Bras

I hate bras. I hate them about as much as I love panties. Bras are like prisons for breasts, and rather oppressive. Panties on the other hand, seem to be like a gift wrapping around your favourite toy. It’s a special feeling to slowly peel it off.

I picked up Bombay Girl on Friday from a restaurant where she was with her friends. “I am wet”, she said as she got into the car. I reached out to her, caressed her thighs, slid my hand up her skirt to check if she really was wet or just saying things she thought would turn me on. She was dripping wet. Her panties were soaked. I rubbed her clit for a moment or two, and didn’t give into the temptation to slide a finger inside her. She looked at me in anticipation. Taking my hands away from her thighs, I took it up to her lips and she licked her juices off my fingers. Oh how much I love her!

I reached out again, and started sliding her flimsy thongs down even as I was driving, and she helped me take it off. I smelled them, took in the aromas of her wetness like a connoisseur savouring a great wine, and then stuffed it into my shirt’s pocket. “No panties for you!”, I told her as she gleefully grinned.

Ghenghis Khan

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