My hands touched lace and as I looked up I could see a slight flush on his cheeks.“Are you wearing what I hope you’re wearing?” I asked softly, ...ingering the light material of the panties he was wearing.“Yes,” he whispered back embarrassed and I quickly pressed myself against him before he could move. My fingers caressing the lace and satin of the delicate underwear he was wearing, and massaging his hip with my palm.“That is so fucking hot,” I stated softly, my body pressed against his and I. I lie on my back, calm and sure in the warmth, and slide my hands down my skin. There's a certain inevitability in the movement, despite the fact that I'm convinced I could stop.Fingertips slide gently over the cloth at first, proud of the bulge, and the subtle leak from its tip. There's a sensitivity that's almost feminine at this point, where every touch produces a mental gasp, despite the almost complete lack of movement. The very tip of one finger, the very tip of one cock.I tease myself. More

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