Fetish - lingerie, pantyhose, stockings

Adrienne was a beautiful girl.

All the men wanted her, and all the women wanted to be her. She came to eye level on most men even without heels, and she liked to flick her long, dark hair carefully out of her lustful green eyes when she was feeling particularly naughty. She licked her full, pouty lips and ran a manicured hand over her hips, pulling her riding skirt down enough to cover the silky span of thigh that was exposed beneath the material. Adrienne was the epitome of beauty, and yet she wouldn’t let anyone close enough to her to even touch her. She preferred her lonely existence; she found things to be better that way. Adrienne always thought it was better to live her life without a man in it. No one to tie her down, or a person she’d have to make happy aside from herself.
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The following are 15 50 word stories, each written to fit one of Literotica’s many categories. The title of the stories is not included in the word count. Many thanks to Oggbashan for letting me pinch his format!

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First Time

It was a drunken sleepover; all girls. ‘Truth or Dare’ turned into ‘Spin the Bottle’ and that turned into ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven.’ She and I played on after the others were asleep and Seven Minutes in Heaven became seventy sweet-tasting minutes of exploration with fingers fucking and tongues entwined.
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Looking back I guess I was very sexually reserved as a young person. But by 18 I was beginning to feel more relaxed about have sexual desires and fantasies.

I didn’t start masturbating until I was 19 but it soon became a very regular thing. I would often think about touching myself during the day and I thought I was terribly sexually liberated because I knew I was going to act on it that night.

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It’s your birthday.

You’ve always wanted to be tied up.

Tonight, my wife, you get what you want. And perhaps more than you bargained for.

You pull in. It’s been a hard day for you, but you’ve been looking forward to it since this morning. You were fresh out of the shower when I wrapped my arms around you from behind and pushed my erection between your butt cheeks. You moaned, enjoying it, wanting to stay home where my office is. I kissed you on the neck, my whiskers tickling you and making you giggle. I got to marvel at the shaking of your healthy breasts. When my hands found them, you swatted them away and told me you had to get to work. When I continued to rub my erect penis against you, you pushed back, part desire and part impatience, and told me you had to hurry. I relented, wishing you a happy birthday and promising fun for later. I’ve been planning this for weeks.
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I took a slow drive on A1A Oceanside, early one morning in August Nineteen Eighty Three, the dark morning streets yawned at the dim light over the ocean. Streetlights flickered out and neon signs faded as the first hints of morning smiled on the water. The midnight blue waters sparkled as pastels kissed the sky with sunrise.

Traffic lights snarled: go, slow, stop, go ignoring the splendor, as I slowly drove on, glancing across the water. Then suddenly time became an illusion, motion ceased and I saw her in the coral pink water framed in aquamarine. First, all I saw a silhouette tasting a lavender sky, then she moved and I saw more. Waves licked her denim cutoffs and the white top glowed on freckled skin. Sunlight whispered around her auburn hair as it flowed over her shoulders. Then her body strangely became the surf and as I watched, her hands ran through her hair and then descended to her breasts.
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She shifted in her seat inside the car, refusing to look at him as this time his hand wreaked pure havoc on her thigh beneath her skirt. But she gave in to the pleasure now. Both of her feet, bare now that her sandals were lost under her seat, were propped on the dashboard as his fingers delved far inside her. Her head rolled from side to side as she keened with pleasure. She murmured his name time and again and was cresting on the edge of her climax. Her torso jerked forward within the confines of her seatbelt when he, perverse to the last, removed his hand from the apex of her thighs.
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Funny how it seems we all (or, women at least) want to look different to the way we do. We get an idea about what the perfect body type is, and invariably it’s something that we think we’re not. I mean, I used to really worry about it myself. I’m a medium height, browned-eyed brunette, with straight, shoulder length hair, and what I guess you might call an ‘athletic’ physique – which is to say I’m slender with very small breasts. I’m 29 now, and still the same 32A that I was as a teenager. These days I’m totally comfortable with myself exactly the way I am. But while I’ve always thought I had a pretty face, I did used to worry about being so flat-chested. It wasn’t just whether men would find me attractive (actually I’d also begun to notice an early tendency within myself to worry about whether certain women might find me attractive too!), but like so many teenagers I’d got this anxiety that breast size was directly proportional to one’s chances for success and happiness. I’ve come to realize that it actually doesn’t matter at all. Experience has shown me that there are a lot of men (and women too, as it turns out) who are very attracted to my body type and wouldn’t want it to be any other way. In fact, I’m convinced that whatever type of body you have there will always be plenty of people who are attracted to it – it seems to me that nature has a way of balancing these things out.
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He sat in the room, her nervousness evinced in the shaking of his legs and the twiddling of his thumbs. He checked the time on his watch and then glanced at the phone. It had been thirty-six minutes since he’d made the call. The agency had promised to send someone over in thirty minutes. That had been thirty-seven minutes ago. Seven minutes late. Maybe they’d changed their mind about sending someone. Maybe they decided that he was a crackpot or something, due to his request.

The knock on the door sent a spurt of adrenalin into his chest and he gasped. Maybe…
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(Note to readers: this story continues the Thakur/ Binita series. All stories are self contained and can be read on their own. That is the reason I prefer not to serially number them. Those who wish to read the previous episode just to enjoy the sequence, should look up “The Women Celebrate Holi”).

*

He was waiting her. He was Pritam’s cousin and he had been chasing his bhabhi to smear color on her and throw water at her. He had successfully cornered her, when Binita cried off, insisting that she be allowed to go change into casual clothes more appropriate for the occasion.
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A Little Bit of Lace Goes A Long Way

My name is Bill (not real name) and I want to relate some of the highest moments in my life. I am a slip lover and have been for the last forty years. I guess it comes from seeing my first slips as a kid. I would sneak through any bedroom dressers that I could. Never got caught but by the time I was twelve I had quite a collection. I started dating in high school and my first date was a doll. I had watched her for a least a year before I got the nerve to ask her out.
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