Lingerie Lover

Every now and then my girlfriend goes beyond the call and proves she really loves me. Let me describe to you what she did for me not so long ago.

Basically, she knows I am a fiend for underwear, that I have a fetish for lingerie. Normally she dresses in pretty smart underclothes just to keep me happy. But the other day when I got back from work I discovered her not in the living room or kitchen, preparing the dinner or watching tv as per her usual routine, but up in the bedroom, sprawled out invitingly on the bed. She was lying atop the bedclothes whose surface was completely covered in all of her sexiest underwear!

Knickers and bras, teddies and chemises, slips, garters and bustiers of every colour and description were strewn about in an erotic festival of sensuous fabric. Bikini-briefs, tangas, panties and boyshorts, thongs, hiphuggers, v-strings, t-strings and cheekies littered the bedspread. There were low-rise, crotchless and no-shows. There was cotton, spandex and mesh. Lace and silk, crinkles and kinks, everywhere an orgy of the most delicate and tactile materials. Brassieres bedecked the bedclothes: balconettes, push-ups, plunges, strapless, t-shirts and triangles, peek-a-boos and bandeaus. There were baby dolls and merrywidows, cami sets and chemises, a veritable carnival of frills, ruffles, ribbons, and pleats. Every colour and pattern was represented. Soft floral cottons, electric satin hues, love-hearts, polker-dots, pinstripes and pastel shades. There were shiny silk creams against the deepest satin, blood red and midnight black, sugar pink and baby blue.

Atop the lot she lay like an Olympian goddess, butt naked, but for the edges of her soft milky figure, which was sporadically overlapped by the plethora of finery upon which her weight was buoyed, plunging slightly beneath the luxurious assortment.

And on her pretty face, below the dark sultry eyes with their long lashes, and the deep main of her brown wavy hair, she wore the sweetest of smiles. Her hands were stretched outwards from her body, legs together, with one foot on top of the other and knees ever-so-slightly bent to one side, and her two rosy pink nipples sat up bright and perky on the generous mounds of her bosom, like two single ripe raspberries on dollops of rich whipped cream.

Like cream, her skin was pale and smooth, deliciously soft to the touch, but beneath it her flesh was firm and supple, and her curves swept in and out magnificently from her bountiful chest, tapering wildly at the waste, to bend out again round her full hips and ripe buttocks. She looked like a dream.

Upon my arrival she smiled at me and rose demurely; first bringing her legs round sideways together and propping herself up on one arm briefly, before dropping them to the floor and standing to take my jacket.

She moved behind me and slipped the garment from my shoulders, beckoning me to perch on the bed while she hung it in the wardrobe. Next she approached me directly, but instead of touching as I thought we would, she leant past me to reach from the bed a set of underwear. She chose a cotton number with floral-design, seemingly at random, with demi-cut bra and thick lace trim, and matching low-rise boy-shorts.

As she donned these she gazed at me coquettishly, her large green eyes boring into mine, as first she slipped her hands behind her back to fasten her brassiere, then slid each arm in turn under the wide-band lace shoulder straps, jiggling her boobs a little to secure a comfortable fit and stooping to give me close up of her ample cleavage. When her bra was adjusted she bent a little and, stepping neatly one foot after the other, pulled the panties up over her derriere with another provocative wiggle. Then she smiled at me again, a cheeky, adolescent grin, and spun and pulled a pose as if showing me a new outfit. I applauded appreciatively with a quiet clap.

Next she moved in front of me and slowly began removing my shirt, unfastening each button deliberately, and leaning into me as she swept it back from my shoulders; I caught the whiff of her delicious perfume.

After hanging that, too, in the cupboard, turning away from me as she did so in order that I could appreciate the way the arch of her back sloped upwards daintily beneath her dangling hair, and the snug grasp the soft cotton panties made of her pert round bottom, she then manoeuvred herself betwixt my parted legs and knelt down between them. First she took off my shoes and socks, carefully placing them side-by-side under the bed, and then, still kneeling in front of me, ran her splayed fingers, one hand up each leg, to my belt buckle. This she undid, following it with button and zipper, before sliding my trousers slowly back down my legs and standing to fold them neatly away in the cupboard. By now my penis was positively bursting to be free of my boxer shorts, but they somehow held it fast.

Then, in one swift and powerful motion, she tipped me backwards on the bed by the legs, rummaging me into her lingerie and pouncing on top of me with the sudden strike of a predator.

Astraddle my waste, she tickled me with various bits of ruffle and frill, toying a pair of silk panties over my face or running a chocolate-lace garter belt enticingly up my chest and down my legs. Slowly, she worked her body backwards down the length of mine, letting her cotton-covered bosom brush the bare skin of my chest as she did so, and removing my boxers on her descent. Before my erection had time to fully spring into gear, however, she had swiftly removed her own underwear and was working them up over my legs. Before I knew what was what, she had me fully encompassed in her tight little knickers (which I perceived now to be wet already from her pleasure), squeezing my penis and balls deliciously and tickling my inner thighs with their elasticated lace trim.

My cock strained hard against the restrictive fabric, but in the confines of the material could accomplish nothing but a pulsating semi.

Laughing lightly at my predicament, she removed herself from the bed and took off her bra absent-mindedly. Gazing down at the medley of lingerie upon which I was sprawled, she slowly began rummaging through it for an outfit. As she did so she paid my subtle writhing and groaning no heed whatever, but merely nibbled a finger provocatively and pretended I was nowhere around, tossing the odd frilly knickers or ruffle-fronted camisole nonchalantly over me as she rooted about.

When she had found something to her liking, she proceeded to treat me to the most spectacular fashion show. Again and again she donned and removed outfit after outfit, dancing round the room a bit in each and eyeing herself in the mirror, running her fingers up and down her naked flesh in tantalising strokes. She bowed and preened coquettishly in front of the wardrobe mirror, first in a fly-away baby doll of deep purple fine-weave gauze, cut beneath the breasts by a glittering diamond-silver band, and matched below the waste by a delicate silver mesh panty in the Brazilian style.

Then it was on to a baby pink cami set, the ruffled back of the panties delectably accentuating the curve of her backside, which she herself spent a long time stroking and admiring. The camisole hung luxuriously off her ample lady-humps, providing provocative glimpses of her cute belly as she danced around the room like a teenager.

Next it was the full bustier and stockings look, blood red and jet black, and adorned with the manifold lace and frill trim of the Parisian boudoir. Beneath the kinky-crinkle elastic of the black satin garters a tiny g-string cut a delicate floral slice down the pale moon cleft of her derriere, exquisitely framed as it was by the stocking-tops, garters and the hem of the bustier.

The penultimate outfit she wore for me was a chocolate-coloured lace crotchless panty and peek-a-boo bra set, with tiny pink and green ribbons looping delicately in and out of the lace trim by way of adornment. With this, she sat on the cushioned stool of her dressing table for a while, closing her eyes and spreading her legs a little, and letting her fingers wonder down to her pussy to frolic there.

I watched in intent silence as she gave herself up to her own ministrations; one hand gently tweaking and rolling her nipples where they protruded through the slits in the brassiere, and the other massaging her pussy lips and clitoris. Every now and then she would dip the whole of her middle finger deep inside herself, but the restraint she showed in resisting this too often was admirable; she was clearly enjoying herself.

Finally, as if suddenly remembering I was there, she pulled her fingers reluctantly away from herself and grinned at me cheekily. As her stare donned a deeper, sultry focus, she sucked the finger she had been stroking herself with seductively and made her way back towards the bed.

When she was right beside me, and still fixing me with that smouldering, enveloping stare, she slowly unclasped the brassiere and let it slip down her body to her feet. Biting her lip naughtily, she then did the same with the panties, wriggling her bottom evocatively to free herself, and causing her bosom to jiggle minutely from side to side, before stepping daintily out of the lacy mocha crumple at her feet.

Leaning over my prostrate body, and again letting her now hard-swollen nipples sweep and tickle across my chest, she reached beyond me and pulled on a silky pair of satin, side-tie briefs. They were cream with delicate lace trim and partial overlay, and the ties were wide flouncy ribbons of the same ivory tone.

Twirling once for me, she then crawled on the bed and laid down beside me. Over my legs she draped one of her own, and propping her head up with one hand, lying flat on the elbow, with the other she gently stroked her fingers up and down the centre of my chest; repetitively from plenum to naval in long, gentle caresses. Each time she moved a tiny fraction lower towards my pelvis and aching penis, but each time, just as her delightful, manicured fingernail reached the top of the panties I was wearing, she flicked it round again to begin its tantalising wonder up the other way.

As you can imagine, by this point I was fit to bursting, but the knickers she had me in held me firmly, still moist from her juices, restraining my member to its semi-flaccid state.

This said, the sensation it produced was anything but partial, and the whole of my genitals seemed to throb and pulse with excitement, forever promising to explode in the most vigorous fount of spunk, but miraculously managing to contain themselves in spite of it all.

And neither had she not taken note of my condition, for all of a sudden she laid her head down beside mine (I could feel the heavy weight of her breasts on my arm) and cupped a strong little hand securely over my crotch, somehow managing to encompass both cock and balls in her finger's spider-like embrace, and began kneading and squeezing me gently. She kept up a slow but steady rhythm, never mauling too hard, but firm enough that I could feel the soft sensitive skin of my bell-end squash up against the moist velvet crinkle of my ball sack, and my testicles expand and contract in reciprocal reaction to both her pulses and the tidal pressure of juices from within.

As she fondled me she began whispering hotly in my ear, goading me.

'You like wearing my panties, don't you?' She giggled, the faintest hint of ridicule mingling with the bespoke pandering courtesy of a thousand-dollar whore. 'You like to think you're such a man, but when the truth comes out you love dressing up in frilly lingerie and having a lady make you cum in your panties.'

My penis was positively spasming now, with her hand maintaining the same steady rhythm as before, and me bucking against it in frustration, desperate for her to pick up the pace and relieve me of the beautiful torment. But she carried on whispering sensuously in my ear,

'In fact I bet you'd like nothing more than for me to fuck you from behind with a strap-on, order you to get down on all fours, while I spank your little bottom and shove my hard fake cock up your arse.'

With that I erupted into her knickers, the force of the ejaculation spurting the semen out over my ball sack and up the cleft or my backside. Her fingers kept hold of my tightly, and continued their monotonous, hypnotic pumping, as the hot jets of spunk kept coming and coming, coating my genitals in warm sticky jism and soaking the panties clean through. I let out a moan and lolled my head back, closing my eyes to the sensation, as the last shudders of orgasm squeezed out of me.

She released me and brought her hand trailing slowly up my body, sliding her sticky fingers persuasively into my mouth.

'Suck on those,' She commanded strictly, 'Suck the spunk from my fingers you dirty little bitch; cumming in my panties you filthy little slut. Just look at you...'

Even as she admonished me her voice was turning tender and her tone took on a friendly giggle. Then she kissed me hungrily on the mouth, shoving her tongue into mine and bringing her hand back down to my penis and cupping it again lovingly in her palm, squeezing gently.