Ho[M]e [F]or the Holidays with a Sinful Leather Skirt

While I said I was out of good stories from my college years, the more time I’m removed from those times, the better some stories seem. That’s not to say I haven’t been having fun lately, but there’s a certain level of tawdry, heavy-handed promiscuity you can only get away with in college. Combine that with generally missing submitting stories here and a certain story being especially topical this time of year, and I couldn’t help but come back. Though I’d love to be more active in this subreddit, and I’ve certainly been up to some exciting stuff, my current quasi-relationship is one I’d rather keep more private for the time being.

Anyway, just as the coming of Halloween reminds me of a certain story, I find myself often revisiting a certain memory from my senior year of college when the end of December comes around. My then girlfriend, (who I previously referred to as ‘Amber’ so we’ll stick with that) and I had come back from a break in our relationship just after Thanksgiving break. Though that relationship was clearly doomed, (even at the time) like moths to the flame we made up through tears and promises that we could make it work. Truly the only things we had going for us were that we were still attracted to each other, and we had both already sunk a lot of prime time into the relationship. The latter proved to mean very little, but the former kept things exciting: at the time Amber had bold dark hair cut into a pixie that complimented her petite frame perfectly. She had a flair for edgy fashion, always looking to shake things up and never afraid to show a bit of skin. Personally, I loved anything she wore that showcased her secretly lethal hips, which curved at an angle so perfect that you’d think it would take man centuries to study and recreate them. To top it all off, she could captivate any interested party with what can only be referred to as a smoldering gaze. That’s a term thrown around too loosely these days, but she undeniably employed it to devastating effect.

For reasons only logical to senior-year me, I believed that with the impending end of college I needed to get my act together and be a more respectable boyfriend. Perhaps this feeling was compounded by the fact that I had wild, raunchy sex with a freshman during our couple month break and the residual guilt was eating away at my core. All the same, holiday break was on the horizon and Amber had previously booked plane tickets to see her family for Christmas. As a show of good faith that I had in our mended relationship I shelled out for a plane ticket too, so we could fully spend Christmas together.

As excited as Amber was to have me finally see her hometown and have some quality time to reaffirm our relationship, I was dreading every second of it. As is the case with any human couple, Amber and I fought a fair amount. I was pretty irrational back then, and Amber seemingly revelled in the drama. Naturally, we made up for a cluster bomb of screaming matches, friend polarization, and make-up sex. That’s all well and good, however Amber’s mother was her rock. For every minuscule debate we had over whether or not one of us was too flirty with someone at a party, Amber’s mother got a call. To make matters worse, Amber’s mother was a “take-no-prisoners, one step out of line and you’re dead” kind of single mother. Mighty as a friend, mightier as an enemy. Mix all of these ingredients in a bowl and bake it for a little more than a year and voila: you have a mother that will undoubtedly be shooting to kill from the moment you get through her front door, despite how happy her daughter is to be back with you.

As if my pretentious aspirations to be a more mature partner and Amber’s mother’s venomous demeanor were not recipe enough for a cringe-worthy family comedy that would probably star Ben Stiller, there were so many more factors in the equation. Perhaps the largest cornerstone of the drama was our housing situation at college. Amber was hardly welcome at my apartment as her and my roommate Victoria were nearly engaged in a blood feud. Victoria was defensive of me and saw how poisonous Amber and I’s relationship was, which makes me smile in retrospect. That said, I was blind and oblivious back then, so I saw Victoria’s animosity as a major inconvenience. On the opposite side, Amber had several roommates, but to make matters worse, she shared a bedroom. In short, Amber and I never had the necessary space to jump each others’ bones as often as we would have liked. When attraction, and by extension sex, is a critical foundation of a relationship, this causes some hiccups.

Such hiccups reared their head at the most mundane of instances. For example, I nearly failed an easy elective that semester as Amber didn’t have any classes at the same time and would blow up my phone with material so suggestive, you could snap your desk in half attempting to contain the excitement. Of course, knowing we didn’t have the space or time to act on any these sensual threats, Amber would push the boundaries of sexting brinkmanship. The moments we did get alone caused rapid abridged manifestations of these dirty messages; often at inopportune or clumsy times. As mentioned earlier, you really get to see your trashier sides in college, like when Amber and I went to a mall to do some Christmas shopping and concluded the day by parking in the deepest, darkest corner of the parking garage and sloppily going down on each other.

In fact, that shopping trip is where an extra layer of tension was painted onto the Christmas trip that was filling me with such worry. Obviously, the entire mall visit was decorated with sexual innuendo and tension that culminated in us losing our restraint in the parking garage, but somewhere along the way Amber brought up how things will be much simpler when we’re at her mom’s house. Dull as can be, I asked what exactly she meant by it, and I recall her smirking and coyly mentioning “I suppose I’ll have to remind you when you’re in class Tuesday.”

Such a cruel means of clarifying was met with a cruel response as I slapped her behind not-so-discretely in the middle of the mall. Unintentionally, the sound reverberated quite some distance as her shimmery silver dress kept her ass sealed in quite tightly. To be honest, the only reason I probably remember she was wearing that dress that day was due to how hard it was to push up several hours later in the car.

Looking back on this time, such a titillating promise was clearly the silver-lining, (no pun intended) to this entire dreaded affair, however reformed “better boyfriend” me could never let things be so easy. This resistance was summoned by the window display at a store we passed shortly after. Walking at a leisurely pace through the mall, there was a store littered with club wear to our left. Specifically, one mannequin caught my eye in particular: it wore a pair of tall black riding boots, a forgettable wavy blouse, and a tiny black leather miniskirt. The skirt couldn’t have been simpler in design, and couldn’t have been shorter in length. It was the kind of thing you see a model wearing online and you have to wonder if you’ll ever be worthy enough to see someone wearing it in public. As my heart rushed looking at it, I recalled the fling I had with a freshman while Amber and I were on a break in our relationship. I remember the leather boots she wore and how my mind snapped as I finally internally admitted to my weakness for the material. Sounds pretty great to me now as I write this, but that flood of memories caused pangs of guilt in me at the time. I more or less stopped dead in my tracks and blurted out, “we shouldn’t have sex at your mom’s house.”

Puzzled by my bluntness and probably reasoning as well, Amber and I had a brief conversation about how I wanted to be a better boyfriend this time around: how I wanted to be more respectable and more supportive. Somehow, having the restraint to respect her mother’s home played into this. I poured my immature heart out to Amber in front of mobs of 20-something year-old girls coming in and out of the storefront next to us. At first Amber seemed charmed by my newfound shallow philosophy, before returning with something like, “Aw, we’ll just have to be really sneaky then,” which was probably followed by a brutal wink.

The dialogue about how I was going to flat refuse to do anything at her family’s home went back and forth throughout the day, as I stuck to my principles, but not before Amber made an observation. “How come you’re always staring at that one window display?” Referring again to that mannequin adorned in a leather skirt.

“Which display?” I lied flatly, before Amber grabbed my hand and dragged me into the store.

Amber jokingly held up each piece of clothing the mannequin had on against herself and asked if this was what caught my eye. Believing myself to be some sort of poker-faced master, I continuously denounced each article of clothing, chuckling and suggesting I had no idea what she was talking about. When Amber finally held up the leather miniskirt against her hips I remained stone faced, but not before swallowing hard. I suppose being with someone long enough makes you vulnerable to certain things, Amber clearly noticed my tell and burst out in laughter, mocking me, asking if I wanted her to wear this skirt like “some sort of Jackson Street floozy,” referring to a popular street for trashy college parties. She loved mocking the archaic nature of the word “floozy,” so this whole joke was her Christmas gift come early.

Amber continued taking in the moment, before joking about how much she loves the look on my face when she talks about the skirt. Ruthlessly, she took the joke a step further, willing to wait in line for the fitting room just to see how far she could push it. Despite my pleas that she shouldn’t and the joke wasn’t funny, she eventually got into the changing room where she remained for ten or so minutes before returning out in her plain clothes. “Decided to finally listen to my pleas?” I joked in response to not actually seeing her in the skirt. “Check your phone, she quickly shot back at me.”

Confused, I whipped my phone out of my pocket and popping up on the screen was a message notification from Amber. Quickly, I opened the message to only find a picture of Amber wearing nothing but that skintight leather miniskirt in the changing room. Like a fine artist, Amber knew how to stage these kind of photos beautifully. I could barely see the bottom of her face in the photo, enough to see her lips curled into a smirk and her short, dark hair peeking in the side of the frame. Her right arm was crossed against her chest, covering the especially scandalous details of her curves, her immaculately painted dark fingernails gracefully draped across her rib cage. Though I had seen every inch of her countless times before, the lust within me was earth shaking. The deep black texture on the miniskirt stood in perfect contrast to her body, every part of that visual set off my most potent fantasies, and she didn’t even have a clue.

Coming back down to earth I looked up from my phone, expecting for Amber to have another laugh at my expense. Instead she had a guilty look to her face and off-handedly mentioned “it’s a cuter skirt than I expected.”

The day rolled on as our nearly empty college student bank accounts shrunk even further buying gifts for friends and family. Waiting in line or waiting for Amber to decide on a gift, I couldn’t resist pulling out my phone and taking in that leather skirt picture some more. Once more, the trashiness of college-aged me knew no bounds as I ogled the image on my phone openly in public, albeit like looking into the sun, afraid to stare too long. Later on, Amber even pulled a similar stunt, dragging me into a lingerie shop at the mall and teasing me with a handful of especially captivating selections from the shelves. Clearly not getting the mind-breaking reaction she got out of me with the leather skirt, she eventually gave it a rest, but not before we found that private corner of the parking garage.

Now, that all seems like a strangely large amount of context for a simple trip to a significant other’s home for Christmas, but I feel it’s all ultimately relevant. As the days pass, Amber continuously sends more and more provocative messages my way, urging that my moral choice not to have any “bedroom fun” at her mom’s house be overturned. With only a few days left until we separately flew to her hometown, I put my foot down and again stressed that I want to be a more respectable boyfriend this time, (whatever the hell that meant) and she dropped the issue. Despite our best-laid plans, we aren’t able to find some mutual relief one last time before the trip due to our roommates seemingly never having a place to be, setting me up for what should undoubtedly be a sexually-frustrating trip. Of course, with my newfound resolve I don’t see this being a problem.

The flight there was simple enough, and having Amber show me around her hometown was a really nice moment. Upon reflection, it was one of the last really nice times we had in our relationship, and I remember believing that the whole trip was worth it for that. As nice as getting to know my then-girlfriend was at the time, the true challenge of meeting my then-girlfriend’s mother was in front of me. Though I was pleasantly surprised Amber’s mother let me in, she certainly wasn’t happy about it. She threw daggers my way with her eyes whenever she had the chance: I wasn’t treading lightly on thin ice, I was attempting to will myself to float above it.

Amber’s mother was fiery, she was a single mother, and she had Amber and her sister young too. If I’m being completely honest, she was quite hard to keep your eyes off of, especially for her age… or for any age really. She had an hourglass figure with hips that defied the passage of time, not unlike Amber’s own. Her hair was lighter and browner than Amber’s dark hair, which was complimented by what seemed to be a habit of wearing dark lipsticks. She was truly intimidating in more ways than one. I suppose describing Amber’s mother isn’t really relevant to the juicy parts of this story, (as fun as that would be, it would just be fiction) but it went to show just how hormonally charged I was through the whole event.

Despite the previous analogy of this story turning into some sort of awkward, Stiller-fueled affair, the rest of the event went nicely. I didn’t get on Amber’s mother’s good side, or even neutral side, but I made headway in digging myself out of the deep, endless hole I was in. Consequently, when her mother was kind enough to not question us sharing a bed in Amber’s old bedroom, I didn’t want to push boundaries for the two nights we were there. Unbeknownst to me, Amber’s bedroom happened to have a shared wall with her mother’s, upping the stakes to the highest heights.

On the first night, Amber did her best to toy with me, but I remained staunch to my belief that I could save our relationship with my new gentlemanliness or whatever nonsense I believed. She wore what she knew to be my favorite underwear and refused to wear anything else to bed. Truly, I’m impressed I was able to hold out that night looking back on it. I still vividly remember her strutting toward the bed I was lying in, wide-eyed and fully made up: the spitting image of middle-school me’s most coveted fantasy. Not unlike the texts I received in class, Amber took some sort of sick thrill out of my suffering, whispering filthy nothings to me that still make me shiver in remembrance. I took one of the button down shirts I had brought with me, (I’m around six feet tall, she was around five and a half if memory serves) and pushed her arms through it, wrapping it around her playfully reluctant body. To make matters even more impossible, I awoke the next morning to her kissing her way down my torso, bringing her tender lips dangerously close to my waistline before I was saved by a knock on the door from her sister. Not waiting for a response, her sister barged in, and fortunately I was able to wrap us in blankets soon enough to keep suspicions down.

The rest of the day would prove to be an equal challenge of willpower. After responding to Amber’s sister’s invitation to join her for breakfast in the kitchen, we all separated to get ready for the day. Amber went to the bathroom for a shower first while I laid in bed trying desperately to remove any of the intense sexual stimulation from my head. Perhaps laughing in the face of my efforts or perhaps just having a bit too much fun torturing me, Amber entered the room a handful of minutes later in only a towel. Instinctively I sprung up in bed to get in the shower myself, but like a domino effect, as soon as I heard the bedroom door latch close, Amber’s towel was at her feet, and I was petrified in place.

When you’ve been with someone long enough, seeing them stark naked becomes somewhat routine, no different than seeing them in workout gear or sleepwear. That said, Amber could just look at you a certain way and you’d know it was anything but routine. Like a switch, she shot that look over to me and I watched her bare hips artfully sway over to me. Before I could protest, she laid a long sensual kiss on my lips. Being the mortal that I was, I kissed back with equal vigor. Before long our lips were locked into a battle with each other, bound and determined to discover who could reign as most seductive. Acting as my body intended and not as my moral code pled, my hands danced around her uncovered figure, roughly working my way from her chest to her hips. As soon as my hand reached her ass, I pulled her down onto me hard, the aged bed springs crying out under the sudden movement. My lips broke away from her’s, and I worked them down her neck and onto her chest. Amber made short work of me as well, nimbly sliding her hand under my waistline and onto my cock. She stroked, squeezed, and teased while my lips kept pace. Finally, I decided to up the stakes and delicately flick my tongue against her supple nipples, to which she muffled moans and bucked in excitement. Before long, I could feel Amber tugging my waistband further down my thighs for better access with one hand, while the other remained distracted with what it was tasked with. As we continued exchanging bouts of elation, Amber moved more and more, firing the bed springs into a creaky chorus.

In the middle of this glorious affair, I could hear a sneeze faintly through what seemed like tissue-thin walls. Shockingly, my distracted mind immediately jumped back down to earth and realized it was Amber’s mother. I reluctantly pulled my lips from Amber’s heaving chest and gently pushed her off of me, standing up. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. Perhaps misinterpreting my actions, Amber slid to her knees and reached again for my cock. Despite myself, I moved to the side and quickly slid up my boxer briefs before Amber’s tongue could be given the chance to bring me to the point of no return. Amber returned to her feet confused, suddenly she was just that routine kind of naked again, no smoldering gaze to hypnotize me with. I shook my head half-heartedly, barely getting off the words, “We shouldn’t.”

Amber rolled her eyes, “Oh fucking come on,” before making her way to her travel bag to get dressed. With a heavy sigh I made my way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Believing myself to have surmounted another massive hurdle in the trip, I came back down to earth, maybe taking a slightly colder shower than usual. Everything rolled onward, I got dressed for the day and made my way out to the living room where Amber, her sister, and her mother were watching some sort of Christmas movie. “I hope you didn’t use all the hot water,” Amber’s mother scoffed at me. I have no idea to date if that was a joke, a legitimate concern, or just a means of making me uncomfortable. Probably the latter.

I took a seat on the couch next to Amber who was dressed for the day. She wore a simple red sweater dress that was belted just above her hips and fell just above her knees. Additionally she wore traditional gray nylon stockings underneath with no shoes as there was no expected event on the horizon to bring us all out of the house. Amber smiled as I sat down, clearly not remaining too bothered by my hesitant rejection of her advances.

The day moved slowly onward, conversation lightened up, and I felt less robotic in front of Amber’s mother. As soon as I was feeling in control, a commercial break came up on the television, “Amber, think you could make me some tea?” Amber’s mother asked with some pep. Amber smiled cutely and nodded, hopping up from the couch and making her way to the kitchen a couple rooms over. Fearing that I could become exceptionally awkward in the room without Amber, I forced something out about how I wanted something to drink too and scrambled my way out. Halfway to the kitchen, I heard Amber call out, “Oh, so you’re coming to help out?” To which I got about halfway through my response when I turned into the kitchen.

Amber’s kitchen will forever be gloriously burnt into my memory along with the image I had waiting for me. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I expected to see Amber making some tea, and that’s exactly what I found, though not in the fashion I anticipated. As soon as I took in the room it hit me, Amber was resting on her elbows, bent over the counter, with the bottom half of her dress flipped over her hips. Were this especially captivating sight not enough to break a man, it was then I discovered that the stockings Amber had been wearing under her dress this whole time were thigh-highs: concluding spectacularly on her upper thigh in a black lacy design, matched perfectly by her similarly designed panties. Her ass was awe-inspiring, and she knew she had me crushed. Knowing damn well what she was doing while I collected my jaw from the floor, she continued stirring the mug of water in front of her as if nothing more ordinary had ever happened. I took what must have been something like 30 seconds just staring, frozen in wonder from across the room, as she would playfully wiggle her hips to reassure me of my place.

Though I could have let that moment go on for the rest of my natural life, Amber seductively stood herself back up from the counter, folding her dress back down into place and fetching a teabag from the cabinet. Immediately she began speaking to me about something mundane, like a brand of oatmeal her mother had purchased, or the state of the movie we had watched earlier. I couldn’t tell you if I said anything in response, but if I did, my brain was purely running on auto-pilot. After a few minutes, Amber pulled the teabag out of the mug, and thrust the handle toward me, suggesting I should bring it to her mom. I oblige, seeing it as a further opportunity to seem like a decent guy. Amber smiled brightly before walking over and giving me a kiss on the cheek. Preoccupied in every way, I stand there plainly, as she gives me a second, longer sultry kiss before whispering in my ear, “Don’t you think you can win,” and walking to the refrigerator.

Clumsily I find my way back to the living room and present Amber’s mother with the tea. I get a simple, but suspicious, “Thanks,” before taking a seat on the couch.

The afternoon moves slowly, Amber’s mom makes the effort to ask me how school is going and which classes I’m working on. Amber finds her way back into the room shortly after me and sits close to my side. I wish I had never known she was wearing thigh-highs, as what were previously a pair of stockings in the room now felt like a loaded gun. A loaded gun whose holster was flashed to me whenever her mother left the room to get dinner together and her sister was too entranced by whatever was on television. As much as I was suffering under the tease, I have to give Amber credit in how many risky ways she taunted me, often with her family in the room. She played at dropping her phone in between us, flashing me just the top of her stocking as she picked it up, she held my hand and pulled it into my lap resting just on top of the texture of the stocking’s top; she even was giving her sister a shoulder massage when her mother was in the bathroom and hiked up her dress again, so I could see everything. Each dangerous tease exists nearly photographically in my mind all these years later.

Dinner eventually came and went, food was eaten, wine was drank, and I made smaller steps to not being outright hated by Amber’s family. As the night again rolled around, Amber seemed very sweet and suspiciously accepting of our current situation after I again urged her to cool it. Though her tactics were transparent in retrospect, they caused me to foolishly let my guard down. Amber’s mom had a fair amount to drink and retired to her room to watch some sort of late night show, and Amber’s sister went out with some friends from the neighborhood. As such, Amber feigned being tired and suggested we turn in early. Believing this would consist mostly of me reading some stuff on my phone while she got some sleep, I was led to her room.

I threw on a t-shirt and got down to my boxer briefs to lie down in bed and didn’t pay much mind to Amber changing in the corner of my eye. Whether or not she would taunt me in those thigh highs was irrelevant, I was resolved to keep myself in check one more day, so as not to risk burning the newly shoddily constructed bridge with Amber’s mother. Hell-bent, I kept my eyes glued to my phone reading some Facebook friend’s absurd rant about how much he hated his family around the holidays when I heard Amber speak up in a whisper. “You know, I really respect that you wouldn’t want to disrespect my mom by fooling around in her house,” I looked up relieved at her, listening to her voice under the white noise of talk show through the wall as she continued, “I’m sorry I’ve been making that so hard for you.”

I shrugged and probably said something self-obsessed about how I believed in our relationship too much to cause trouble and she smiled and crossed over the room to the bed. In the dim light supplied by her bedside lamp, I could see she was wearing the loose button-up shirt I had given her the night prior as she dropped the bomb, “So now that you understand I’m supporting you,” Amber started, “Do I still have to wear this shirt?” The lethal smoldering look had returned to her eyes.

I knew she hated having to cover up too much when she slept, so I played it straight, ignoring the obvious signs and joked that I’d be able to control myself. Only as she began to unbutton the shirt did I realize I was so terribly wrong. She began at the top of the shirt, removing buttons one by one. I met her eyes and she had one eyebrow cocked, looking at me like a hunter looks at a rabbit in a trap. As the second button became undone, I averted my eyes, only to discover a dark nylon texture still clung closely to her menacing legs that appeared under the end of the shirt. Feeling as though no place was safe to look, my eyes returned to her’s which were accompanied by a smug grin and her sharp bangs jagged across her face.

A quick survey below and I knew my fate was sealed: with a few buttons now removed it was evident she was not wearing a thing underneath it, as her perky nipples peeked through either side of the quickly deconstructing shirt. I wrung my hands in agony believing that was all there was to her plan. Were this the first night, or had I not endured a full day of her magnificent ass being presented to me whenever I rounded the corner, perhaps I could have been stronger. Watching Amber still play with the last few buttons on the shirt, I threw my shirt off as quick as I could and got to my feet, my cock bulging bluntly through my underwear, the muffled sound of a canned laugh track from Amber’s mother’s television resonating closely through the wall. Ready to pounce on her, Amber held up a single finger to me, indicating her assault on my senses was not yet over.

Before I could formulate a cohesive thought, the last few buttons had been removed, and Amber dropped my shirt to the ground as she had done the towel previously that day. She had already won, but this was adding insult to injury. In front of me she stood, deadly thigh-high stockings working their way up the pillars of my defeat, with nothing but some makeup and a gold necklace on from the top of her head to her waist. An extra bomb dropped on my white flag of surrender met these two ingredient in the middle: the skintight leather miniskirt from our mall trip earlier that month.

Remembering it now, I could swear Amber laughed maniacally as I thought over in my head how she possibly found the time to buy it, but I mostly just remember rushing her, and throwing her onto the bed. I loomed over her, pinning her arms over her head to the mattress. She squirmed under me with a sick smile on her face, the skirt audibly stretching and contorting to her curves. I whispered breathily next to her ear over what was probably David Letterman or Conan O’Brien’s voice from the next room, “You’re just too cruel.”

Amber continued to try to wriggle out from under me with a smirk on her face, “You’re calling me a cruel bitch?” She loved little more than dirty talk.

“Yes, you’re a cruel fucking bitch.”

“You’re calling me a cruel fucking bitch in my mother’s house?” She teased evilly, her smirk growing larger by the second. Her hips less gyrating to get out, and more to taunt my own.

“Yeah, and you fucking deserve it.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of treatment,” she whispers in a way that could not possibly be more facetious, punctuating it with upward thrusts of her hips: the skintight leather smoothly stroking my cock through my boxer briefs.

“We’ve been together long enough that you should know every last mistake you made today.”

“I’ve just been trying to dress nicely for you,” she whimpered fakely, “What kind of boyfriend are you? Calling me a ‘fucking bitch’ in my family’s house?”

“I could tell you, but I doubt you’d listen.”

Amber’s smile curled sinisterly, “Then why don’t you show me instead?”

With that, our lips again went to war as they did earlier that morning. Fuelled by sexual frustration and 24 hours of seemingly pure seduction, I manhandled Amber, swiftly clutching her chest and teasing her nipples. Whimpers spouted from her occupied lips as her newly freed hand groped blindly for my dick. As she finally reached it and began stroking my shaft, deep-seeded groans roared from me in a cacophony of jolting bed springs and late-night ads playing through the wall. In that moment, I lost all care I had for subtlety, Amber had brought us to this point, so it was her fight to win later.

Immediately I worked my hand down to her skirt, I had studied the dressing room photo she had sent me in such depth that I knew exactly where it would begin and end. Instinctively I slid my hand between her thighs, grazing the patterned stockings along the way. Knowing Amber, I wasn’t surprised to find nothing on underneath the skirt. I teased her slowly with my fingers as she continued to work over my cock and lips. Gradually I slid one finger in her and she arched her back in anticipation. As I picked up the pace, Amber tried her best to spread her legs for me, but the leather skirt contained her flawless thighs like a Chinese Fingertrap. Frantically, she pulled her lips from mine and pushed her skirt up to the best of her abilities.

Watching her intoxicating body writhe as she attempted to negotiate some pleasure from the confining skirt set me off. The dim bedside table lamp illuminated everything, where we normally chose to make it in the dark. She had no clue how weak I was for leather, only how weak I was for her. I thought back briefly to the crazy sex I had during our break and immediately graduated from my finger to my cock, unexpectedly sliding myself deep inside Amber. Amber whispered an uproar of incoherent filth as I began to pump myself inside of her. I returned my free hand to pinning down her’s above her head and she groaned in delight.

Even pushed up, the dark leather skirt clung to Amber’s curves, painting them as surreally perfect. As I continued to unleash my pent-up lust into her, the skirt’s smooth texture caused her to slide against the sheets, forcing me to clutch the mattress harder as its springs cried out in the way Amber clearly was containing herself from. Again, I heard television ads play through the wall, and the sound of footsteps signifying Amber’s mother was awake and moving. Amber’s eyes grew wide as she whimpered in between moans that I’d really screwed up my plan. Refusing to admit true defeat, I knocked some pillows to the ground, scooped Amber up, and brought us to the carpet floor.

Initially missing the pillows when I lowered her to the floor, I kept ramming into Amber with her back to the carpet. She continued to spout especially potent dirty talk in my ear and I fucked her harder and harder. In between lines of obscenity, she mentioned she was getting carpet burn, “but that didn’t mean stop.”

As Amber began to muffle her cries of joy and I reached closer and closer, we heard her mother’s footsteps in the hallway outside our door. Fearing she would open the door, I quickly pulled out, and we lied side-by-side on the overly lit carpeted floor in total silence: myself bare naked and her daughter in a pair of scandalous thigh high stockings and a scrunched up leather miniskirt. We waited what felt like an eternity, catching our breath and myself unabashedly taking in every inch of Amber’s essence.

When enough time had passed, we again locked lips. I made my move to climb on top of her again, but she pushed me down by the chest, climbing atop me. Even with such a heavy context, it seemed old habits died hard. We seemingly always moved from missionary to Amber riding me throughout the length of our relationship. Preparing for just that, I was surprised instead to see Amber pivot, pushing up her skirt and begin riding my dick in reverse. Never before in our relationship had we tried out such a position, nor did I inquire. I remember how it felt vividly to this day. I watched as Amber’s ass, barely peeking out from the vacuum-tight leather miniskirt bounced up and down on my cock, which I saw beautifully entering in and out of her.

I began into my own string of profanity as she rode me hard, occasionally looking over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow and really dig it in. Staring at her ass in that depraved leather skirt probed several thoughts in my mind: just as I had learned that leather was my thing when I fucked a girl in thigh-high heeled boots during our break, Amber too must have picked up this new sinful stunt when she was having fun of her own during the break. Briefly I thought of whether she tried this unbelievable position out through her own experimenting or if she had fucked a guy that had a certain craving for it and instructed her through it. All the same, it felt unbelievably dirty and I felt I could not possibly be more turned-on.

As she began to slow down to gruelling pace of sliding her hips on my cock, I pushed her up and bent her over on all fours. I slid myself in from behind and whispered to her from behind when she’d learned such a great trick. Clear as day, I remember between sultry pants she responded toyingly, “I’ll never tell.”

Pushed well beyond the edge, I began to thrust into her with all my might and she struggled to remain on all fours. Sliding some pillows in front of her on the floor, I bent her over even further: her face buried in the pillows, her ass pointed up in the miniskirt. At that moment, I fucked her without restraint, as she screamed out in ecstasy deep into the pillows. Only a couple pumps before she came, I felt myself doing the same. I cursed at a volume that seemingly knew no bounds as I couldn’t control myself before collapsing next to her on the floor. Amber wavered and her hips fell to the side, on top of me as we both raced to catch our breath.

“Damn,” Amber whispered plainly, as I helped her unzip her skirt, now speckled with signs of my excitement. “That was really… really dirty.” Amber responds fairly impressed with herself. I chuckle and agree before we share a sweet kiss and stand up, her knees shaking in the aftermath. We took turns sneaking to the bathroom to clean up before returning to bed and sharing a conversation like nothing ever happened.

The next morning came, and I liked to think that maybe we got away with it. Judging by Amber’s mother’s generally increased displeasure of being in my company, I’m fairly sure she caught an earful or two the night before though. Making matters worse, the only top Amber packed was a tunic with a low back, which unfortunately drew a bit of attention to the clear carpet burn on her shoulder blades. Despite my questionable resolve and goals back then, none of it truly mattered as Amber and I broke up just under six months later. I never met her mother again, but Amber and I had plenty more fun before it all blew up. Somehow, I even ended up with that leather skirt after the breakup, not sure exactly what to do with it, but I keep it around for a laugh and a reminder of the enjoyable torture women seem to put me through.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5k4wc9/home_for_the_holidays_with_a_sinful_leather_skirt