You in Your Apricot Panties

Jeremy Edwards wrote another delicious erotic story with a lingerie theme, and Tit-Elation has allowed me to excerpt it here. This time, it’s all about her panties…

Oh my fucking goodness. You! You in your apricot panties. Sitting there, cross-legged on the rug, your music magazine spread in front of you as if it were a horny girl with her legs open, just for you . . . you in your apricot panties.

You in your panties, your sun-bleached hair perennially falling in your face, your wholesome little breasts enjoying their “bra optional” freedom . . . you in only your panties, your apricot panties.

Your apricot panties, with slits at the hips that give me a window on the sleek, fleshy world of your just-below-the-waist contours. Your apricot panties, whose opaqueness around your crotch provide a modesty that is so sensually undermined by the wisps of blonde bush that peek out along the seams.

Your apricot panties, whose sunny color may say “bathing suit,” but whose cotton-intimate gusset shouts “private” whenever your delectable moisture begins to seep through.

Something in the magazine makes you laugh. But when your eyes meet mine to share the joke, I know that your mind isn’t really on music-biz gossip. You look hungry for me . . . you in your apricot panties.

On the days that I fold our laundry, your apricot panties look so cute in the basket, smiling up at me in their sleep. But “cute” doesn’t cover how sexually dynamic they look on your body. When they’re wrapped around your ass, it’s impossible for me to separate the wrapping from the package. I’m not seeing apricot panties, I’m not seeing you . . . I’m seeing you in your panties, your panties on you.

Your panties on you, like a neon apricot sign directing me to your cunt. Your panties on you, like fluorescent orange highlighting across the word “sex” on a page full of other words. I don’t just want to run my hands over your cheeks and give wet kisses to your pussy. No. What I want is to fondle your derriere in your apricot panties, to mouth your crotch with the fabric between us. To taste cotton that tastes like your pussy, to rub my lips against natural fibers that house your natural fibers. Please don’t take them off . . . not yet. Not till I’ve tasted and squeezed and handled you like a succulent piece of fruit. Later we can fuck nakedly; but first let me make ripe love to you in your panties, your apricot panties.

To read the rest (and it’s soooOOo hot!), subscribe to Tit-Elation!

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