by Smutwriter
Copyright July 2010
Theyād bought them, one for each other, as little anniversary presents. Not really much of an anniversary, one month, but what a month it had been.
In his apartment he held his out at armās length, stretched between forefinger tips. He grinned; there was nothing of it.
Two floors down she hung hers from a finger and gazed in surprise at its smallness.
His was small too and a vivid electric blue and he pictured her in hers.
Hers was an iridescent green, the colour of a mallardās head and she pictured him in his.
Naked, he stepped carefully, awkwardly into his and worked it up his thighs. Just working his genitals into the pouch was erotic and his cock began to stir.
Naked, she stepped into hers. It was smaller by far than any pair of panties sheād ever owned.
With the narrow strap worked between his buttocks he was amazed at how erotic they were. He pictured her with hers pulled up tight and invading her. His cock was, by now, all but fully erect and the fabric could barely contain him. He closed his eyes, imagining, imagining her.
The sense of invasion, of trespass between the cheeks of her ass was exquisite. She took a few steps just to see how it felt. It felt like a probing, poking, stroking something. It felt unutterably sexy. She felt unutterably sexy, and horny. Arousal surged through her.
The fabric was oddly cool. It stretched, tightly moulding his balls into a firm package. His rigid erection strained upwards, seeking escape from under the elastic waistband. He looked good in the mirror, very good he thought. A nearly black spot formed as he leaked precum.
She moved to the dressing table and picked up a dark red lipstick and began colouring her nipples and their surrounds. Sheād never done it before and it seemed deliciously wicked. It felt deliciously sexy too as her nipples were pulled this way and that. They erected alarmingly. The pussy mound in the mirror showed every contour of her through the glossy skin of the thong. Stray, escaping, copper curls glistened. Heād begged her not to shave or even trim her bush.
He pictured her puffy-lipped pussy outlined by the tight-stretched fabric. He wondered if she felt as violated by the strap between her legs as he did. He reached behind and pulled his tighter, wishing he could tease her and pull hers into her. The need to free his cock, to stroke it was all but overwhelming.
Her pussy yearned for her fingers and she yearned to finger it. She must be getting wet. She pulled up on the waistband and peered into the mirror. Yes, there was a wet patch, dark, almost black, betraying her arousal. Her nipples, dark red now and huge told the same story. Big and ugly she thought; big and beautiful he always told her, when he suckled at them. Her vagina clenched and she tightened her thighs in reflex.
He crossed the room and reached for the phone.
Her phone rang.
āYour place or mine?ā
āIāll come to you.ā
āIāll come before you get here if Iām not careful,ā he thought.
She put on a little, black, flared skirt and white cotton blouse and padded, barefoot, to the door. She started along the corridor. The tightness of the thong between her legs and her aroused state made walking a new experience. She had to stop twice just to get control of herself.
He waited for her. He tried to imagine how sheād look in hers. What would she think of him in his? The telltale stain at the head of his cock was bigger.
Two flights of twelve, she managed the first six steps non-stop but then she had to pause. God, how did people wear these things all day? Heād bought medium when perhaps large would have been better. She reached under the skirt. The silly scrap of cloth was working deep into her slit, cutting her wickedly in half. She spread the fabric again to cover her pussy. How wet she was.
Above her he waited, running fingers over his tight clad balls and the hard ridge that was his leaking cock. He wished sheād hurry.
She worked her way slowly upward, one cautious step at a time. Her sensitive, little, puckered anus was being abused by the strip of nylon stretched tight across it. It didnāt hurt, not quite; it just added to the sum of sweet tortures between her legs.
āHurry, hurry sweet girl!ā He peeled the edge of the thong down exposing his cockhead. Precum glistened in the little slit. With a cautious finger tip he spread it round and round making his whole groin tense as he teased himself. He was daring himself to come, daring his body to let go. Praying it wouldnāt. āHurry!ā
Just a few yards away she clung onto the stair rail, trying to save the orgasm for him. So this was a thong, what cunning cruelty. Sheād never wear another; sheād never wear anything else.
He moved to the door and put his eye to the peephole.
She pushed reached the top step andĀ began to move towards his door knowing heād be watching.
There she was, moving awkwardly, almost painfully, towards his door.
She gasped as the fabric slipped a little deeper into her. She relished each tormenting stride. āIām coming honey,ā she said aloud, āIām coming.ā