![]() ![]() Then I feel her hand in my pocket, the pressure so near my hips sending me on high alert. She snuggles up to me again, and I’m still thinking about the thighs, butt, and other goodies under her skirt as I reach for a fork. I’m still relishing the thought when she comes back, just as the waiter drops off the brownie we’re to share. The image of her backside is tattooed firmly in my brain, and I’m happily helpless prey in this trap she’s laying. Now that she’s gone, you’d think I’d be calming down. Like magnets, my eyes attach to the swaying of her skirt as she walks away. With that, she slips out of the booth, and I get to see the slightest hint of cheek as she stands up. The waiter orders our dessert, and as he leaves, she whispers in my ear, sending chills down my spine. My hands almost immediately creep to her thighs, savoring the short skirt, but she moves my hand away every time I get a little too explorative.ĭespite the battle of wills going on under the table, we eat dinner and have a great conversation. We’re shown our booth and she scoots up next to me, intoxicating me with her warmth. I’m imagining that thong under her skirt as I follow her inside, my eyes glued to her booty the whole time. ![]() Like a left hook to a glass jaw, the sight leaves me reeling. I catch a brief glimpse of blue lace that I immediately recognize as a skimpy little thong that I adore. Once we arrive at the restaurant, I open the car door for her -’cause I’m a gentleman and that’s how I roll - and she climbs out, deliberately flashing me in the process. As I drive, I can’t help but notice her skirt slipping higher, a little mind game she’s playing with me despite her acting innocently oblivious ![]() We say goodbye to the kids and the babysitter and climb into the car. I hesitate just long enough to wipe the drool from my chin - the only acceptable hesitation when answering this question, by the way - and stutter out something that resembles “gorgeous”. In answer, she steps out of the bathroom with a twirl, her short skirt flowing out (and up) to reveal a tremendous amount of thigh. I waste entirely too much time focusing on time. My wife doesn’t take that long, and we’ve got plenty of time, but I’m ever vigilant about time. “You ready, hon?” I ask rather impatiently, and rather unreasonably. ![]()
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