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Stockings and Whispers

by | bdsm, flash fiction | 0 comments

“Hush hush,” she whispered and patted my head. She brushed my hair back and played with it gently, twirling it between her fingers.

I was on the floor, my head against her knee as she sat on the couch.

“Will you fix my stockings, love?” She whispered. It wasn’t really a question.

Then there were the little silver clips between my fingers and my fingers slipped between the silky stockings and her warm thigh. My fingers lingered there, long enough for her to bat me on the head with her fan.

“Don’t dawdle,” she said with slight annoyance.

Two in the front, two in the back. She stood when I did the back snaps, towering over me. She held up her slip for me and I skated the line of taking my time to enjoy and hurrying for her.

When I was done, she smiled down at me and then stepped in front of me. I sat back against the couch, my legs on the floor in front of me. She turned and pushed her generous ass into my face. She sandwiched my head between the couch cushions and the glorious softness of her bottom and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Oh, kill me, kill me, squash me like a bug. Sit on me, cover me, crush me, flatten me.

Then she was through with me and she got up to finish her tea. I watched from the floor, the whole time, sad she didn’t finish me.

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