Silk Secrets in the Dark

It was Saturday night, and my husband, Brian, a prominent real estate attorney, had dragged me to a cocktail party hosted by one of his clients. The event was a celebration of a recently closed, highly profitable property deal. As I pulled my black silk sheath over my head, resigned to an evening of tedious conversation and forced smiles, I glanced in the mirror over the sink. The black silk glided over my body, clinging to my curves – a generous build, from my breasts down to my hips and butt, with a skirt barely grazing mid-thigh. Slipping into my two-inch black heels, I felt a perverse sense of liberation, dressing for my own pleasure rather than for the occasion.

Brian, already semi-erect, arrived behind me, his hand immediately claiming my hips, pulling me back against him. A silent acknowledgment of our shared obligation hung in the air. As his right hand descended, tracing a slow, sensual path down my stomach towards the dip between my thighs, my left hand instinctively found purchase on his shoulders, leaning into his embrace. His left hand moved down, sliding between my legs, and as the tip of his fingers brushed against my slit, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the anticipation.

“No panties yet,” he whispered against my ear, his breath warm against my skin, “and so wet.” His right hand continued its slow, deliberate descent, pressing against my butt, while his left hand lingered tantalizingly close, creating an undeniable heat. I bit my lower lip, feeling the tingling sensation spread throughout my body. It wasn't the polite, restrained behavior expected at a real estate attorney's party, but the sheer pleasure was worth it.

As he continued his exploration, his fingers danced across my skin, a deliberate tease before the inevitable. Each touch sent shivers down my spine, a delicious anticipation building with every passing moment. His voice, low and husky, continued to whisper against my ear, fueling the fire within me. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly, sending another wave of pleasure through my body.

He paused, lifting his hand slightly, allowing me a brief respite before resuming his slow, deliberate exploration. The anticipation built with each lingering touch, each stolen glance. Suddenly, he shifted, his hand repositioning itself, and he began to stroke my pussy gently, just enough pressure to awaken the feeling, while simultaneously pressing his cock against my body. As his fingers moved up and down my lips, his thumb pressed lightly against my clit, already hardening with anticipation. He flattened his hand slightly, his cufflink pressing into my skin just above my pussy, but I barely registered the discomfort. The sensation was too intense, too pleasurable, to notice the minor irritation. The rhythmic movements of his fingers sent shivers down my spine, building to a fever pitch of excitement.

“Come, baby,” he urged, his voice a low rumble against my ear, “come for me.” As his fingers pushed deeper, creating a crescendo of pleasure, I arched and moaned, begging him to continue. He responded to my pleas, increasing the pressure, drawing me closer, lost in the moment. His hand, holding my dress up, wrapped itself around my waist, pressing me firmly against him, amplifying the sensation. His fingers continued their rapid, circling motions, driving me closer to the brink. Just as I felt the first tendrils of orgasm begin to surface, he abruptly ceased all movement, leaving me gasping for air. I moaned, desperate for more, begging him to resume his assault.

Slowly, he flexed his wrist, resuming his exploration with renewed vigor. As he kissed my neck, he slid his middle finger inside my pussy and withdrew it slowly, four times, each insertion and removal adding to the mounting anticipation. On the fifth insertion, he pushed two fingers inside me. “Rub your clit,” he commanded, his voice a low growl, “touch yourself while I fuck you.” Following his instructions, I slid my hand down between my legs, feeling the heat intensify. As Brian stroked my pussy, focusing all his attention on my pleasure, I pressed my fingers to my clit and rubbed frantically, lost in the sensation. His fingers moved in faster circles, digging deeper into my tunnel, pushing me closer to the edge. I moaned and writhed against him, completely surrendering to the pleasure, lost in the moment. His cock was hard against me, but still tucked safely in his pants, adding to the delicious tension. “Come, baby,” he whispered again, his breath hot against my ear, “come for me.” As his fingers rammed inside me, I broke. My orgasm ripped through me, a tidal wave of sensation, sending juices spurting from me, drenching his hand. His fingers slowed and then finally withdrew completely, leaving me trembling and breathless.

Leaning back against him, I sighed, savoring the lingering pleasure. Brian whispered in my ear, “You better finish getting dressed. We don’t want to be late. And wear panties. Lace panties.” As he walked away, I felt a pang of loneliness, a sudden realization of the isolation of this experience. Leaning forward, I braced my hands on the vanity counter, my pussy still tingling, the memory of his touch sending shivers down my spine. My legs felt weak, my head even weaker. When I was finally able to move, I went to my dresser and pulled out a pair of white lace panties. Slipping my legs into them, I pulled them snug against my mound, knowing instantly they were destined to be wet for the rest of the night. The silky fabric felt both delicate and tantalizing, promising further pleasure.

As I finished dressing, I realized my body had never stopped humming from my orgasm. The memory of Brian’s hands, his touch, his scent, lingered in my mind. I thought about Brian standing behind me, rubbing his penis against me, and I felt myself shiver all over again. This wasn’t the kind of experience you could simply forget. The heat of the moment, the intensity of the pleasure, the complete surrender – it had left an indelible mark on my soul. I didn’t want this party. I wanted to stay home and fuck my husband until neither of us could walk again. Sighing at the inevitability of my situation, I grabbed my little black purse and headed out to Brian. He was standing behind the door, holding my coat in his hands. As he helped me into it, I felt his hands slide ever so slightly against the sides of my breasts, a subtle reminder of the pleasure I had just experienced. “I want you so much right now,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, “I want to bury my cock in you until you can’t help but scream.” His whisper sent more shivers through my already sensitive body. Blindly, I followed him to the car and let him help me in. I don't even remember the trip to the party.

Holding a glass of wine in one hand and clinging to Brian’s arm with the other, I let him lead me from group to group, engaging in polite, meaningless conversation. I didn’t hear anything that was said. My mind kept flashing back to Brian’s fingers on my clit, digging inside me, leaving an imprint that would never fade. When I shivered, Brian asked if I was cold. I shook my head, taking a large sip of my wine. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “I’ll be buried inside you soon.” He was teasing me, whispering softly in my ear so only I could hear him. I felt my body blush from head to toe. He whispered again, “This time I’ll have my cock pressed to the hilt inside you while I rub your clit with my fingers. You’ll like that, baby. You’ll like me fucking you.”

Near sexual hysteria, I sipped more wine. My body was on fire, a raging inferno of pleasure and desire. I felt my juices leaking down my legs, leaving wet stains in my stockings. The heat intensified with every passing moment, blurring my senses, stripping me of all inhibitions. After an hour, Brian took my hand and guided me down a hallway, away from the suffocating atmosphere of the cocktail party. He looked over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and then opened a door and pushed me through. It was dark and I couldn’t see where we were going. It didn’t matter. In the next minute, Brian was on his knees in front of me, my dress pushed up around my waist. Before I could protest, Brian’s tongue lashed out at my white lace-covered pussy, parting my lips and licking me slowly. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, I flexed my fingers, digging my nails into his suit jacket. Brian’s tongue was pushing my panties against me, rubbing my already sensitive sex. His fingers moved in faster circles, diving deeper and deeper into my tunnel. I moaned, writhing against him, completely lost in the sensation. His cock was hard against me but still tucked safely in his pants, adding to the delicious tension. “Come, baby,” he whispered, his voice a low growl, “come for me.” As his fingers rammed inside me, I broke. My orgasm ripped through me, a tidal wave of pleasure that left me gasping for air. I came so hard, juices spurting from me, drenching his hand. His fingers slowed and then finally withdrew completely, leaving me trembling and breathless.

Leaning back against him, I sighed, savoring the lingering pleasure. Brian whispered in my ear, “You better finish getting dressed. We don’t want to be late. And wear panties. Lace panties.” As he walked away, I felt a pang of loneliness, a sudden realization of the isolation of this experience. Leaning forward, I braced my hands on the vanity counter, my pussy still tingling, the memory of his touch lingering in my mind. My legs felt weak, my head even weaker. When I was finally able to move, I went to my dresser and pulled out a pair of white lace panties. Slipping my legs into them, I pulled them snug against my mound, knowing instantly they were destined to be wet for the rest of the night. The silky fabric felt both delicate and tantalizing, promising further pleasure.

As I finished dressing, I realized my body had never stopped humming from my orgasm. The memory of Brian’s hands, his touch, his scent, lingered in my mind. I thought about Brian standing behind me, rubbing his penis against me, and I felt myself shiver all over again. I didn’t want this party. I wanted to stay home and fuck my husband until neither of us could walk again. Sighing at the inevitability of my situation, I grabbed my little black purse and headed out to Brian. He was standing behind the door, holding my coat in his hands. As he helped me into it, I felt his hands slide ever so slightly against the sides of my breasts, a subtle reminder of the pleasure I had just experienced. “I want you so much right now,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, “I want to bury my cock in you until you can’t help but scream.” His whisper sent more shivers through my already sensitive body. Blindly, I followed him to the car and let him help me in. I don’t even remember the trip to the party.

Holding a glass of wine in one hand and clinging to Brian’s arm with the other, I let him lead me from group to group, engaging in polite, meaningless conversation. I didn’t hear anything that was said. My mind kept flashing back to Brian’s fingers on my clit, digging inside me, leaving an imprint that would never fade. When I shivered, Brian asked if I was cold. I shook my head, taking a large sip of my wine. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “I’ll be buried inside you soon.” He was teasing me, whispering softly in my ear so only I could hear him. I felt my body blush from head to toe. He whispered again, “This time I’ll have my cock pressed to the hilt inside you while I rub your clit with my fingers. You’ll like that, baby. You’ll like me fucking you.”

Near sexual hysteria, I sipped more wine. My body was on fire, a raging inferno of pleasure and desire. I felt my juices leaking down my legs, leaving wet stains in my stockings. The heat intensified with every passing moment, blurring my senses, stripping me of all inhibitions. After an hour, Brian took my hand and guided me down a hallway, away from the suffocating atmosphere of the cocktail party. He looked over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and then opened a door and pushed me through. It was dark and I couldn’t see where we were going. It didn’t matter. In the next minute, Brian was on his knees in front of me, my dress pushed up around my waist. Before I could protest, Brian’s tongue lashed out at my white lace-covered pussy, parting my lips and licking me slowly. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, I flexed my fingers, digging my nails into his suit jacket. Brian’s tongue was pushing my panties against me, rubbing my already sensitive sex. His fingers moved in faster circles, diving deeper and deeper into my tunnel. I moaned, writhing against him, completely lost in the sensation. His cock was hard against me but still tucked safely in his pants, adding to the delicious tension. “Come, baby,” he whispered, his voice a low growl, “come for me.” As his fingers rammed inside me, I broke. My orgasm ripped through me, a tidal wave of pleasure that left me gasping for air. I came so hard, juices spurting from me, drenching his hand. His fingers slowed and then finally withdrew completely, leaving me trembling and breathless.

Leaning back against him, I sighed, savoring the lingering pleasure. Brian whispered in my ear, “You better finish getting dressed. We don’t want to be late. And wear panties. Lace panties.” As he walked away, I felt a pang of loneliness, a sudden realization of the isolation of this experience. Leaning forward, I braced my hands on the vanity counter, my pussy still tingling, the memory of his touch lingering in my mind. My legs felt weak, my head even weaker. When I was finally able to move, I went to my dresser and pulled out a pair of white lace panties. Slipping my legs into them, I pulled them snug against my mound, knowing instantly they were destined to be wet for the rest of the night. The silky fabric felt both delicate and tantalizing, promising further pleasure.

As I finished dressing, I realized my body had never stopped humming from my orgasm. The memory of Brian’s hands, his touch, his scent, lingered in my mind. I thought about Brian standing behind me, rubbing his penis against me, and I felt myself shiver all over again. I didn’t want this party. I wanted to stay home and fuck my husband until neither of us could walk again. Sighing at the inevitability of my situation, I grabbed my little black purse and headed out to Brian. He was standing behind the door, holding my coat in his hands. As he helped me into it, I felt his hands slide ever so slightly against the sides of my breasts, a subtle reminder of the pleasure I had just experienced. “I want you so much right now,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, “I want to bury my cock in you until you can’t help but scream.” His whisper sent more shivers through my already sensitive body. Blindly, I followed him to the car and let him help me in. I don’t even remember the trip to the party.

Holding a glass of wine in one hand and clinging to Brian’s arm with the other, I let him lead me from group to group, engaging in polite, meaningless conversation. I didn’t hear anything that was said. My mind kept flashing back to Brian’s fingers on my clit, digging inside me, leaving an imprint that would never fade. When I shivered, Brian asked if I was cold. I shook my head, taking a large sip of my wine. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “I’ll be buried inside you soon.” He was teasing me, whispering softly in my ear so only I could hear him. I felt my body blush from head to toe. He whispered again, “This time I’ll have my cock pressed to the hilt inside you while I rub your clit with my fingers. You’ll like that, baby. You’ll like me fucking you.”

Near sexual hysteria, I sipped more wine. My body was on fire, a raging inferno of pleasure and desire. I felt my juices leaking down my legs, leaving wet stains in my stockings. The heat intensified with every passing moment, blurring my senses, stripping me of all inhibitions. After an hour, Brian took my hand and guided me down a hallway, away from the suffocating atmosphere of the cocktail party. He looked over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and then opened a door and pushed me through. It was dark and I couldn’t see where we were going. It didn’t matter. In the next minute, Brian was on his knees in front of me, my dress pushed up around my waist. Before I could protest, Brian’s tongue lashed out at my white lace-covered pussy, parting my lips and licking me slowly. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, I flexed my fingers, digging my nails into his suit jacket. Brian’s tongue was pushing my panties against me, rubbing my already sensitive sex. His fingers moved in faster circles, diving deeper and deeper into my tunnel. I moaned, writhing against him, completely lost in the sensation. His cock was hard against me but still tucked safely in his pants, adding to the delicious tension. “Come, baby,” he whispered, his voice a low growl, “come for me.” As his fingers rammed inside me, I broke. My orgasm ripped through me, a tidal wave of pleasure that left me gasping for air. I came so hard, juices spurting from me, drenching his hand. His fingers slowed and then finally withdrew completely, leaving me trembling and breathless.

Leaning back against him, I sighed, savoring the lingering pleasure. Brian whispered in my ear, “You better finish getting dressed. We don’t want to be late. And wear panties. Lace panties.” As he walked away, I felt a pang of loneliness, a sudden realization of the isolation of this experience. Leaning forward, I braced my hands on the vanity counter, my pussy still tingling, the memory of his touch lingering in my mind. My legs felt weak, my head even weaker. When I was finally able to move, I went to my dresser and pulled out a pair of white lace panties. Slipping my legs into them, I pulled them snug against my mound, knowing instantly they were destined to be wet for the rest of the night. The silky fabric felt both delicate and tantalizing, promising further pleasure.

As I finished dressing

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Silk Secrets in the Dark

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