Author: Marcus van Heller ("as good as..." mebbe not)
About: John and Connie had a thing for each other. For anyone else, come to think... and at any time, any place, in any combination. It was only natural that they should meet with Clem and June, who lived such relatively quiet lives... until they changed partners, that is.
Then the leather and the rubber and whatnot were brought out into the open, and each of them found, at last, what they really wanted from life and lust...
Her calf muscles swelled with the effort of trying to keep them on
the ground, and a tendon in the soft upper part of her foot jumped with
the strain. Light from the lamp placed on the floor at her feet
heightened the metallic sheen of her black stockings, and a few stray
hairs trapped in the fine nylon mesh shone brightly in the glow. The
black satin skirt she was wearing began to ride up. Stretching as her
knees moved further apart, the material tightening into taut horizontal
folds across her thighs.
Not wanting to spoil the moment by talking, he slid himself forward
until he was between her legs, ignoring the cold marble on his naked
“Is that right?” she asked again, smiling down at him. “You look
funny lying down there—aren't you cold?” She bit her lip and shivered
slightly. “This skirt's so tight and I'm beginning to feel sexy.”
Relaxed now, he watched the skirt slowly-rise above him knowing he
wouldn't have to answer, content to let her ramble on.
“Yes, I can feel it growing in me,” she said excitedly, “I feel I
want to press against something.”
Her breasts obscured her face, and her voice seemed to float almost
lazily down to him on the floor. There was an edge to it, the familiar
excited tone becoming more noticeable, as she became more aroused.
“I can't get them any further apart than that, the skirt's too
tight.” He heard her catch her breath sharply. “I must press against
There was a slight furry sound as she lowered her hand and pressed it
firmly against her lower belly. The fingers dipped, lightly cupping the
broad mount of Venus that pushed out the satin skirt.
“That's the trouble with having one as large as mine,” she said
slowly. “You always want to press... press against something.”
Her fingers spread, the middle one searching.
“Don't do that!” His voice sounded harsh and be bad to consciously
soften it. “Not yet, anyway. In a minute you can, but not yet.”
Her fingers straightened reluctantly, and she relaxed and lowered her
arms to her side.
“It's so big,” she said, looking down at it. “It always wants
something pressing against it.”
She began pulling the skirt up, inch by inch, her thoughts running
away with her as she became more aroused.
“That girl last year in the changing huts at the baths, she put her
hand on it and pressed. I nearly came with surprise when I felt her
hand there. Her eyes had a sort of glazed look in them and she kept
saying, 'it's too big' over and over again. Mind you, my costume did
rather show it up.”
She looked down at him, “Can you see my suspenders yet, John?”
It was above her well-rounded knees now, almost level with the first
patterned ring of the stocking top. Sliding himself forward a little
more until he was directly beneath her, he could see her thighs large
above him, see the white flesh above her stockings and the indistinct
outline of her briefs.