleep on me. Rude. I still had plans for this.” I gave him a slow lick, then another. “Besides, I like the way you taste when you’re half-asleep and can’t talk back.”

He huffed a laugh that turned into a moan when I swallowed him down again. His hips started to move in small, involuntary thrusts. I let him, relaxing my throat, taking him deeper. The lace tops of the hold-ups dug into my thighs as I shifted to a better angle, kneeling between his legs, the sheer nylon cool against my own skin. I could feel how wet I still was from earlier, or maybe newly wet from this, from the power of having him like this, waking him with my mouth.

I worked him with deliberate attention, varying the pressure, the depth, the speed. Sometimes I focused just on the head, sucking hard while my tongue flicked the underside. Sometimes I took him all the way, nose pressed to his stomach, holding still until he cursed softly. My free hand slid up his chest, nails dragging lightly, then back down to stroke the sensitive skin behind his balls.

“You’re going to make me cum if you keep that up,” he warned, voice strained.

I pulled off with a wet sound and grinned up at him, still stroking slowly.

“That’s the idea, John. Unless you’d rather I stop and go back to sleep?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

I laughed and took him back into my mouth, faster now, more intent. One of his hands stayed tangled in my hair; the other gripped the sheet. I could feel him getting closer, the way his cock swelled against my tongue, the way his breathing turned ragged, the way his thighs tensed. I doubled down, sucking harder, taking him deeper, humming around him just to feel him twitch.

“Lacy….fuck, I’m….”

I didn’t pull away. I wanted it. I kept him in my mouth as he came, swallowing around him, milking every pulse with my tongue and my hand until he was shuddering and spent and gently pushing at my shoulder because it had become too much. Only then did I ease off, licking him clean with slow, careful strokes, tasting the salt of him, the heat.

I crawled back up his body and kissed him, letting him taste himself on my tongue. He kissed me back hungrily, still half-dazed, hands sliding down my back to cup my ass, then lower, fingers brushing the wetness between my legs.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured against my mouth.

“Your fault again,” I said, smiling. “You make the prettiest sounds when you’re waking up with your cock in my mouth.”

He rolled us carefully so I was on my back, the hold-ups still framing my thighs, and settled between my legs. His fingers slid through my folds, finding me slick and ready.

“My turn,” he said, voice still rough. “And this time I’m not stopping until you beg.”

I arched into his touch, the playful edge still firmly in place.

“Big talk for a man who was snoring ten minutes ago. Prove it.”

He did.

His mouth found me again, slower this time, thorough, like he was reclaiming every inch after I’d woken him so rudely. Two fingers pushed inside me while his tongue worked my clit in tight, perfect circles. I kept one hand in his hair and the other gripping the sheet, hips lifting to meet him. The lace tops of the stockings pressed into my skin every time my thighs tensed. He brought me to the edge once, twice, pulling back each time just enough to make me curse him, then finally let me fall over it with a long, shaking cry that I muffled against my own wrist.

When he climbed back up and pushed inside me I was still pulsing. He fucked me slow and deep at first, then harder when I wrapped my legs around him and told him not to hold back. The nylon of the hold-ups slid against his hips with every thrust. I came again with him buried deep, clenching around him, and he soon after, (but didn’t flood me this time after having emptied the contents of his ball sack into my mouth and down my throat), burying his face against my neck and groaning my name like a prayer and a curse at the same time.

We lay tangled afterward, sweaty and smiling, the sheet kicked to the foot of the bed. John’s fingers traced idle patterns on the lace of one stocking.

“You’re dangerous when you wake up horny,” he said.

“You’re lucky I am,” I answered, turning my head to kiss his shoulder. “Most women would just let you sleep.”

“Most women aren’t you.”

I smiled into the dark and closed my eyes, already feeling the pleasant heaviness of real sleep creeping back in. The hold-ups were still on. The night was still quiet. And somewhere between the first round and this one, I had decided that mornings might need the same treatment.

But that was a problem for later.

For now I simply drifted, John’s heartbeat under my ear again, the taste of him still on my tongue, and the soft, familiar slide of nylon against my skin every time I breathed.

Lacy X

Request from webmaster Art:
Don't forget to vote for this story in the yellow voting box below!
Authors really appreciate the votes and it only takes a few seconds!

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version for easy saving or printing

ESmail: Click here to send a private message to John Day (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)

Authors appreciate feedback! Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!

Profile for John Day, incl. 13 stories Email: Johndayuk@protonmail.com Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email

Give your opinion about this part: (You can vote for each part separately) select here 1 (terrible) 2 .. 3 .. 4 .. 5 (reasonable) 6 .. 7 .. 8 .. 9 .. 10 (excellent)

Send feedback to this author: Your name: Your message to John Day:     (You are not logged in, so you can't send private messages) Public: post this message in the public feedback below