Ready for your last piece of festive filth (possibly) from me this year? I’ve spent much of last week playing with the potential hotness of giving a pair of panties as a present, but it took me a while to work out what would happen after the panties got unwrapped.
Content note for femdom-y denial play, switchiness, and dirty talk.
They weren’t meant to be doing presents – whatever they were doing was too casual for exchanging Christmas gifts – but an idea had struck her when she’d received his text. When she slides into the booth next to him in the pub, she passes him a hastily wrapped package.
“Merry Christmas,” she says, going to kiss his cheek and not minding at all that his hand slips into her hair and tugs her into a full on snog.
“Merry Christmas,” he responds, pulling lightly on the hair at the nape of her neck to make her squirm. “Should I open this now?”
“Yes – but maybe so not everyone can see?”
Her hand rests on his thigh – which stills feels like a liberty she’s taking, this intimate touch – while he tears opens the red tissue paper.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he said, looking up at her with a smile, “but why are you giving me a pair of your panties?”
“Ah, that’s to show you that I’m not wearing any right now…”
She definitely has his attention now. He’s looking at her intently, with his mouth slightly open – all she wants to do is lean forward and bite his bottom lip.
“You’re not wearing any panties under that skirt? So if I run my hands up your stockinged legs I will find your cunt, wet and ready for me to slowly push a finger inside?”
“Yes – but that’s you’re not going to do that. I’m giving you my panties so you can know how ready I am to fuck you, but also that I want to make you wait. When we get back to your flat, I am going to be in charge. I’m going to undo your belt, and tug down your jeans and push you back on to the sofa so I can straddle you.”
It’s hard to say this – she’s sure her cheeks are burning – but even saying it makes her hot.
“I’m not going to undress. I’m going to straddle you, and tease the tip of your cock with my cunt until you beg me to sit on it. I’m going to wait until you’re shaking with need before I fuck myself on your poor, aching cock.”
“Fuck,” he says, but it’s more like a breath than a word. She squeezes his thigh, watching his crotch for the tell-tale bulge of arousal. “I’m guessing you’ll say no if I ask if we can head back to mine now?”
“Nope. But you can be a good boy and go and get me a drink.”
She might be blushing, but his cheeks are red too. And he’s hard. Fuck, he’s really hard, and she glows with pride.
He’s still hard when they get back to his flat, half an hour later. She did that, and she’s going to make his cock drip with pre-come before she fucks herself on his dick. He’s tense, clearly curious as to whether or not she’ll follow through on her teases, but as soon as the door is closed she’s on him. Hands under his shirt, dragging nails down his back. Kissing him while she unbuckles his belt, steering them towards his sofa. Delighting in the look of surprise on his face when she shoves him backwards, gently, so he sits down.
“Want me to fuck you?” she asks, and he nods. She hitches up her skirt and straddles him. She rubs her cunt along the length of his dick, wondering if she could get off just by rubbing her clit against the head of his cock. She probably could just from the sounds he’s making as she teases him…
“Sit on my dick? Please?”
Hearing him beg is incredibly hot, but she’s not ready to indulge him just yet, she sits back to inspect the tip of his cock for pre-come and admire the veins that are standing out beautifully. She sucks the head of his dick for a minute – just enough for him to relax, thinking she’s going to blow blow him – and then goes back to slicking his cock with her cunt’s wetness. He growls with frustration.
“Aww, do you like that?”
His muffled moan into her shoulder suggests that he does. She fishes condoms and a lube sachet from his pocket – he’s predictably prepared – and holds her cunt tantalisingly out of reach while she rips open the condom and rolls it down over his cock. She hovers right above his dick, grinning as he tries to thrust up into her. Her thighs are aching, but there’s a look of desperation on his face that is
“Patience, boy. Aren’t you enjoying your present of my panties?”
When she finally gives him what he wants and sits down, clenching her cunt around his cock, she doesn’t stay in control for long. He forces her up and bends her over the sofa, fucking her hard and fast from behind while whispering filth into her ear. She whimpers each time his dick hits the back of her cunt, but it’s the perfect follow up to a long period of teasing.
He uses his fingers on her clit until she comes, squeezing his dick hard with her cunt, and he comes inside her before they collapse on the sofa. Sweaty and breathless and well-fucked. Fuck, she needs to deny him like that again some time.
Her legs are still shaking when she is straightening her clothes, and neither of them try to hide the post-fuck glow of pleasure. She’s almost out the door – dates exchanged for their next sex date – before she realises that she’s not fully dressed.
“Wait, where are my knickers?”
Now he’s the one smirking, and it’s that cocky grin that makes her desperate to kiss him so he’ll look less smug, just for a minute.
“If you give me your panties as a present, you’re not getting them back that easily.”
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.