The Art of Loving Softly (Part 2)

Posted in: Couples | Fetish | Romance

Cherry and Jonny sat talking before their starters arrived. “You OK, love ..?” he asked.

“Oh, yea …!” she smiled back. “… and, Jonny, I’m wearing some gorgeous new undies this evening – a new petticoat ….” This was new territory in their increasingly close relationship.

“I know!” came Jonny’s brisk response. “You look sensational! I loved the way your dress moved when you came in – and the pretty lace peeking out.” She was amazed at his enthusiasm and so, so excited.

“Oh, darling …! I’m thrilled you like my new petti. … and … and under it, I’m wearing a really silky and flared nylon slip, and lacy nylon French knickers … and it all feels so lovely and silky and erotic …!”  She was amazed at herself, and even more so when she gently reached out and, under the table, found his bulging penis, pushing at his trousers. “Oh, I do love you, darling …!” She kissed him.

It was a couple of hours later, hand-in-hand, well-dined, that she took him, for the very first time, into the bedroom of her flat. Approaching the comfy chair, she picked up the two sensationally pretty full slips which lay there, the lighting causing the lace and the silky nylon to glint and she noticed his keen interest. Now she invited him to sit down. For the third time that evening, she astounded herself by undoing her dress and allowing it to slip to the floor. He’d been initially distracted by her lovely sheer lacy white nightgown, which he’d noticed draped over her bed, but instantly, he focussed on this lovely woman – and on her lacy camisole and wonderful girly petticoats. She was truly all he had ever wanted and, this evening, he intended to ask her …

… although now, he was aware that she was asking him, almost murmuring, ‘Jonny, darling, how about you get comfortable …?’ and she had already loosened his belt before he had time to think. He slowly, tentatively removed his trousers and shorts, drawing her immediate attention to the effect her beautiful femininity had had on him. She (quite provocatively) removed his jacket and shirt, pulling him slightly forward in the chair and settling herself, finally straddling him. As they kissed deeply, he and his penis began to realise how much they loved the sensation her petticoats and slip were making on his senses. Cherry was so, so gently making pelvic movements which heightened the wonderful silky feeling. He looked into her eyes and said, ‘Do you know the effect all your sexy silky petticoats … and panties are having on me …?  … and all the lovely intimate clothing …’

‘I hope so!’ she smiled. He had already glanced at a nearby drawer where very silky panties seemed to be half put away. ‘You must look stunning in those!’

‘What about these?’ she asked, demounting him, pulling up her petticoat layers and showing him not only her French knickers, but also garters and stocking tops. ‘You’re very sexy …!’ he breathed as she walked to the drawer, pushing the panties inside and closing it. ‘I do love to feel pretty and girly …’ she said, realising how true that had increasingly become, since the Dance, and since Macey’s advice. ‘You’re beautiful and you’re very feminine – your lovely body, and your perfume, and the amazingly pretty things you wear – and I’m feeling very, very turned on ….  But despite my name, I didn’t bring a Jonny,’ Jonny stumbled.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, so kindly, ‘we’ll see  …,’ and she slipped into her dressing room, coming back minus her camisole, but having put on the peignoir which matched the nightie – two floaty, silky layers of great fullness and dripping with lace. She took his hand and guided him to her bed, to lie on his back. Carefully arranging her slip, petticoats and negligee (he saw that the knickers were gone), she ensured for both him and herself the maximum sensation to be had from the all that silky, silky nylon and pretty, pretty lace, as she skilfully dry-humped him with ever-increasing participation from him. His attention to her distended nipples was just all she could have wanted.

After a while, he began to insert his fingers in her pussy, which gushed richly with pre-cum. He growing cries and moans would not last much longer: all of a sudden, she twitched, went rigid and relaxed, not once, but eight or nine times. In the middle of all this, on the edge of climax, he was about to say, ‘Will you marry me …?’ when he was aware she’d just done the very same thing and he said, ‘Yes!’ and then abandoned himself to discharging, with groan after groan, spurt after spurt of semen into the lace and nylon of Cherry’s peignoir, petticoat and slip. Afterwards, he thought how he would have happily spilled his seed over all the lovely things this angel had so carefully used to love and seduce him.

The sensation of this non-penetrative ecstasy was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Fumbled intercourse in his teens had been nothing like this, and the only partially-accurate comparison he could make was with those very, very long sessions of pleasure-denial masturbation in his bed as an undergrad, when the final and totally irresistible orgasm would be massive and much like what had happened now!

Quite soon, she – so carefully – rolled away, saying, ‘Don’t want any accidents! Then it’s sleep. I fly to Berlin at 10 am! Lots to plan when I get back, sexy!’

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