I pulled down my jeans and thong over my ample arse and bent into my draw of frilly, lacy silky things. I had built quite a collection over the past few months, giving into my desire for all things pretty, little and sexy. hmmm I wondered. I saw the red suspender belt ribbon laying delicately over the laced fabrics...mmmm....now where was the black..I felt like black, he always likes me in black, or red, but I felt like black, and to this point he had not taken the lead on deciding what I should wear.
I found one of my silky thongs also and slipped it on pulling it up just a little too much so it tugged on my clit and rim giving me a feeling of pleasure when I took a step. That's what I loved about suspenders and stockings too. Once the suspender ribbon was clipped to it's stocking edge tightened and taut, with every step it pulled across my arse in the most delightful way. I often can't resist snapping the ribbon against my arse and thigh as I walk, to feel its pleasure and let everyone around me hear that sound, the little sharp snap against my skin.
I sat and pulled the gentle fabric of the stockings over my leg to my thigh, attaching the suspender ribbons to them front and back. My thoughts drifted to days gone by, how lucky women were to wear stockings everyday, no pantyhose then! Even today I make sure I wear them when ever I can, but the opportunity to wear skirts comes along less often than in days gone by also. Sometime I wish I had been a woman of the fifties, if only for all the suspenders and paraphernalia that restricted the female body, hoisted it, and bound it in the most delightful ways, thrusting it up and out, sculpting and curving it inwards, rounding it out...mmmmmm heaven.
I slipped my feet into my patent red pumps and like Dorothy following the yellow brick road, I hoped to find the wizard tonight who would take me home. He was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. He liked to cook, he like to feed me and he liked to have me relishing his creations while we sipped wine from the region nearby.
I found just the skirt, full and light. I loved the feeling of that material caressing my arse. My breasts, encased in their black lace cage, pushed up and out just the way he liked. Happily, I liked this too and often ran my hands over my tits feeling the nipples hardening with my growing need. I selected a top that plunged down into that cleavage and exposed those two mounds of flesh, ripe and full. As I dressed the heat grew between my thighs, the tingling began and I was growing more needy.
I walked with all those pleasures pulling on me, to the kitchen. I waited at the door until he noticed me. He look me up and down, from tip to toe and turned back to his creation. I came up behind him at the stove and turning my back to him rubbed my arse against his. He knew I wanted his attention, needed his attention, how could he not! and he would give it to me when he felt like it, when he was ready of course. I felt him turn to face me, I bent forward, he loved me bent over. I pulled my skirt up slightly showing him what I had prepared for him. his hand slid over my arse, rubbing its roundness, smoothing it out, caressing it. SNAP! he pulled on my suspender ribbon....mmm he knew that would drive me into wetness. SLAP! His hand came down hard on my aching arse, propelling me forward just a little. Mmmm, my nipples were hardening. Then ... Crack...CRACK!!! My arse stung with two quick hard cracks from the wooden spoon he had picked up from the cold stone bench. The surprise and the pain made me squeal, my eyes watered and my breath drew sharply into my lungs. The resonating sting on my arse was delicious...'It's nearly ready, go and wash your hands' he commanded and turned back to the stove...