Stripped by Midnight

This story is based on an actual date.

The winter air had a certain bite that night, but I barely felt it. Anticipation buzzed under my skin as I stepped up to his door, leather skirt skimming the tops of my thighs, the faint hum of excitement matching the rhythm of my heels on the pavement.

He opened the door with a smirk that said he’d been waiting, hungry. Without even a greeting, he pulled me inside and shut the door behind me. “Bend over,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

I obeyed instantly, hands bracing against the arm of his couch. My heart raced as he flipped up my skirt, rough fingertips slipping under the black lace to pull my panties aside. He was already hard he always was when I arrived and without hesitation, he slid into me from behind. His hands gripped my hips tightly, using me for a raw, urgent release before dinner. It was fast, filthy, and it left me breathless, smirking to myself as I adjusted my clothes and caught my breath.

We walked to the restaurant afterward, casual, as if I hadn’t just been taken like a prize moments earlier. We sat, ordered wine, our knees brushing under the table. Midway through scanning the menu, he leaned in and asked with a wicked grin, “Did you bring the toy?”

My face flushed. I hadn’t. How could I, when he’d had me bent over his couch the moment I walked in?

He tutted softly, savoring the control he had over me. “Then you’ll be punished,” he murmured. “I want your panties. Now.”

The restaurant was busy, the low hum of conversation surrounding us and yet, under the table, my fingers slipped up my thighs, hooked into the lace, and pulled my panties down. I handed them to him discreetly, heart hammering. He casually tucked them under his wallet, smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

Not satisfied, he leaned back and whispered, “Your bra, too.”

I bit my lip, heat pooling between my thighs, and obeyed. Under my top, I deftly unclasped my bra, sliding it off and passing it to him, hidden inside my napkin. He tucked it away without breaking eye contact, his foot sliding up my calf under the table.

Dinner was a blur of teasing touches and wicked glances.

When we finished and stepped into the cold Melbourne night, he draped his coat over my shoulders and leaned into my ear. “Before we get home, I want your skirt and top too.”

Adrenaline and lust warred inside me. On the darkened street, I slipped out of my clothes, handing him my top and skirt. The only thing shielding me from the winter chill was his open coat, my bare skin prickling from the cold and from the thrill.

He couldn’t resist every few steps, he’d cheekily lift the coat, exposing my ass to the night air, making me giggle breathlessly, nerves and arousal a heady mix.

A few doors from his house, I made a bold decision. I shrugged off his coat completely, letting it fall to the pavement, and walked the rest of the way naked except for my heels. His sharp intake of breath and low, hungry growl spurred me on.

By the time we reached his door, he had me pressed up against it, his hands roaming greedily over my exposed skin, his mouth hot and demanding.

That night wasn’t the last adventure we shared, but it was the one I found myself replaying many times.