The Red Strip

The crotch of her panties peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirt as she bent over. The crotch, tight against her pussy disappeared as it ran between the globes of her ass. Those pale coffee and cream cheeks. The crotch hugged into the valley of her pussy, molding against every fold. You could see the exact shape and size of the lips beneath the thin fabric. The only thing left to imagination was how hot her excitement would be once it began to flow. She stood up and the blind of her skirt went down. That short black skirt brought the rest of the world back to me.

Slowly.

The rest of the world came back to me as I stared at the backs of the thighs just below that short black skirt. An imagined drop of dew ran down the inside of one thigh, the forgotten strobing lights making it sparkle. It faded away as the music came back, that short black skirt swishing as the body above it turned around. The tuned out voice beside me slowly gained volume as my eyes traveled up from the short black skirt to a short black tank top. Her naked and unadorned navel winked at me.

My eyes leisurely commute ended when something my girlfriend said finally got through to me,

“John, I’m breaking up with you,” she said in an “I would like another rum and coke” tone.

My neck cracked quite loudly when the bland statement yanked around my head.

I stared, stammered and vice versaed until I spat out “why?”

She eyed me coolly for a moment and said, “because you were staring at that slut in the black skirt.” A twinkle of triumph sparked in her eye, victorious at having caught me so completely.

My fist impulse was to say, “no she isn’t”. Thankfully that suicidal whim passed quickly. Instead I stuttered how I was not staring.

“If you were staring any harder, your eyes would be in her colon.” She shot back.

I knew then that she was not really breaking up with me. This was just her idea of foreplay. She had honed her skill at humiliating me to a fine art. I knew that the crotch of her own panties were becoming damp as I stuttered, stammered and squirmed. She was getting off on it and in about an hour I would be flat on my back as she rode me, coming down so hard she often hit my balls making them softly ache. I’m also sure she had started to do this on purpose. This woman treated me like dirt most of the time and I hated it.

So why did I feel such a sense of panic when she said she was breaking up with me?

She watched my discomfort with growing lust, her pointed tongue trailing across her lower lip, making it shine different colours in the lights of her favourite club. Her nostrils flared as if scenting my fear, her full breasts pushed against her low-buttoned top, spreading the valley of her cleavage. In flashes of light I saw colour spread across her pale chest. Her nipples rose beneath the material, twins of her eyes as they accused and teased. Reflexively I felt myself start to harden, excited, angry, and ashamed.

“What do you wish you were doing with her?” she asked next, leaning forward and holding my eyes when they wanted to dart.

Instantly it was there, total and full.

She was leaning over again, picking up her purse. This time I was kneeling behind her, watching the hem of that short black skirt rise to show me the red underneath. Now I could see every pore in the coffee and cream skin, how the red material was taut and straining over her pussy. Its scent entered my nose and hit my brain. All thought lost as I opened my mouth wide and sucked her mound into my mouth. The short black skirt played along my face as I licked my tongue up along her cleft, following the red into the crease of her ass. I laid hold of each heated cheek and pulled them apart to show the hiding strip of nylon, damp from humidity. I pulled it hard to the side.

I felt a hard pinch on the back of my hand and pain of my trapped cock at the same time. Her green eyes bored into me as I shifted guiltily.

“So tell me!” she insisted, getting louder. She knows I hate it when she makes a scene. “You want to shove your dick down her throat, don’t you!” she accused. She didn’t really believe that but I’m trapped. I can see people starting to stare.

“That’s not it,” I blurted out, realizing too late which way it would go now.

“Then tell what you do want to do to her!” she shouted. Now everyone was staring. Or so it seemed. She was getting off on it though. She always did. She knows me too well and everything that turns me into a quivering pile of spine jelly is open to her. That’s why she brings me to a club when she knows I hate crowds, why she makes a scene when she knows I'm deathly afraid of being the center of attention.

“Answer me you weasly fucker!” she screamed.

I dropped my head and hid behind my hands, sputtering out only loud enough for her to hear, “please stop.”

She granted me a short reprieve when she said “take me home!”

While it seemed everyone and their sister watched us get our stuff I looked around and tried to find the girl with the short black skirt. I was helpless not too. I had to see if she had also watched my spineless self reamed so thoroughly. But she was gone and we were on out way out.