Thirty more minutes

Those black leggings? The ones you showed me yourself in the other day. I love them. I love how they hug your ass, how they feature your pussy, how they make it impossible for me to look away.

I want to see you in them once more. Your legs, your ass, your pussy.

Start nude for me, wet, just out of the shower. Towel yourself off for me.

Put those leggings on for me, along with panties – bikini or boyshorts, please, not a thong – a t-shirt. No bra.

Play with your nipples and your pussy as you dry yourself off, as you dress for me.

Once you’re dressed, I want you to stretch for me. Push your perfect ass against the fabric as you touch your toes, as you lunge forward and back.

Press the fabric into your cunt by spreading your legs wide, stretching forward over them. I want to see the muscles in your legs, the curvature of your inner thighs. I want to take in everything there is to see.

And I want you to tease yourself, your thighs, your belly, your pussy, your mouth, your neck, with your fingers. The fabric is an impermeable barrier to you. You won’t dip your fingers under it. Anywhere it covers your flesh, you will only touch your flesh through the fabric.

I want to see you from every angle as you do this for me. From behind, from the front. From above, from below.

But I want you to come for me. Over and over, if you can. I want you to come and come, until you can’t any more (or thirty minutes is up, if that’s all you have). Do you think you can make yourself come like this? (Whether you can or can’t, I’ll love watching.)

Will you do this for me, please?

You will?

Thank you.

Good girl.

Tell me when.


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