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Kickerless Pixie

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My instructions were clear. Before de-training, I had to remove my knickers. I would have to text “knickerless Pixie” to her, and she would inspect me.

The idea had been arousing when we talked on the mobile, but now I was actually about to do it, it felt risky. Of course that was what made it arousing. However, between the idea and its execution fell the shadow of fear.

The train had been crowded in London, but most of the commuters had poured out at the first stop, and by this, final stage, the carriage was mostly empty. But that was not the same as totally empty. Unfortunately the woman sitting opposite me had not taken advantage of the empty seats to move, and I feared giving offence if I did. But if I was to be knickerless, I had to go now.

I was wearing, as instructed, a short skirt, stockings and suspender-belt, which allowed easy access to my knickers. I went to the loo, careful to lock the door. Looking in the mirror I saw I was indeed, as I had thought, blushing. I redid my lipstick and touched up my mascara, brushing my hair carefully. I had not seen her for days – forever it seemed.

Pulling my knickers down, I squatted and peed, carefully wiping myself with tissue. Then, instead of pulling them up and adjusting them, I took my knickers off and placed them in my handbag. I smoothed my skirt down and, after washing and drying my hands, stepped out.

It felt strange, exposed, erotic. The air felt cool around my bared arse, and I could feel my newly-dried pussy getting wet. As I walked back to my seat, I bartın escort was conscious of my nakedness, and took care when sitting; but I was aware that my knickerless state would be easily revealed if I made the wrong move. I texted: “knickerless Pixie.”

As the train began to slow down, I rose. Fuck I thought! My bag was in the overhead locker. A nice man had put it there earlier when the train was crowded. At four foot ten there was no way I could reach up there. He’d promised to get it down, but hadn’t.

The woman opposite ignored me.

If I tried to reach up I would reveal my knickerless state. Even trying to raise my arms would do that. What to do? I felt a sense of panic as the train slowed even more.

Then came relief. A tall gentleman, walking to the front of the train saw my plight:

“Would you care for some help, little lady?”

Would I? I would ever! Ignoring the patronising tone, I told him I’d be ever so grateful if he’d get my bag down. I thanked him. Of course that meant we had to make small-talk as the train pulled into the terminus.

Fuck I thought, I have to get my knickers out to hand them to her.

As he opened the door, I swiftly took my knickers, which were damp, from my bag to my coat pocket. He smiled as he said goodbye.

I could feel the cool might air around my nether regions. She was there – smiling.

“Hand ’em over!” I did.

“Wet, slut!” She grinned, sniffing them before putting them in her coat pocket.

“For you, always,” bartın escort bayan I grinned back.

“Car, now!”

As we got to the car, she opened the door, standing there watching as I exposed myself for her.

“Are you a slut, Pixie?” She was now grinning broadly.

“Yes, for you, always.” I knew the form, and it made me so gooey between my legs.

I shifted uneasily as we drove back home. Whenever it was safe, her hands would explore up my skirt, and I shifted uneasily every time her fingers brushed my pussy.

“Tonight, Pixieslut,” she said, using the diminutive which she often used when I was in this mood, “as you are a slut, I think we call what I am touching your cunt, don’t you?” And as she said it, she touched between my lips, making me moan.

“Yes, Miss,” I responded, breathily, “sluts have cunts.”

“And who owns your cunt, Pixieslut?” She said, emphasising the word she knew I hated, but which, when I was in this mood, turned me squishy.

“You own my cunt, Miss.”

“And who owns your orgasms, slut?”

“You do Miss,” I moaned as her finger probed my wetness.

“And what do you have to do if you need an orgasm, slut?”

By now I was not far from that place. Days without her, denied an orgasm by our agreement, I was being driven to distraction by the activities of her finger.

“I have to beg, Mistress.”

“Beg, how, Pixieslut?”

“I have to ask for cummies, Miss.”

In the dark no one can see you blush, but she knew how this was escort bartın effecting me; the state of my cunt told her everything she needed to know. Suddenly she removed her finger, but left my skirt at the top of my thighs, exposing my stocking tops.

“LIck!” She commanded, putting her wet finger under my nose.

I could smell my arousal, and tasting myself as I sucked her finger was almost more than I could bear. But bear it I did, there would be a long night ahead. The car began to slow. She pulled to a halt in the courtyard and got out. As the car light came on I could see myself exposed.

She opened my door and smiled as I got out, showing everything to her.

As we got through the door she pushed me against the wall.

“Fuck, I was going to wait, but want you NOW!”

I knew what she wanted, and sank to my knees, lifting her skirt and pulling her knickers down. They were sticky; she was as wet as I was. Parting her thighs I got between them and applied my tongue to her nectar. Lapping upwards, I licked on her clit, flicking it up as two fingers found her entrance and, parting her lips, I plunged them in, touching the side of her walls in the way she loved.

She gripped my head, pressing me into her needy pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck you slut, oh!”

I worked my fingers faster, deeper, harder, nibbling her clit. Her pussy was making the lewd noises we both loved and which presaged pleasure to come. I felt her tense as my small fingers drove in and pulled out. She gripped my head tight as she pushed herself onto me, cumming hard, her juices creaming my face. Her pussy gripped my fingers. She shook with the after-shocks, as I slowly removed my fingers. Looked up.

“Welcome home, darling” she said, “am I glad to see you. There,” she giggled, “no need for knickers for either of us really.”

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