You know, don't you? You have to know, on some level. When you need that extra tug to get those pants over your hips, turn slightly in the mirror and see how well they fit you.
You could be wearing anything, showy, comfortable, casual, snug, and it wouldn't matter. I have to keep my eyes from going right to your hips, where that clingy fabric grips between your legs, fantasies of just lunging at you and yanking them down and burying my face in your crotch and feasting on your pussy not far from the surface.
There's something so enticing about that to me, letting that need bubble and build and marinate, soaking in those thoughts until I can finally act on them. Lust and desire and urgency making my head spin, knowing you must want it, even if you can't say you do.
I like skirts and dresses for that, sure. That access, the teasing glimpse of bare thighs, warm weather making you wear less rsther than more. I still feel that need for you, wanting to get under that dress, clawing at the surface as my eyes drift over your body, marinating in fantasy and carnal need.
You want that hunger, that need. To see and hear and feel my intensity, that I can't wait, wanting to lick and suck and taste until I'm sated, wrenching orgasm after orgasm from your pussy with my face buried in it. And you know that wearing those leggings or jeans is just the way to do it.
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