Directness

We had been dating long enough, and feeling strongly enough about each other, that I decided… it was time.

I invited him to dinner at my place. Before he arrived, I put on carefully selected lingerie, and a white, sleeveless, low-cut dress. Heels as well, of course.

He brought flowers and wine — such a gentleman. I served dinner and we sat down to enjoy it together. Our conversation was entirely about each other, and about us. When I started saying some rather suggestive things, he definitely took notice, as I had never departed from modesty before. Soon our banter was less playful than it was steamy and replete with possibilities.

He offered to help me clear the table, but I insisted that he sit and enjoy the last of the wine. “I’ll serve dessert in just a minute.”

I got everything I needed from the kitchen, and while there, slipped out of my dress. I wore a white lace body-suit underneath, and the white spike-heeled sandals I’d worn all evening. My nipples showed through the lace. So did my lips. So did my wetness.

I came up behind him. As I laid dessert at his place, I came into his field of view. His eyes got huge and he tried to say something, but — pussy got his tongue, I guess. I found that endearing.

He glanced at his plate, and then did a double take. For on the plate there was a single, ripe, red cherry, and on the table was a hammer.

“What? I — I don’t…”

I leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“If I wanted you to pop my cherry, I would have brought you a pin.”

— Frenulum