My husband and I often indulge in lingerie fetish phone sex to build tension, but today, I wanted the real thing. I spent the afternoon arranging a path of my silk and lace panties. They started at the front porch, led him through the narrow hallway, and up the stairs like a breadcrumb trail of desire.

I waited on the bed, my brown hair fanned across the white sheets. I wore a set of light gray lace lingerie that barely contained my breasts. The fabric strained against my nipples, which peaked into hard points. When the front door clicked, I held my breath. I heard his footsteps pause, then accelerate.

He burst into the room, chest heaving. His eyes locked onto me, then drifted down to the sheer gray fabric covering my crotch, my legs spread wide for him.

“This is a hell of a lot better than our usual lingerie fetish phone sex,” he groaned, his voice a low rasp.

“Do you like the view?” I whispered, my fingers trailing up my pussy over the lingerie.

He stayed silent, then he lunged, pinning my wrists above my head. He didn’t reach for the waistband of my panties. Instead, he ripped his trousers down, his cock springing free. He positioned himself between my thighs, the heat of his skin radiating through the thin lace.

He thrust forward and my breath left my body. The fabric didn’t go anywhere; it stayed trapped between us, creating a friction that sent electric shocks through my core. He hammered into me, the gray lace bunching and sliding against my clit and in and out of my soaking wet pussy.

“You make my pussy SO wet,” I gasped, arching my back.