It was your e-mail that reminded me. The one about the scary pants.
Skin tight black vinyl, with a zipper that goes all the way around front to back. I scared you the first time I wore them - the conservative Catholic boy from the suburbs had no idea what to make of a woman in pants like that. In the end you just went home.
I sit at my desk in my office reading your e-mail and smile, remembering.
It was the second time I wore them that I got the reaction I was looking for. After the music, after the drinks, after the bar closed and our friends had all gone home, you walked me to my door and said goodbye - kissed me goodbye actually, with your hands on my waist and your index finger tracing up and down the zipper along the back of my pants. Kissed me goodbye, but you didn't leave.
I hit reply, but I don't type anything. The memory is interfering with my ability to write coherent sentences.
I'd never gotten up three flights of stairs wearing 5 inch heels so fast in all my life. We'd barely shut the door before you had me pinned against it. Both our shirts came off immediately, but your hands were still below my waist, pressing into my thighs as you gripped at the vinyl and kissed me urgently.
I'll never be able to concentrate like this. I get up and quietly shut the door to my office. I sit back down and reach for the drawer with my purse inside.
I pushed you backward into my bedroom working on the fly of your jeans on the way. At the foot of my bed, you ran your hand along my zippered crotch. "You are so fucking sexy in these pants," you said as you started slowly pulling down the zipper.
There is a tiny, pink bullet vibrator in my purse. It is also very quiet. I reach for it, twist it on, sink down in my chair. My hand and the bullet slide up under my skirt.
Halfway around, you couldn't reach the zipper pull from the front anymore, and you turned me around and bent me over with my hands braced on the edge of the bed while you finished undoing the zipper all the way. Behind me I heard your pants drop to the floor and a wave of heat washed over me. I needed you inside me right that very second. I whispered your name. "Please..."
I am already soaking wet. The bullet slides in tiny circles around my clit. I slide two fingers easily inside my dripping cunt, remembering that moment of anticipation, the incredibly sexy sound of your pants sliding down your legs right before you rammed your cock into me.
I felt your hands on my ass, pulling the two sides of the pants far enough apart to keep from getting chaffed on the zipper. Your cock slid easily into my soaking wet pussy and you fucked me in a steady rhythm while I rocked back against you. The cinnamon skin of your hands was beautiful against the pale white of my tits and I jumped a bit when you pinched my nipples unexpectedly.
I press the bullet harder against my clit, fuck myself faster with my fingers. My breath comes in ragged little gasps. I am sitting behind my desk, but anyone walking by the window into the hall could see my face and know exactly what I was up to.
You fucked me harder then, your hands now gripping my hips tightly and pulling me back onto you hard enough for me to struggle to keep my footing. You reached one hand forward to rub my clit but you barely touched it before I was gone, my pussy pulsing around your cock and soaking us both with my come.
I'm going to come. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, but I'm still not able to suppress the whimper that escapes my lips as my pussy clenches rhythmically around my fingers. I open my eyes and look toward the window. No one there. I twist the vibrator off and put it away. I lick the come off my fingers while I pause to catch my breath.
That was it. You shoved me forward hard so that I fell face down on the bed and then you fell on top of me, pushing your cock back inside me and fucking me hard while gripping at anything you could reach -my tits, my shoulders, my face. You came hard, holding me still by the shoulders and moaning against my ear, until we both lay still, spent and panting while you ran your fingers up and down one shiny leg of my pants.
I look at my screen, the cursor blinking at me still waiting for my reply. "Drinks Friday, right?" your e-mail read. "Are you going to wear the scary pants?" Definitely.
