nibbles
05-22-2010, 07:19 PM
I like to spend a lot of time planning my appearance before I see him, even if he doesn’t often acknowledge my efforts the occasions when he does are worth the hours spent in front of the mirror. It’s not that I’m vain, just eager to please him, but then again receiving pleasure from his comments is surely a vain attribute. Alas not my only sin and I feel neither regret nor shame.
I donned my purple and black tartan skirt, a child’s size that rested high on my waist and just about covered the tops of the black opaque stockings. The skirt flicks out nicely from my hips and I just love the buttons on the front. The stockings were a size too small so they could be worn without a suspender belt, pinching into my upper thighs after a couple of hours and leaving red circles in my flesh. Below the skirt they look fantastic, pristine and fitting exactly to the curves of my legs, a second skin, I know some people feel more sensitivity through latex and similarly a fabric between a hand and my thigh can enhance the experience of being fondled. My shoes only 2 inch heels, black, round toe with a simple strap and buckle in silver, sensible for today’s purpose. A red fishnet vest is worn under a plain black top, a B cup without it’s underwire that barely allowed me to squeeze my double D breasts inside it, still looks as good as it did when I was 15. I smile to myself as I slip on my long black cardigan and fix my hair in a tight bun. I stare in the mirror and all I see is the green crystal earrings from my father, I secretly hope they fall out and smash as I skip into the store two hours later.
I stand to the side of the doorway and wait for him to notice me. I don’t wait long but he is not the first to glance my way. He leaves work shortly after and we drive to the city centre, listening to music in the car and talking about politics and news. He does the talking mostly, I smile but privately there is so much I want to say, not about politics or news but about him and what I want from him.
He holds my hand as we walk into the shopping centre, we pass by so many dress shops and I find myself daydreaming about wearing them for him and imagine him dressing me. We quickly get to his destination and he spends an hour or so doing some errands, I stand quietly by his side, smiling, happy to be with him and waiting until he is ready to move on. Then he asks me what it is I want to do now. I wish I could tell him what I really want, if I could just be brave enough to ask maybe he would want to, I’ve asked him things in the past and he’s been more than happy to oblige. Maybe I am scared he will not live up to my fantasies but I think mostly I am scared he won’t understand why I have such a desire. I want to ask him to take me dress shopping, to sneak into a dressing room with me and dress me like a little girl would a doll, to stroke my cheek and tell me I’m beautiful or maybe even hold me against the wall his body pressed against mine, his fingers wrapped around my wrists making me feel fragile as if made from china. I’d like him to kiss me without me asking, to nibble at my lip and tell me what he wants from me. I’d like him to tell me to kneel down in front of him in a dress that isn’t mine in a place full of people where we could be discovered at any moment. He would slide his fingers through my hair, messing it out of place from its tidy little bun and take a firm hold of it pulling my face towards him. I’d be looking up at him, understanding exactly what he wants me to do and I’d do it. Maybe he would buy me the dress if I was a good girl.
I donned my purple and black tartan skirt, a child’s size that rested high on my waist and just about covered the tops of the black opaque stockings. The skirt flicks out nicely from my hips and I just love the buttons on the front. The stockings were a size too small so they could be worn without a suspender belt, pinching into my upper thighs after a couple of hours and leaving red circles in my flesh. Below the skirt they look fantastic, pristine and fitting exactly to the curves of my legs, a second skin, I know some people feel more sensitivity through latex and similarly a fabric between a hand and my thigh can enhance the experience of being fondled. My shoes only 2 inch heels, black, round toe with a simple strap and buckle in silver, sensible for today’s purpose. A red fishnet vest is worn under a plain black top, a B cup without it’s underwire that barely allowed me to squeeze my double D breasts inside it, still looks as good as it did when I was 15. I smile to myself as I slip on my long black cardigan and fix my hair in a tight bun. I stare in the mirror and all I see is the green crystal earrings from my father, I secretly hope they fall out and smash as I skip into the store two hours later.
I stand to the side of the doorway and wait for him to notice me. I don’t wait long but he is not the first to glance my way. He leaves work shortly after and we drive to the city centre, listening to music in the car and talking about politics and news. He does the talking mostly, I smile but privately there is so much I want to say, not about politics or news but about him and what I want from him.
He holds my hand as we walk into the shopping centre, we pass by so many dress shops and I find myself daydreaming about wearing them for him and imagine him dressing me. We quickly get to his destination and he spends an hour or so doing some errands, I stand quietly by his side, smiling, happy to be with him and waiting until he is ready to move on. Then he asks me what it is I want to do now. I wish I could tell him what I really want, if I could just be brave enough to ask maybe he would want to, I’ve asked him things in the past and he’s been more than happy to oblige. Maybe I am scared he will not live up to my fantasies but I think mostly I am scared he won’t understand why I have such a desire. I want to ask him to take me dress shopping, to sneak into a dressing room with me and dress me like a little girl would a doll, to stroke my cheek and tell me I’m beautiful or maybe even hold me against the wall his body pressed against mine, his fingers wrapped around my wrists making me feel fragile as if made from china. I’d like him to kiss me without me asking, to nibble at my lip and tell me what he wants from me. I’d like him to tell me to kneel down in front of him in a dress that isn’t mine in a place full of people where we could be discovered at any moment. He would slide his fingers through my hair, messing it out of place from its tidy little bun and take a firm hold of it pulling my face towards him. I’d be looking up at him, understanding exactly what he wants me to do and I’d do it. Maybe he would buy me the dress if I was a good girl.