Short skirt story.

She was very sexy and she enjoyed exploiting that vulnerability in males.

Females come into estrus once a month. For some species it’s only once a year that their eggs are ready to be fertilized. But for all males regardless of the state of the females ovulation they are full of sperm and ready to deposit it at a moments notice 24/7/365. And they will, monkeys use a thumb-less simian grip, elephants their trunks and though it is said deer do it, I couldn’t imagine how.

She was known to drop something just so she could bend over in her heels and her short little skirt and pick it up. She never dropped anything when she was alone in a corridor or an elevator. The safety afforded by an escalator step was the perfect time to adjust the buckle of a shoe strap. Child’s play at thirty-seven, this was her show, it made her feel good about herself. She used to have this little cotton checked thing she wore often. The pattern was little quarter by quarter inch pink and white squares. She had the same skirt in black and white and it too was box pleated all around. She lived in these two skirts, they served her well.

She, like her skirts, was a short little thing, a male could swat her aside like a mosquito and sometimes like a mosquito she liked to annoy males. She particularly liked to annoy the larger males. They seldom if ever got physical with her, mostly they just showed their teeth—through a smile. For such a short thing she had disproportionately long legs—think a real life Barbie doll to scale.

Twenty years later.

He told her to get on the table. She replied, “No! You’re not the boss of me.”

“Are we five?” he asked. “Get on the table, I won the bet yesterday and I’m calling it in.” She climbed up. She didn’t like it, she hated the table. All huffy and mad, she folded her little arms over her tits and said, “Fine, but I’m not going to enjoy it.” He took her boots and pants off, she pouted. “Is your pesce clean?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“Asshole too?”

“Yes.”

“Let me know,” he said, “if not we’ll get you in the shower first.”

“Check for yourself.” She was sitting on her bottom and was reclined back resting on her elbows swinging her feet. A little tuffy she was, a cool little rebellious tuffy. She spread her thighs. He pulled her panties to the side and sniffed, “Good!” he said, “Roll over, on your knees, butt up!” She muttered “Oh Gawd—puleeze!“ He pulled her panties down and told her to spread her cheeks. After a few check sniffs from a distance he got close enough to give a lick, “We are good to go!” he said.

A bottle of sex grease was floating in a pot of hot water on the stove—the water was cooling, the grease was warming. On her feet he put on a pair of red patent leather heels and then a red patent leather dog collar was buckled about her scrawny little sexy chicken neck. The collar was something you’d see on a poodle in nineteen seventy-three. It had chrome studs around it. He gave her the metal leash to hold. “It’s cold.” she said. “Too bad.” he said. The patent leather was easy to clean. Sometimes the liquid from his testicles ended up on her shiny red heels and the collar.

He returned with a cup of coffee, sat in the chair next to her and said, “Masturbate for me!”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/b8irtx/short_skirt_story