What a Woman Feels Ch. 02

It turned out to be a wonderful evening. My date was a perfect gentleman, as usual - opening doors for me, pulling out my chair at the restaurant. He even stopped a street vendor on the way out of the concert hall to buy me roses.

I felt a little guilty about the way I had teased and tormented him earlier.

As he pushed in my chair, my dress rode up my thigh, showing the lacy top of my stockings. I squirmed in my seat, knowing the effect this fleeting exhibition would have on my man, and anyone else lucky enough to have caught a glimpse.

I had been deliciously cruel, and for that I deserved to be punished. But if my date was plotting revenge, he sure didn’t’ show it. Throughout the evening, he was loving and tender, rarely taking his eyes off me and never missing a chance to hold, kiss or stroke me. I was his pet for the night, and I was loving the attention.

When his eyes momentarily strayed to our waitress, a sardonic kick under the table brought his blue eyes back to mine. But my gaze had already wandered after the young vixen. Noting the gentle sway of her hips, I understood why my lover had glanced her way.

My eyes followed the long, smooth line of her legs, from the hem of her skirt to the heel of her shoes. I was almost jealous -- she was tall, blonde and built like a ballerina with curves. As she squatted to pick up a spoon, her white blouse opened slightly, revealing the sweetest little chest, and the slit on her conservative skirt gave me only a tormenting hint of thigh. As she sauntered back toward our table, I wondered why on earth I’m not a lesbian.

When she drifted over to us, her skirt teased the side of my table, and I discreetly shifted my hand to the edge, yearning to get closer to this young goddess. When her smooth, cheerleader thigh grazed my fingers, I expected her to jump back in surprise, but she didn’t flinch. In fact, she leaned closer, swallowing my hand with the lip of her skirt.

My cheeks were on fire, and the tiny hairs on my neck stood on end. Seconds earlier, I had wondered what kind of panties this exquisite creature was wearing. Now my hand was just millimeters from her lips. I could feel her warmth within the darkness of her Ralph Lauren skirt. Now I wondered what her lipstick tasted like.

To my wonder, she leaned even closer, helping my smitten mate choose an appetizer, and her cottony mound pressed against my hand. The question about her panties was answered: lace, cotton, low-cut briefs, probably black. My own French, black thong was growing tighter and wetter by the second.

Never had I touched another girl before, and here I was with my hand in her most intimate place. I found myself wondering what she felt like on the inside, whether her cream was as silky and sweet as my own.

My face flushed with guilt as my mind was taken over by thoughts I had never entertained before. I dreamed of lying naked with this beautiful woman in a bed of rose pedals, grazing my breasts over her silky bottom, feeling her pink nipples harden in my mouth then rolling over and letting her golden tresses tickle my abdomen as she French kisses my hungry pussy. I would arch my back, squeezing my perfect tits, my beautiful thighs wrapped tight around her neck, and my silk-stockinged feet stroking the hard, white orbs of her ass.

Then my lover appears, gently sliding into her from behind, pushing her sweet lips harder onto my pussy as his cock presses against her cervix. It’s like he’s making love to me, through this beautiful waitress. My garter and panties torn off and tossed aside, I stroke this young tigress with my silky legs -- my stockings inching slowly down my thighs with each thrust of my lover’s cock and each sweet kiss from our ravaged waitress.

As her pleasure builds, she necks with my pussy with ever greater passion until every muscle in my sleek frame tenses, and I gush into her face, my long legs thrashing desperately around her head and over her back.

My lover takes control, grabbing my ankles, and thrusting violently into the waitress, causing her lips to release my clit as her own orgasm hits.

Only her hair is stroking my nest as she bounces to the rhythm of her orgasm. The sight of her heart-shaped bottom wagging and grinding against my lover is enough to set me off again.

My daydream is broken by the snap of a menu closing, and the waitress drifts away as though nothing had happened.

Later, my lover leads me to our balcony seats in the concert hall, and I settle in for one of my favorites: a Brahms concerto for cello. I nestle against my lover’s shoulder, curling my legs up on my seat, my little black dress barely hiding my garter straps. He reached his strong hand around my waist and settles on my thigh. With his other hand, he lifts my chin till my eyes meet his, and kissing me gently on the lips, whispers “I love you,” just as the orchestra begins to play.

Within minutes, he is lost in the music, while I am lost in lust for the cellist -- a long-legged virtuoso from Rumania. Her fair skin is in striking contrast with her chestnut bob, which teases the fine features of her face as she sways with the music.

Midway into her solo, I begin to wish I could be her cello, cradled between her elegant thighs, groaning in pleasure as she strokes my nipples with her bow.

I day dream about crawling across the stage on my hands and knees and laying my head on her lap. I fantasize about stroking her thighs with my cheeks and burying my head under her skirt.

But she turns on me, trapping my head between her knees. As I struggle to break free, she pulls up my dress and, pushes my garter and panties down with her bow -- the horsehair dragging roughly across my bum.

The cruel cellist invites the entire orchestra to spank me in full view of the audience. Each smack delivers a different flavor of pleasure. Some spank me lightly, some merely stroke my smooth bottom, while others spank me hard until my little tits jiggle braless inside my dress.

The pain and humiliation are overwhelming as I endure the wrath of the strings, the woodwinds, horns, and finally, the percussionists. I wiggle my ass, trying to dodge the blows, but my garter belt is tight around my thighs, framing my bottom for the onslaught of hands.

As the pain and pleasure build, I fear I’ll scream. But the conductor raises his hand, ending my torment. Humiliated, I am allowed to stand up, straighten my clothes and walk back to my seat. The knees of my stockings are dirty, and I notice a small run at the back of my right calf, next to the seam.

I am shaken out of my dream as the orchestra explodes in a crashing crescendo, and my lover rises for a standing ovation.

The ride home is quiet. The meal had been perfect and the music divine. I had forgotten all about the punishment I so dearly deserved.

The car pulls into the driveway and my lover jumps out of the driver’s side, walks around the front of the car, and opens my door, offering his arm to help me out.

He’s treated to a full, luxurious view of my stockings as I lift one foot out of the car with the grace of a ballerina, the hem of my dress sliding up my thigh as I lift my knee.

As soon as we enter the house, he spins me around, reaching around my waist and pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss. Backing me against the wall, he reaches his hand up my dress and grabs my delicate thong, easily ripping it off and throwing it to the floor, exposing my wet, trembling lips.

Before I have time to think, he drives his angry cock deep inside me, his first thrust lifting me onto my toes. By the second or third thrust, I am already cumming, and he shows no sign of letting up.

His passion frightens me a little, but I marvel at my own power, turning this gentle man into a raging animal of lust.

Gripping his back with my legs, I hold on like a cowgirl riding a crazed, tormented bull. Fucking me hard against the wall, he runs his hand up my thigh and tears my stocking from its straps. I try to wiggle free but only manage to topple my raging lover, knocking a statue off its plaster pedestal as we tumble onto the stairs, tearing a run in the thigh of my stocking.

I break free and try to scramble up the stairs on my hands and knees, but he easily catches me around the waist, impaling me again from behind.

I kick and buck frantically until I break free and scramble up the stairs, his hands grasping desperately at my slippery stockings. He persists until he hooks two fingers into the top of one of my stockings while my free foot kicks violently at his shoulder, pushing him down the stairs. I would have tumbled with him, but the stocking he’s holding slides from my leg, setting me free.

He catches me again at the top of the stairs and drags me into the bedroom, throwing me roughly onto the bed.

With my own stocking, he quickly binds my wrists in front of me and forces me onto my stomach, my legs still furiously thrashing at his face and chest.

My struggle ends when the first smack hits. I stop fighting and offer my pretty little ass, letting him tug off my garter belt, taking my other stocking with it.

As I nestle into the sheets, waiting for my spanking, I turn my head to see how gorgeous my ass looks in the mirror. I raise it higher, wagging it seductively back and forth, inviting my lover to ravage me.

It is a beautiful sight, and I wish for a moment that I were the man, preparing to plunder this sweet, silky creature.

My clit pulses with each spanking, and I purr into my pillow, savoring each painful smack. Each time his rough hand strikes me, I glance in the mirror to see my tight flesh bounce. With each smack, my dress slides further down my back, revealing my slim waist and eventually the bottoms of my breasts.

“Spank me harder,” I purr, reviewing all the dirty thoughts I’d enjoyed during the evening. “Spank, your little bitch. She’s been naughty and cruel and she needs to be punished. Spank your dirty, teasing whore!”

“My ass is yours,” I purr as I watch him reach for my stocking, lying beside my head. He drags my black, silk sheath slowly across my bottom and guides the opening over the tip of his throbbing cock.

I gulp as he pushes slowly into the silk, my garter belt still dangling from the lip. When his knob finally reaches the toe, I gasp.

“That’s pure silk,” I chastise, but I am in no position to protest. He gives my bum another smack and presses his head between my lips.

The stocking gives an entirely different sensation without the condom over it. I worry that it will hurt, but it glides easily in and out of my pussy, tickling me deep inside in a way I never could have imagined.

After a few gentle thrusts, I am ready to explode, but my lover suddenly pulls out, teasing my clit and lips with his silky cock. He takes one more plunge deep into my tunnel and withdraws entirely, rubbing my now soaked stocking against the cheeks of my ass and across my tiny hole.

“No...please!” I whimper, realizing what he plans to do. I have never had even a finger in my ass before, and now I shudder to think how that rigid pole will feel inside me. I squirm and try to break free, but my wrists are bound, and his hands grip my narrow hips.

I bury my face in my pillow and scream in pain as his silk-coated knob pushes slowly into my sweet, tight ass.

“Bastard!” I squeal as his entire cock tears into me and I realize my best silk stockings will be soiled and ruined.

I mash my breasts against the sheets, rubbing them back and forth in painful ecstasy, watching my cute behind being violated in the mirror.

Just as my orgasm begins to quake, I feel my stocking tear inside me and my lover’s cock lunging deeper, spurting hot cum into my naughty ass. He collapses on top of me, and I roll onto my side, my womb still pulsing in orgasm and tears of pain streaming down my cheek.

I survey the scene in the mirror -- my favorite little black dress now a rumpled mess, my best stocking torn and hanging from my plundered ass and my lover, exhausted and spent, his tool still pulsing between my cheeks.

And I still looked good enough to eat.