Purple Lace

Date night and we’re headed out to one of our favorite pubs. We eat and have a couple of drinks, casually talking and watching the people around us. There’s a game on the TVs over the bar and a crowd is cheering for the home team.

I unbutton the third button on my blouse, leaning forward just a bit so you can see the merest glimpse of purple lace. Knowing full well that I have you distracted, I start asking random questions, changing the subject midway through a sentence and generally try to get you flustered.

Being hidden in a booth, I unbutton another one, keeping it closed enough that no one but you can see anything. You take a drink and look down and back up at my face. Your expression wavers between apprehension and anticipation.

I order another drink and sit back, still flipping conversations and questions to keep you off balance. By now, you have resigned yourself to the fact that I am just going to tease you all night and decide to play along. You keep an eye on my cleavage while trying to keep up with my verbal games.

Finishing up, I slowly button up one and then the next. You are paying the bill when I get up to go to the restroom. I bend over directly in front of you to grab my purse, making sure you get an eyeful of my ass and wiggle it just a bit.

On the way home, we sing to the radio and chat. I know that in your head you are still seeing that purple lace and my butt. We park the car, head inside and you check your watch. “It’s 8–bathtime,” you say.

I slowly shake my head and kick off my boots one at a time. Next to come off was the blouse, again one button at a time. The jeans get unbuttoned slowly and discarded on the floor. I watch you watching me as I reveal all of the purple lace.

“What’s that saying? Something about ‘If her panties match her bra when you take her clothes off, it wasn’t you who decided to have sex.'” I smirk as I head towards the bedroom.

February Photofest

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