Mr. Smith decided to press his luck. Earlier in the evening, he had read in her thoughts that she had left her clothes in the bathroom after her shower that morning. She was hoping he would not need to use the restroom that night, embarrassed that he might see her underwear.
“I need to use the restroom. Which way?” Mr. Smith asked, feigning embarrassment. He could feel black spears of fear piercing her thoughts.
“Down the hall, first door on the right”
Ms. Fields dirty clothes were indeed in a crumpled heap behind the door. Mr. Smith searched the heap and put together her outfit. The outside was as conservative as he had expected—khakis pants, sweater, and collared shirt. But her underwear was a revelation. He had been expecting “granny panties,” but to his surprise Ms. Fields had been wearing dark black bikini bottoms. Her bra wasn’t the plain, white, and sensible, but a racy, lacy black. And as detached as Mr. Smith tried to be, he had never handled a woman’s underclothes before. It turned him on mightily.
Mr. Smith decided to send Ms. Fields a message. She would either appreciate it, or he would never work for her again. Mr. Smith pulled out his hard cock and started masturbating. He looked at that lacy black bra and imagined how her tits would fill it up. Her tiny perky tits, cream white tits. Nipples probably were ripe raspberries floating in that cream. He pulled her panties up to his nose and breathed deep. That was her pussy smell. Strong, pungent, but intoxicating. He could almost taste it . . . could almost feel her thin milky thighs against his temples, squeezing as he drove her closer and closer to climax. He could almost feel her trimmed red muff tickling his nose. He rubbed her panties all over his cock. He imagined her pussy, wet and ready, sliding over it. He imagined thrusting in and out, powerful thrusts. He imagined her response, the total submission in her green eyes. When he was ready to cum, Mr. Smith would drag her to her knees by her long red hair and blast her tiny titties. Back in reality Mr. Smith came . . . a lot. He poured a generous shot of jizz in each cup of Ms. Fields bra, and then used her panties to wipe his cock clean. Then he threw her defiled underwear back behind the door and returned to the living room.
Ms. Fields face was flushed, almost as if his fantasy had been reality.
“Thank you for dinner, but I had better be getting home.”
“OK. I’ll see you again next week?”
“Sure.” |