Never Say Never Read online

  “Show me,” I whispered, offering him the slippery bit of satin. My voice cracked, my nerves finally catching up with his. This was uncharted territory for me, but my desire seemed to have me acting on autopilot. Chad reached out, taking my hand in his as we held the garment between us. His fingers brushed against my palm through the delicate fabric, that gentle touch sending shivers down my spine. We kept our hands locked together for a moment, with the panties crushed between our fingers. Looking deep into his eyes, I knew that everything was going to be okay. This kink of his was a minor detour in our journey together, but it was an enticing adventure that I wanted to take with him.

  Chad pulled away, taking the panties from me and beginning to strip. His days of college football were long behind him, but he still had the body of an athlete. I admired every bit of masculine flesh as it was revealed, seeing his muscles grow taut as he reached up to pull his T-shirt over his head. His hair was now mussed, but he didn’t make a move to fix it. Instead, he picked up the pace and shucked off his jeans and briefs. His cock was already semirigid, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to stroke him. I was already aching for him, but I wanted the picture in my head to become reality. I wanted to see him wearing those panties, and I wanted to stroke his cock through that shiny satin.

  Once Chad was naked, he held the panties in front of him, ready to step into the delicate underwear. However, he waited a beat, as if giving me a moment to back out, but that wasn’t going to happen. I felt like I was seeing my husband for the very first time, with his lust finally laid as bare as his flesh.

  “Do it,” I whispered, surprised by how husky my voice sounded.

  Chad bit his lip and then took a deep breath that he released as he slipped first one leg and then the other into the panties. As he slowly pulled them upward, I moved closer, my hands joining his at the waistband. He released his grip, smiling shyly as I raised the panties up over his thighs. I had to smile, too, when I needed to pull the satin out and up in order to cover his erect cock, which was now as hard as I’d ever seen it. Slipping my fingers just underneath the waistband, I smoothed out the wide strip of elasticized lace, running my thumbs along the outside as a guide.

  Despite the very unladylike bulge in the front, the panties fit him like a dream. Not too big and not too small. Chad didn’t know what I expected of him, so he simply stood still and quiet as I absorbed my first vision of him in his precious panties. He was a sight to behold, with his stubble-covered chin and disheveled hair, and broad shoulders that tapered to a trim waist. My eyes traveled down his flat stomach, lingering at his well-defined muscles before settling on the sleek satin that spanned his hips and barely covered the evidence of his arousal. It was fascinating to me that a simple piece of fabric could carry so much weight and worry—and inspire so much passion and lust.

  I let my fingers play at his lacy waistband, while I walked around his body. Caressing him as I moved, I felt his abs quiver under my fingertips, which I continued to slide around his waist before running them over the taut cheeks of his ass.

  Without a word, I slipped my arms around him, embracing him from behind. The back panel of his panties felt slippery as I ground my body against his, letting my hands roam over his pecs. I kept the fingers of one hand splayed across his chest, stroking the smattering of hair there, as I moved the other hand downward. As I gently brushed his erection, Chad uttered a soft moan and its sexy vibrations resonated within my own body, making my nipples peak and my pussy moisten. I let my fingers play over his bulge, sightlessly savoring the contrast of his steely erection swathed in such feminine fabric. The satin hugged every ridge in his shaft, and although I had touched, kissed and licked his cock countless times, this familiar terrain suddenly felt exciting and new.

  Chad turned in the circle of my arms. I was still completely dressed, but he quickly took care of that. Losing his shyness, he reverted to the take-charge guy I was used to, and within a matter of minutes, the only thing between us was that magical scrap of blue. Leaning down, my husband held my head in place by weaving his fingers through my long, dark hair so he could kiss me deeply. I closed my eyes, surrendering to him as I shamelessly rubbed my body against his. I loved the feeling of the satin against my bare flesh, and I loved even more that every one of my movements made the panties stroke Chad’s erection and caused him to groan against my lips.

  When we finally broke apart, Chad’s face was flushed and he was gazing at me with eyes half-lidded with lust. I backed him toward the bed, not even bothering to clear away the unfolded laundry that was still piled there. With stray thongs and mismatched socks surrounding him, Chad settled back and I knelt between his spread thighs.

  Chad looked down at me, the erratic rise and fall of his chest betraying the fragile state of his control. I caressed the front of his panties once more, tugging the fabric taut and witnessing up close what my fingers had already observed: Chad’s cock was impressively erect and straining mightily against the front of his dainty undergarment. I stroked the length of his pole, which made him thrust his hips upward aggressively as he tried to increase the pressure of my touch. Tossing my hair to one side, I lowered my head and took a long, slow lick of his shaft.

  “Oh, baby, that’s sweet,” he uttered in a fractured whisper.

  My tongue easily glided along the satin, so I kept repeating the motion, enjoying the way the wet fabric darkened and clung to his erection, covering him like a second skin. I liked teasing him this way, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the frantic pulsations of my own sex. This drawn-out play—from Chad’s striptease and fashion show to his passionate kisses—had made my pussy throb with desire. I could feel the evidence of my arousal dampening my thighs.

  I rocked backward on my heels, squeezing my legs together to give myself some relief, but the action only made me more desperate for him. But before I fully surrendered to my lust, I wanted Chad to tell me more—to reveal all of his satin-filled fantasies.

  “Tell me why you like them, Chad. I want to know.” I continued to stroke his cock, coaxing out little spasms of pleasure.

  “I like the way they feel against my skin, the way the material is so cool and slippery. It’s not rough and boring like cotton, and it looks so…”

  “Pretty?”

  “Yes…pretty,” he answered, breathless.

  Now he was blushing fire-engine red. From his response, I could tell that wearing panties involved more than appreciating the tactile sensation of fabric. There was another dream lurking within him. One I wanted to make come true. Why? Because I love him, and bringing him joy brings me joy, too.

  “I can help you.”

  “With what?”

  “To be pretty.” I leaned down once more, taking another leisurely lick of the front of his panties. The head of his cock was now peeking out of the top of the waistband, and I fluttered the tip of my tongue against the underside of it.

  “Oh, yes,” he hissed, balling some of the stray laundry in his fists.

  I cupped Chad’s sac through the satin, stroking my thumb along his most sensitive spots, knowing that the sensations would be amplified by the fabric commanding his erotic attention. I nudged down the waistband of the panties and wrapped my fingers around his cock, jerking him ever so slowly.

  “I want to dress you up,” I confessed, surrendering my secrets the moment the pictures formed in my mind. “Buy you pretty lingerie, and make love to you while you’re dressed head-to-toe like a beautiful lady. My beautiful lady.”

  Chad’s face was a vision of helpless ecstasy. He’d gotten lost in the scene I’d painted with my words. I could tell that he was fervently hoping I wasn’t teasing. He raised his hips, wishing and reaching with every fiber of his being for the fulfillment of his long-held fantasies.

  I grabbed the sides of his panties and pulled them down just enough to free his hard cock. Holding his shaft steady, I swooped down to take the entire length of him in my mouth. Chad groaned, grabbing my hair as I
deep-throated him. I held him in place for a few seconds, before pulling away.

  “Kiss me, baby,” he murmured in a needy whisper as he grabbed me and took me into his arms. With his cock pressed between our writhing bodies, I lowered my lips to his. Chad kissed me wildly, as if he was on the verge of losing complete control. I wasn’t far behind him, so I reached down to take hold of his dick and position it at the entrance of my pussy. One day I would take the time to drape him in silks and satins, but not today. My hunger for him had grown too strong to ignore; I needed to feel him inside me.

  Breaking our lip-lock, I sat up and then lowered myself onto his shaft, sighing loudly as he stretched and filled me. Once I’d hit bottom, I snugged my knees up against his hips—and the panties that were still banded around his thighs. The sensation of the crumpled satin sparked my sexual imagination again, and my mind began to conjure up scenarios for the two of us.

  “You’ll let me, won’t you? You’ll let me make you my pretty girl?” This time I was the one who was begging. I cupped Chad’s face with my hand, running my thumb across his quivering bottom lip that I could already imagine slicked with ruby-red. I wanted to kiss him with my own gloss-covered lips, and the strength of that desire was such a sexy surprise. What had started out as Chad’s secret kink had woven itself into my libido. His passion had become my own, my lust irrevocably entwined with his.

  “Yes,” he answered, pumping his hips upward and making his dick hit the sweetest spots inside me. I rocked my body forward to snatch another moment of pure pleasure. Despite his frilly fantasies, I was glad he was still a man—in that he had a hard cock to satisfy me. Rhythmically riding his shaft, I reached back between Chad’s thighs to stroke him through the satin—fingering his constricted sac and wriggling my fingers even lower to tease the sensitive patch of flesh above his asshole. Massaging him there caused Chad to release a feral growl, and he bucked upward, driving his dick in me to the hilt and leaving me momentarily breathless.

  Chad met my downward thrusts with forceful movements of his own, crushing my clit against the base of his cock every time we connected. Our frenzied movements had settled into a hard and fast rhythm that was rapidly taking us higher and higher. My husband took hold of my hips, in order to drive into me more intensely. I lost some of my control as I quivered atop him. Leaning back, I grabbed the sides of his panties to hold myself steady. I closed my eyes as I recalled how he looked, standing in front of me in those blue undies. Keeping that picture in my mind’s eye, I savored the sensation of Chad’s cock slamming up into me and sparking my climax. As I cried out, I yanked at the satin, pulling it more tightly against Chad’s body and making him groan as he came inside me.

  I collapsed atop him, knowing that the panties were a damp, tangled mess, which only meant he’d need more—and I knew just where to get them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TWIST ME, TAUNT ME, TURN ME ON —

  FETISHES

  “Wow, three pairs of shoes! Someone had a fetish.”

  —MARGE SIMPSON

  You’d be hard pressed to find a fetish I don’t have an affinity for. In fact, I probably have a fetish for being hard pressed. I love the standard choices on the menu—high heels, stockings, feathers, tickling, boots, lace, leather, nylons, fishnets, piercing, lipstick, ponytails… And yes, I know all about your more unusual fetishes—shrimping, sploshing, plushies, looners.

  Fetishes can definitely have a place in your world. Whether you’re into animate fetishes (fingers, feet, breasts, legs…) or inanimate (all those lovely, lovely items you can dress up in or rub up against), fetishes are a simple way to broaden your kinky horizon.

  Many fetishes are free (it costs nothing to lust after a beautiful pair of feet) or fairly inexpensive. Have a thing for stockings? Nylons are easy to buy—even at a grocery store. And how sexy is that? You and your partner knowing that those stockings aren’t for work, they’re for play.

  My story “Not for Sale” features two stocking-fetishists:

  “Closer,” he said, “I want to touch the merchandise.”

  Her feet moved forward without any instruction from her brain. She felt hypnotized. When she had gotten close enough, he stroked his hands up her nylon-clad legs, and then palmed the flesh of her thighs where the stockings ended, touching bare skin with bare skin. His hands were warm and big. She wanted him to place his entire palm over her pussy, to let her rest her snatch against him. She wanted him to part her pussy lips and drag the tips of his fingers between them, touching, just barely touching, her clit.

  He did none of those things. He simply stayed still, with his palms on her thighs, and waited for her to continue.

  Rhiannon sucked in her breath. He didn’t know her secret. Not yet. But he would soon. What would happen if Sara needed something from the back room? What would happen if the owner made a spot inspection and pounded on the stockroom door? What would happen if this stranger suddenly lifted her dress all the way up and saw her naked pussy? This is what did happen, the best of the possible scenarios coming true.

  “I knew you weren’t wearing panties.”

  “Rubbernecking” is my love letter to those who worship rubber. All that’s required is a pair of rubber gloves. Gloves are one of those items you can purchase at hardware stores or five-and-dimes that will raise no eyebrows, but will definitely tent a pair of slacks. I do love buying kinky things when nobody is the wiser:

  Once on the bed, I could slow down once more, reach for the box hidden in my nightstand drawer. A shake of cornstarch from a bottle by my lamp would help those thin white rubber gloves slide on smoothly, but I would take my time anyway. Making sure to smooth out any wrinkles, growing wetter with the caress of the rubber around each fingertip. When the gloves were on fully, I would interlace my fingers, watching the rubber meet rubber.

  Now, it would become more difficult to go slowly. With hands that were like someone else’s, some stranger’s, I would touch myself while I recreated the window displays in my mind. Fingers gliding over my breasts, I imaged the window dresser—with his long dark hair, slim body—dressing me in the pale orange rubber sheath he’d slid on a mannequin the week before. Or slipping me into sleek scarlet rubber boots that would reach past my knees. I could see him buckling that bright red ball gag into place between my own parted lips, knowing somehow what that sensation would be like, what I would look like, gagged like that.

  Snag a used plaid skirt at a thrift store, and you’re halfway to the sex scene I penned in “Want”—you only need two kinky roommates to complete the vision:

  Vincent had Lia over his lap, and he was punishing her sweet, sassy ass with a paddle. I’d seen that ass swish down the hallway. I had seen it when she’d bent over to unload the laundry. Seen it when she went prancing out the door in a far-too-short, schoolgirl skirt, which I now saw was in a crumpled ball on the floor. But this was my favorite time. Because he was wielding that paddle with finesse, and Lia continued to cry out and kick her heels and pound her fists uselessly in protest. Or mock protest. I wondered if she could have gotten free if she had tried hard enough. But then I saw Vincent grimace and grab both of her hands in one of his. He pinned her wrists neatly at the small of her back and then let go a volley of blows on her hindquarters.

  Andrea Dale waxes rhapsodic about feet in “A Sensitive Sole”:

  The first time I found out just how sensitive her feet were—and how she reacted to sole stimulation, we were on the sofa, watching TV. She was lying with her feet in my lap, wearing just a simple pair of flat, slip-on sandals, the kind with nothing more than a jeweled strap between the toes to hold them on.

  She’d had a long day, and I’m a nice girl, so I took off one of the sandals, intending to give her a foot massage.

  She looked up, startled. “Oh, no, Katie. I—”

  Her words degenerated into a groan when I pressed my thumbs gently into the ball of her right foot. I knew many people were ticklish, and I’ve been told I do a stellar job of ma
ssaging feet without causing undue tickling.

  It was only after a moment or two of kneading that I realized Maya’s groans were not just ones that came from major enjoyment of a great foot massage.

  Her nipples were diamond hard and drilling their way through her thin cotton T-shirt.

  Well, wasn’t that interesting? I ran one hand along her leg from shapely calf to smooth thigh, and higher, under the short, flippy skirt she wore.

  Her panties were, not to put too heavy a point on it, soaked.

  As tempting as it was to just dive in and savor the feast before me, I was curious to see how far this fetish of hers went, just how excited I could get her.

  I could fill an entire book with fetish stories. (Oh, wait. I have: F Is for Fetish.) Truly, they are unending. Addicting. Explore your own. Dig deep down into what gives you pleasure. And share the experience with your partner. Who knows? You might find a few more fetishes up your sleeve, or down your garter, that you didn’t even know you had.

  TANTALIZING TIPS

  •Where there’s a need for a how-to, you’ll find Violet Blue. Her Fetish Sex: An Erotic Guide for Couples is sure to answer the questions of any curious fetishers-to-be.

  •Some fetishes are easy to accessorize—such as wearing rubber gloves or donning a corset. However, others take a bit more planning. Don’t let that stop you! If sploshing is on your menu, set aside enough time to make or purchase the foods, stretch out plastic sheeting, and indulge.

  •Host your own Fetish Fridays. Visit a different fetish each week. Try nylons one week, knickers the next. If you find a fetish that floats your boat, slide it into a regular rotation.

  FICTION: FETISH

  THE SILK ROAD

  DONNA GEORGE STOREY

  I’m standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing off the last of the dinner dishes, when Julian comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.

  “Do you want to wear your silk stockings tonight?” he whispers.