1. Unintentional


    Date: 5/18/2016, Categories: Flash Erotica, Author: Saucymh, Rating: 24, Source: LushStories

    It was never my intention for this to happen. I didn’t think we’d become so close. I wanted attention, frivolous flirtation, but we’ve ventured beyond superficial flippancy, haven’t we? When did that happen? When did we cross the line between a trifling fling and the deepest desire? When did I begin thinking of you, constantly, wondering when your next message would arrive, what photo you’d send, how your words would excite me? At what point did my replies mutate from polite chit-chat to graphic descriptions of sexual exploits I have every intention of someday performing? I need to please you. I know that much. Smiling, I stroke the boots on the bed beside me. Still bearing their labels they’re my latest purchase, bought after hours of searching on internet sites I didn’t know existed before I met you. They’re beautiful, perfect, exactly what you like. Inky black and so shiny I can see my own sultry smile reflected back at me from their glossy surface. Picking them up, I examine them; shaped top, long zip, stiletto heel. The heels are tall and elegant yet surprisingly sturdy. They could take some abuse, they’re ideal for outdoor use, but I’ll never wear them in public. These boots were purchased for one purpose only: to pleasure you. Ripping off the tags, I slip them on, my feet becoming encased in the cold leather. The boots are stiff and the fit a little too snug. The heels rub, but looks are more important than comfort. I zip them up, careful not to snag my bare flesh, ...
    then stand unsteady, in front of my full length mirror. I feel awkward, ungainly. Heels this high are not something I’m used to. The website, where I found them, featured footage of a model gliding along a runway in these boots. She strutted with ease, never faltering. I can barely stay upright. No matter. Practicality is unimportant, it’s effect I want and these boots are stunning. The person reflected in the mirror is not a woman I recognise. She stares at me, mouth agape, her slender body rocking gently from side to side, pushing out one curvaceous hip, then the other. She looks svelte, elegant, the height of her heels pulling up her thighs and contracting her bum muscles. Her shapely legs appear long and slender, her stomach and derriere toned. The vixen before me is wrapped from neck to crotch in intricately patterned black nylon, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. Glossy sheaves of raven hair cascade over her shoulders and a smile stretches the corners of her perfectly painted lips. Eyelids flutter, the heavy layers of mascara emphasising the coquettish movement. I’m stunned. I had no idea I could look like this. Confidence growing, my body language changes. Lowering my shoulders, I push out my tits, loving the sensation of meshed nylon rubbing against my sensitive nipples. They harden and I watch, fascinated, as the pink buttons protrude through their veil of black, tantalising the eye. And my face, I look alluring. You’ve never seen my face, have you? ...
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