by Zoey Long
“Carrie, you know... we can’t say anything about...I want you as much as you want me, you know that by now. I like you.”
“I won’t tell,” she whispers, putting her lips to mine. “I like you, too.”
She tastes so good that my cock starts to ache. My fingers are tingling as I run them up and down the fabric of her tights.
“Now, dress me up,” she breathes excitedly.
Some might think it’s odd that I have women’s lingerie in my apartment. I don’t. Not just because they’re lovely items to look at, but it’s like having costumes in a theater department. I’ve collected them over the years, garter belts in various sizes, bustiers, stockings, corsets, waist cinchers, stilettos. Clients often want us to dress them, and Lana loves going to her favorite Lower East Side lingerie shop to replenish our stock.
I point Carrie to the old cedar chest full of costumes for the boudoir shoots. She gasps at the sight of it, her actress coming out in full force.
“I LOVE that you have all this!” she exclaims like a little kid in a toy store. She pulls out a gorgeous silk kimono and gasps again, holding it up to the light. It’s steel grey with light blue thread woven delicately throughout, giving it an iridescent look when it shimmers. She stares at it lovingly.
“For you... I was thinking….” I reach down and pull out a black garter belt that I know works well. “We’d start with this.”
She nods and unzips her boots, the teeth dragging slightly. She removes her shoes, standing in just her dress and tights, her dress still folded up around her waist. Then she begins sliding her tights off, and she’s all alabaster cream underneath. I want to touch her so badly I can barely keep my hands to myself. I manage, trying not to let it show how much I want her in this moment. She’s relishing every moment of undressing for me.
“It might... be more comfortable if you put the garters on underneath your panties,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Oh, is that so?” she asks me with a smile. I nod. “Okay, then.”
She unashamedly slides her panties off and I look at her pussy for just flash of a second before looking away. It’s mostly bare, except for a light shadow of hair between her legs. I walk over and stand in front of her, garter belt in hand. Our eyes are locked before I bend down and she gasps.
“Step in please,” I say, holding the garment open for her.
She’s breathing heavily, I can hear it, standing in front of me completely bottomless with her evening dress around her waist. She must feel vulnerable, excited. She steps one delicate foot into the garter belt and then the other, and I slide the smooth fabric up her long legs, past her hips, and around her waist. The smell of her skin is intoxicating.
“Should I take my dress off?” she asks, breathless, looking into my eyes.
“Not yet.” I lean down a second time and she almost buckles at the knees. I will myself to look at the wooden panels on the floor and not directly at her bare pussy. I pick her discarded panties up of the floor and ask her to step in them once again. She does so.
“You can pull these up,” I say.
“Will you do it?”
Jesus Christ. I hold onto the skinny black straps of her panties and slide them up and over her hips.
“Now take the dress off.” She slides the black satin down past her hips and the dress falls to her knees once again. “Turn around,” I say.
She does so, holding up her hair.
I undo the clasp at the middle of her shoulder blades and slide down the zipper of her dress. Her perfume is heady and it’s mixing with the smell of her skin. All I want to do right now is run my mouth over every inch of her body, kissing her everywhere until she screams with delight. The zipper is a long one, ending at the top of her ass. She’s wearing a black lace bra, the lace lying gorgeously against the skin of her back.
She slides the straps of the dress off her smooth shoulders before pulling them down. She wriggles out of the dress now, the warm light from my table lamp illuminating her whole body.
I reach down and grab a folded pair of black stockings with back seams.
“I think it would be easier if you sat down,” I say.
She turns to face me, and she’s even more gorgeous in real life than I could have ever imagined in my subconscious. The hardness and pretense is all gone when she’s stripped down like this. She’s still a star, she has that thing, that indefinable “it” factor, but Carrie is luminous. Her breasts are full, lifted by her beautiful lace bra, and her waist nips in dramatically before her full hips lead to shapely thighs and legs. She has a beauty mark next to her belly button.
“You are breathtaking,” I say with an exhale.
She moves and kisses me again, her mouth wet and malleable. The tension and heat between us is delectable. I want release, but I want to hang in this tension, too. It buzzes all around us.
She turns to sit on my bed and I kneel in front of her. She points her toes. It’s taking all of my willpower not to ravish her right here and now. I feel high on her. I roll up the first stocking and put in on her right foot, feeding it up toward her right knee. Here, she takes the stocking from my fingers and pulls it up gently, stopping at her mid-thigh.
I pull the garter forward and affix it to the clip sturdily. She smiles.
“So THAT’s how you do it,” she says with a giggle.
“Now stand and turn, please,” I ask her.
She does so. I am now faced with her hard, round ass. I take a breath and focus on the task at hand, affixing the clips to the back of the stocking and straightening the back seams.
I lean down again and she knows what’s next, turning and sitting back down to point her left foot. Once again I place the stocking on her foot, roll it up to her knee, and Carrie takes the stocking from my fingers and rolls the delicate fabric up her leg.
“Can I try?” she asks, holding the garter clip.
“Please,” I gesture, holding the fabric taut.
She successfully pushes the button into the clasp, affixing the garter. I tighten the strap on both front garters before turning her around and affixing the ones in the back. I run my fingers along the back seams, straightening them, stepping back from her momentarily to get a better look and to fetch a pair of high heels.
“I don’t know how people ever do the back ones by themselves,” she breathes, looking over her shoulder. She shivers with pleasure whenever my fingers graze her skin, leaning into me, signaling that she wants to be touched more. I let my fingertips linger on the top of her thigh for one infinitesimal moment. I hear a sharp intake of breath. I kneel down.
“Step into these shoes,” I say, delicately embracing her ankle.
“Ooh, shoes!” she exclaims, stepping expertly into each stiletto, arching her foot and sliding into each one just like a sexy pinup Cinderella. I stand up, wipe some moisture from my forehead. I’m ready to take her in.
“Okay, you can turn around,” I say.
She turns. To say she looks beautiful would be a gross understatement. She looks hot, of course. Sexy as all get out, like a screen siren or a classic Hollywood star. There’s a grace and elegance to her, though, done up like this, that is absolutely indescribable. The light bounces off her skin, the copper fire waves of her hair, the smoldering desire in her eyes.
I smile.
“Come with me,” I say, leading her to my full-length mirror.
Our hands intertwine and she follows me, the stiletto heels clicking decidedly across the hardwood floor. I’m thankful that my apartment is always so warm.
As she walks with me, her eyes glance down the long line of her supple body, her hips swaying fluidly to the left and right. Her bra goes well with her panties and the stilettoes force her round ass up and outward. She likes what she can see so far, judging from the smile on her face. Her abdomen is tight like a drum with a soft feminine curve to it near her lower abs toward her hips. She moves tauntingly behind me.
“Cl
ose your eyes,” I say, once we reach the mirror.
She smiles like I’m being silly. But she closes her eyes just the same. I position her in front of it, so she’d be staring straight on. Her eyes are still closed, and her mouth is curled into a small smile.
I revel in the image reflected back in the glass, the fact that right now I can take in the whole of her, the wonder of her, before she’s even seen it herself. The vintage stockings and heels do a superb job of highlighting her natural beauty. She looks, not like a client, a modern woman transformed, but like an actual pin up model of the past. I look at her and feel hungry. It’s so good, this is like the first taste of blood. I want to dress her up in more clothes, in the most lush, luxurious fabrics, to watch them float along her skin, her curves.
I lean my head down to her shoulder and whisper tenderly in her ear. The scent of her fills my nostrils.
“Okay, now, open your eyes.”
Carrie gasps and giggles at the sight of herself, she covers her mouth with her hands, bits of her smile peeking through her palms. Then she drops her arms to her sides, stands up as straight as possible, pushes out her ass, cocks her head to the side and arches an eyebrow.
“This is good.” Her voice is confident.
“You’re damn right it is,” I echo.
There’s that actress poise again. The posture, the presence, and the polish. She throws her shoulders back and flips her hair then turns to the side, stopping to admire her own ass. I laugh. Hey, if I were her, I’d probably do the same thing. All day long.
I turn to the costume chest and plunge my hands into it, my fingers finding silk and lace. Once I hit the solidity of metal stays, I pull upward. It’s a waist cincher with hook and eye closures all the way up the front. I position myself behind Carrie and wrap it around her waist, holding it to her for a moment.
“Let’s try this?” I ask.
Her eyes are bright, excited by my dressing her up like this. A professional photographer, her professor, her crush. She takes the open cincher from my hands and wraps it around her body, holding it taut but not fastening it yet.
“Yes. Put it on me?” she asks, batting her eyelashes sexily.
She’s still acting, playing. She’s playing the part of the sexy girl who is trying to turn me on. There’s no need for that.
“Turn to me,” I tell her.
She does so. The cincher is still open and wrapped around her middle. She passes it off into my hands and I hold both sides of it sternly in my fists. I pull it toward me and then taut around her body in one swift motion. The movement shocks her slightly so she takes a breath, teetering a bit on her high heels. I affix the bottom hook and begin working upward swiftly in a straight line of black and steel notions.
“Haven’t you been dressed for theater productions before? You seem surprised. I’m sure you’ve been corseted. You must have.” I joke with her, comment on the peachy pink flush of her cheeks, the sharp inhale of her breath at my movements.
“Yes, of course,” she exhales. “But not by you.”
My insides do a flip of excitement as I affix the last hook. I don’t know how much longer I can go without putting my hands on her skin if she keeps talking like that. The deliberate, measured slowness of my movements with her tonight are maddening in the best way possible. We’re both aching with want but not acknowledging it. It’s exquisite. Torturous. Pushing the boundary slow and steady until we have no choice but to touch.
The last hook sits just below her breasts, at the top of her ribcage. I close it and let go, and the material snaps and clings to her body expertly. The cincher accentuates her smallest part, making her a sea of black lace and satin. Her already hourglass shape is put into sharp relief, with exaggerated ins and outs from shoulders to waist to hips. With her marble white, skin she’s looking more and more like she stepped off the pages of a Gil Elvgren anthology. The urge to get my camera and shoot until I fill the memory card is so strong it’s almost unsettling.
She looks me in the eye, her gaze strong and searing. I return her stare and hold nothing back, looking deep into her eyes. For the moment, they look like the color of olives and sage. The sexual tension is so strong that it bounces feverishly back and forth between us. I raise my hand and put it to her warm cheek, then move it to the back of her neck, delicately letting my fingertips linger and slide down the length of it. She gasps, her skin coming up in goosebumps. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck again, harder this time, then pull her firmly toward me until our lips touch. We kiss and I slide my palm up through her wavy hair to the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of those copper locks and pulling in intently. The harder I grab her hair, the louder she moans, kissing me deeply. Her fists passionately grab the collar of my shirt and pull me into her.
My hands find her middle, and the black satin waist cincher feels like liquid against my fingers. I hold her around the waist with both hands and squeeze, making her bite my bottom lip in excitement. She starts unbuttoning my shirt.
“I want you,” she whispers. I take her hands from the buttons of my shirt with a smile and I lead her over to my bed. “I want you so badly. Please.”
“Lie down,” I command her.
“With my shoes on?” she asks.
I nod. “Please.”
She lies down on her back and it’s cream on cream, her skin and my bedspread, punctuated by the onyx of her lingerie and the red of her hair. Every moment she’s more beautiful than the last, taking my breath away. I start undoing each hook on the front of the waist cincher, revealing her abdomen. There are slight red marks and indents where the garment held her in. I fold the garment in half just once and neatly place it down on the top of the wooden chest. I run my fingers over her middle, tracing the indents from the cincher. She smiles, her muscles jumping slightly. I guess she’s ticklish.
“Flip over now,” I say gently.
She smirks at me, raising an eyebrow. I don’t break my stare. She’s unsure of what I’ll do next, but, as usual, her curiosity gets the better of her.
She flips on her stomach, showing me her tight ass. I place my fingers at the base of her ankles and begin to slowly run my hands up her smooth stockinged legs, from her shapely calves all the way to her thighs. Then I trace the back seam of her stocking with just my pointer finger, ever so slowly, from the back of her right stiletto up to the mid-thigh of her right leg, delighting in the goosebumps that begin to stipple her skin from her legs to her ass to her arms. I pluck and snap one of the garters playfully and her breath flutters. Then I snap the one on the left leg. She inhales sharply and looks up and over her shoulder at me. Her eyes are big and open. She’s so striking that I swear I feel my heart stop.
“Head down.”
I don’t know where all this bravado is coming from, but I roll with it. I think it’s just her. I’m intoxicated by her, and now that she’s actually in my apartment, dressed up like I’ve been dreaming of, I feel possessed, wanting to take in and enjoy every inch of her as slowly and deliberately as possible. I place both warm palms down on her, flush against her skin, and run my hands up the entire length of her body, lingering on her ass, squeezing there for a moment before continuing, running my hands all the way up to her shoulders and squeezing them. She gasps as I lean down to brush her neck with tiny kisses, letting my lips graze lightly against her skin.
“Mmmm,” she murmurs, pressing her pelvis into the bed. My touch is deliberately gentle again, making her want to be touched more and more. I linger my fingertips around the backs of her upper thighs, sliding one finger up and up, almost touching her most sensitive spot, but backing off at the last second. Her pelvis pushes down again, against the bed. She’s trying to satisfy herself, or at least stave off the desire.
“Can I turn over now?” she exhales in a low whisper.
“Yes, please.”
I can smell her pussy when she turns over, the excited flush of desire that’s a mix of sweetness and spice an
d it makes my mouth water.
“Come here. Kiss me. Please,” she urges.
In a moment I’m on top of her, kissing her deeply, my throbbing cock pressing hard into her pelvis through my pants. She’s rocking herself into me and wrapping her legs tight around my waist, stockings and heels still on. I can almost feel the outline of her slit against me through my pants and I want nothing more than to unzip, pull those tiny panties to the side and bury my cock inside her, fucking her senseless. But I won’t.
Her pillow soft lips find my ear and she whispers that she has an IUD. Good to know.
I nod and kiss down the length of her body, open mouthed, taking as much of her scent in as I can. I breathe deeply, so much that I feel drunk on the scent of her. I want to take her into me so deeply that the smell and feel of her will linger on me for days. When I get to her pelvis she’s rocking up toward my face and the smell of her pussy up close like that makes my cock start to ache. I bite the thin black strap of her panties and it snaps down against her hip bones, leaving an enticingly pink mark on her light skin.
My fingers find the underside of those straps and I pull her panties down off her hips and slide them off her feet to the floor. Her pussy is inches from my face, pink and flushed, and her wetness is glistening against her outer lips and a little on her upper thighs. My cock is so hard now that it’s pressing indignantly against my pants. I touch her pussy with my fingers and slide effortlessly between her lips. She gasps, my fingers teasing from her opening up to her clit and back down again. She keeps rocking her pelvis into my fingers as I begin rubbing her clit in a circular motion before teasing the opening of her pussy even more. She’s getting wetter the longer I do this. Her pussy is warm against my fingers and it’s so slippery I could just stick my fingers inside her right now.
“Sit up,” I ask her.
She does so and I unhook her bra, setting her breasts free. They’re shapely and round, as white and delicious as the rest of her, her nipples pinkish and hard and standing at attention. I put my mouth on her nipples and she falls back to the bed, arching up and into me. I flick my tongue against her hard nipple, biting down slightly, following the cues of her body. She’s taking sharp inhales of breath and moaning, high-pitched and driving me mad.