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1078 Words
Sandra held her breath. She wanted to know if she’d only imagined it earlier — that bulge in his sweatpants when she first knocked. If that thing she’d seen poking out was really a thick, hard c**k he’d been trying to hide.
Edward told himself it didn’t mean anything. Quick look. Grown-up friends. Harmless. He pulled the waist of the Santa pants way out in front so she could drop the pillow in.
Sandra liked what she got.
Those thin white briefs didn’t hide a damn thing. She could see the shape of him, the fat outline of his c**k laid against the cotton, the head flared enough to make a little tent of its own. And there — near the waistband — a small dark spot. Wet. He’d been leaking.
She stuffed the pillow in while he held the Santa shirt up, then worked the shirt down over the top of it. The pillow filled the extra room pretty well. Beard next. Then the red hat, that long floppy tube ending in a fat white cotton ball. Last were the black latex boots. He sat, pulled them on, stood up.
“Ho ho ho!” Sandra sang out.
They grabbed their glasses and tapped them together. Toast to the Santa suits.
She took the glass off her mouth. “Now where is that tree?”
“It’s ready and waiting.”
“I like the sound of that.”
She led the way out of the bedroom. Edward followed with his eyes glued to that short Santa top, the white trim barely covering her ass. He wanted to hook his fingers under that hem and yank it up a few more inches. Get on the naughty list the honest way — face first.
He was a lot closer to that list than he knew.
Sandra hit the front room, saw the boxes open on the floor, and bent over them. The Santa shirt rode up her hips as she flipped a lid.
Edward stopped breathing.
The red panties.
Same ones. Same velvet red he’d been jerking off to since that day under the stairs. Same color as the suits they had on. The cheeks of her ass curved like something you were supposed to keep behind glass, soft and full, and the cut was high and French, that thin strip of fabric tucked between them, hugging her crack, leaving most of both cheeks bare.
He lost his swallow along with his breath. Tried to sip the wine. Choked.
“Ugg—hakk—”
“You okay?” She stood and turned, fighting a laugh. She’d done it on purpose. Let him look. Something in her had already decided Santa’s naughty list was a good place to be, and flashing those panties at Edward felt like the fastest way on it.
“I’m okay,” he said, getting his face back together. Outside he looked calm. Inside he was a mess. Whatever “gravity” was shoving down into that pillow under his belt wasn’t gravity. His c**k was hard as hell, trapped and throbbing against the pillow and his thigh.
He took a couple steps closer.
Sandra thought it through in a blink. Do it again? Bend over and show him? Yes. One more time. Quick. He was closer now. Close enough he could almost put his hand on them.
She’d fantasized about this. Getting caught in her panties. Never really planned it. It had happened by accident a few times and she’d always shifted, played modestly. But she’d liked it. That was the part that surprised her. It got her wet. And now, with Edward staring at her like that, she was pushing it further on purpose. She felt that familiar little prickle between her legs, her p***y starting to swell, getting slick inside those red panties.
She turned back to the boxes and bent in one motion, grabbed one off the floor. The Santa top slid up over her ass again. Closer this time. Right there. Red velvet stretched over her cheeks, the center strip pulled tight between them, the outline of her p***y lips faintly visible where the fabric hugged. A weak heart would’ve given out smiling.
It was quick. Not quick enough. When she turned, she caught him still staring.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, all innocent, standing up with the box.
“Sorry?”
“I forgot how short this top is.”
“Oh, I uh…” He didn’t have a sentence. What he wanted to say was don’t be sorry, you’ve got the hottest ass I’ve ever seen and I want to peel those panties to the side and taste you.
She let it hang.
“I don’t mind if you look.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I don’t. I can tell you’re a really nice guy. You wouldn’t take advantage of an innocent girl.”
A pause. She stepped in closer, just the box between them. Voice gone soft and shy.
“If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anybody?”
“I won’t tell anybody. I promise.”
His c**k was fully hard now, shoved down his leg by the pillow, aching in those tight briefs. Uncomfortable didn’t cover it.
“Sometimes… I kind of like it. Knowing a guy is looking at my panties.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I do. It makes me get all squishy down there thinking about it.”
He liked that word in her mouth. Knew what she meant. I wanted it again.
“Squishy?”
“Yeah. Squishy. I get really squishy when I’m excited.”
She lifted a finger to her mouth and dragged it across her lips, tongue slipping out to wet it.
“Oh yeah. Squishy. Wow. That’s… really awesome.”
His c**k jerked. If he didn’t get it out of those briefs and straightened up quickly, he wasn’t walking anywhere.
“Can I ask you something, Edward?”
“Yes.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m naughty, but would you like to see how squishy I get?”
“Oh yes. Yes.”
Sandra stepped back half a step, grabbed the bottom hem of that Santa top, and lifted it high — up to her t**s — and showed him the front of her panties. Red. Tight. That little patch stretched over her mound, already darker down the center where she was wet.
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