Sucking His Cock in Her Silky Waist Slip

Danielle heard the knock and crossed her apartment in bare feet, the champagne silk already warm against her hips. She was twenty-eight, a trans woman who had spent the last hour deciding she wanted nothing between Declan and the sight of her, and the waist slip was the only thing she wore. Pale gold and slinky, it began at her waist and clung to the curve of her hips and the soft swell of her thighs. Above it she was bare, breasts lifting with each breath, skin still warm from the shower. The hem sat just below the fullest part of her ass, and the delicate fabric pulled taut when she moved, a visible tension shining across her hips. Months of seeing each other had taught her how he looked at her when she dressed for him. She wanted that look the moment the door opened.

She turned the lock and pulled it wide.

Declan stood in the hallway in a dark shirt and jeans, thirty-two, broad through the shoulders, an overnight bag in one hand. His gaze dropped to bare skin, then to the silk, and stayed there. The slip shifted with her breathing, thin and clinging, gathering between her thighs. Lust crossed his face without hiding. His eyes darkened.

"Christ, Danielle."

She stepped aside. He came in, and she shut the door. The slip whispered, cool where it slid and hot where it stuck. His bag hit the floor. He did not touch her yet. He only looked, jaw tight, the front of his jeans already straining.

"You wore that for me."

"Only this," she said, voice softer than she had planned. "I wanted you to see me in it first."

He breathed out rough. She shifted, and his eyes followed the silk over the curve of her ass. His hands flexed. He looked starved for her, and the same hunger sat low and sure in her body. The city hummed beyond the glass. Inside, silk whispered, and his breathing went uneven.

Danielle moved first.

She crossed the space between them slowly, hips swaying so the silky slip whispered against her skin with every step. The sound was small and filthy in the quiet room, a soft drag of champagne fabric over her thighs. Declan watched her come, mouth parted, chest rising harder under the dark shirt. When she reached him she did not kiss him. She set both palms flat on his chest and felt the heat of him through the cotton, the quick knock of his heart under her hands.

"I've been thinking about this all day," she murmured. Her fingers spread, then slid lower, over the hard plane of his stomach. "About getting on my knees for you. About how you would look down at me while I did it. I want that. I want to drop to my knees and take care of you."

A sound broke out of him, low and wrecked. His hands came up and settled on her hips, and the smooth material of the slip shifted under his palms. He squeezed, feeling the give of her ass through the silk, and the fabric bunched and slid, cool and slick between his skin and hers. She pushed into the touch. The hem rode a little higher on her thighs. His thumbs stroked the curve where her hips flared, and she felt him go fully hard against her belly, thick and insistent through his jeans.

"You sure?" he asked, voice rough. His eyes stayed on hers, dark and asking, even while his hands kept moving over the silk.

"I'm sure." She rose onto her toes and brushed her mouth over his, not quite a kiss, just a promise of one. "I want your cock in my mouth. I want to suck you while I'm wearing this. Don't make me wait."

That was all it took. Want tipped them past the edge of standing still. Declan's hands tightened on her ass, the silky slip whispering as he pulled her closer, grinding the hard line of his cock against her through too many layers of cloth. She gasped against his mouth, then laughed once, breathless, and began to sink. Her palms slid down his chest, over his belt, and she went to her knees with a grace that made his breath catch. The champagne fabric pooled and clung around her hips and thighs as she settled on the rug, the delicate slip riding up just enough to bare more of her soft skin to the warm air. She looked up at him from there, lips parted, eyes bright with want, and the shiny hem trembled against her legs.

The buckle gave under her fingers with a soft click. She worked the button, then the zipper, and the sound of metal in the quiet apartment sent heat rolling through her. Declan stood very still above her, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other hovering near her hair as if he meant to wait until she asked for it. She tugged his jeans and briefs down together, just far enough, and his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed dark at the head, a bright bead of wetness shining at the tip.

"There you are," she whispered, and wrapped both hands around him.

He was hot in her palms, velvet over steel, and she stroked him slowly from base to tip, soft hands gliding, twisting just enough to make his thighs lock. The silky slip shifted against her own skin as she leaned in, the hem riding higher on her thighs with the lean. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his shaft, then another, tasting salt and clean skin. Declan groaned above her. His fingers finally settled in her hair, not pulling, just holding, a warm weight against her scalp that made her shiver with how wanted she felt.

"Look at you," he said, voice gone hoarse. "On your knees in that slip. You have no idea what you do to me."

She smiled against him and licked a slow stripe from the base all the way to the head, then swirled her tongue around the crown, gathering the taste of him, bitter-salt and warm. Her lips parted. She took him into her mouth, just the head at first, sucking gently while her tongue worked the sensitive underside in lazy circles. Declan's hand tightened in her hair. A shudder ran the length of him. She sank lower, taking more, cheeks hollowing as she sucked, and the wet sound of it filled the room between them. The champagne slip rode up as she shifted her knees on the rug, delicate fabric bunching at her hips, shiny and already a little disheveled, clinging wherever her body moved.

She pulled back until only the tip rested on her tongue, looked up so he could see the mess she was making of her mouth, and took him deep again. The glide made her eyes water. She moaned around his shaft, the sound muffled and eager, and the vibration dragged a broken curse out of him. She set a rhythm after that, bobbing steadily, one soft hand stroking what her mouth could not yet hold, the other braced on his thigh so she could feel every tremor. Spit shone on her lips and slicked his cock. Every time she sank down, the silky waist slip whispered and shimmered, pale gold catching the lamplight, the fabric trembling with the motion of her hips and shoulders. She loved the way it felt, cool silk against hot skin, the hem brushing her thighs while she worshiped him with her mouth.

"Danielle," he managed. "Fuck. Your mouth is perfect."

She hummed her answer and took him deeper, relaxing her throat, letting the thick head press in until her nose brushed the dark hair at his base. She held there a beat, eyes wet, throat working around him, then pulled off with a gasp and a thin strand of spit connecting her lower lip to his cock. She stroked him through it, messy and devoted, and licked the underside again before sinking back down. The slip had ridden high enough now that most of her thighs were bare, the shiny fabric rucked around her hips, and every bob of her head made it shift and gleam.

Declan's control frayed in her hands and in her mouth. His hips gave a small, helpless thrust, and she welcomed it, opening for him, moaning so he would know she wanted the motion. He felt it. His fingers tightened in her hair, still careful, still asking even without words, and when she pushed her mouth down onto him again he understood.

"You want me to move?" he asked, rough and low.

She pulled off just long enough to say, "Yes. Gently. Fuck my mouth. I want it." Then she took him back in, deep and willing, hands sliding to his hips to urge him on.

He did. He fisted her hair and began to rock, slow at first, a gentle fuck of her face that matched the rhythm she had already set. Each thrust was measured, never cruel, sliding over her tongue and into the wet heat of her throat while she sucked and swirled and moaned around him. The shiny slip shimmered with every movement of her body, pale gold flashing as her shoulders rolled and her thighs shifted on the rug. Tears of effort brightened her lashes. She did not look away from him. She wanted him to see how much she loved this, on her knees in nothing but that silky waist slip, his thick cock filling her mouth, her own want written all over her flushed face.

He praised her in a wrecked voice, told her she was beautiful, told her she was taking him so well, and every word made her suck harder. She bobbed to meet his thrusts, tongue swirling under the head each time he drew back, lips sealed tight, spit slicking her chin. The apartment filled with the sounds of it, wet and rhythmic, his groans, her muffled moans, the whisper of silk against skin. His thighs began to shake under her hands. She knew he was close, and she did not ease off. She wanted all of him.

"Danielle," he groaned, and the name broke apart as he came.

He held her hair and stayed deep, hips stuttering, and erupted down her throat in powerful pulses, hot and thick, one after another. She swallowed every drop, throat working, eyes lifted to his face, gazing up at him adoring and bright. She did not pull away until the last weak throb had passed and he was shaking above her. When he softened she drew back and licked him clean, loving and unhurried, tongue tracing the sensitive head, then the shaft, slow and devoted. She pressed a last soft kiss to him. Then she rose. The silky waist slip clung, beautifully disheveled around her hips, hem crooked, pale gold creased and shining.

Declan pulled her in the moment she was standing, and the kiss was deep and unhurried, tasting of him and of her. Both of them were flushed, breathing hard, satisfied down to the bone. Their mouths slowed. Their foreheads touched. His palms rested on the rumpled silk at her waist, and her hands rested on his chest, and neither of them spoke.

Outside, the city went on. In the apartment there was only quiet. Silk settled against her skin, and the quiet held.