Make It Up To Me Later

Eyes, the unblinking cold kind of dark eyes, are on your person and have been all night.

You've been ignoring your boyfriend Zack, and it's driving him crazy. He flicks his tail, which is dark green and massive to fit his built frame but basically invisible in the night, and moves with a slinking kind of manner which betrays his upset. He meanders at the edges of the party, where the bon fire's light doesn't quite reach, and the darkness of the backwoods is a heavy lingering curtain just out of the way.

It's there were the night atmosphere just waits to smother the jubilance of a late-night party.

The humans in the party have gone through so much beer that it might fill up a lake, and the demi-people and monsters that stroll about as well have had their fair share of fea-liquors. And he? The naga snake-man that invited you here is no different. He's been drinking, heavily even, and he's doing it while looking at you with a predator's gaze.

He wants you to come to him, that much is obvious, but you're having too much fun to care.

You know exactly what he wants, and it's not to eat you whole or anything scary like that look might mean to a stranger. He's a pervert, the alcohol just makes it harder for him to hide.

This you've teased him about and he'll deny until the hills turn white with snow and back again. With how ownry he can be, you think it's good for him to simmer a little bit on the edges of his own world. You know what he wants, and that he's holding himself back from making a scene in public, and that only makes denying him hotter.

You and your favorite snakeman have been together long enough to know that this is all a part of the game. This particular game you've been playing for longer than he realizes though. Teasing him is half the fun of being with him, and you've been goading with your body him all week.

Really, he made it too easy.

See, it all had to do with your clothing. A very specific piece of clothing: socks.

Socks, stockings, thigh highs, panty hose, fishnets--and in that order--were his hyper fixation. Maybe it was because his people didn't have legs, but he loved just about anything to do with yours. He could appreciate a good pair of tight pants or even how the slit in a skirt that flashed the flesh of your calves and thighs at him every so often. He loved the look of a heel-clad foot slipping out from under fabric and gracing his tail with a spurring glancing touch. But it wasn't his ultimate favorite.

The idea that under all that was another semi-secret, semi-visible piece of underwear (your socks) made him crazy. There was a kind of indecency about visible under-leg covers--like the strap of a bra. It was intimate, but completely ordinary to see out in the world, and before you he hadn't even realized how much he'd been drawn to them.

How did you learn about this particular kink?

Well, his fixation with legs was evident quickly. Obviously, he was half-snake dating a human. All the cross-species relationships were led into existence by some kind of fixation which might have been a fetish for another species (which thankfully between you and he blossomed into genuine love and care.) You hadn't been at all surprised when you found out he liked legs and feet.

You, enjoying pleasing your man, tried to find little ways to do that every day.

So, it started off with just making a show of putting on your shoes in the morning before heading off to work.

This included slowly pulling up your socks. You thought you caught his eye because of the way you stretch out your legs one at a time, and flex your foot around in a way that might catch his attention--and it did. But his attention lingered on your hemline of your socks in a way you didn't notice, and in a way he didn't dare comment on aloud for fear of being shamed.

It took until one day you didn't wear shoes that needed any kind of sock that you noticed his slight disappointment. The shift was immediate, there was no way you could have missed the change in his reaction. His gaze was usually a bit ravenous as he drank up the sight of you getting ready, and the touch of his hands on your hips when he pulled you in for a kiss before you left for the day obviously lustful.

Now, he still kissed you goodbye and felt up your thighs, but he did so without the same kind of strong grip. He even asked about your shoes in an odd dejected way before you were out the door. You'd laughed at him, and told him that it wasn't like socks were a necessary part of every outfit, and then left with thinking he was a much sillier man than you'd realized.

After that, a devious idea entered your mind. Your normal ankle socks turned to calf height, then thigh highs and you could tell he liked those the best. It was after the third time putting them on, he finally admitted how hot he thought it was, and you had to stifle every urge in you to tell him you already knew. Little did he know, you were already considering how to tease him further.

Escalation was your next plan.

That's why you went out and bought panty hose. That thin semi-transparent fabric showing skin and yet covering it... He loved those, so much he asked you wear them every day just so he could see you put them on. Even if you wore them under pants, you did as he liked and, in the mornings, and evenings he'd spend some time running his hands over the mesh and feeling how your skin was pliant beneath but just out of touch. It drove him wild.

A lot of nights they'd end up ripped up as he tore them off you, and set showering the skin beneath with affection. Kissing up and down your legs as he revealed your skin, and then ending his worship with that long forked tongue buried between your thighs.

After that, you'd spend half the night moaning, and digging your hands into his hair, begging him to be more gentle with you while trembling like a leaf all while in the same breath begging him to never stop. He wouldn't be done until his face was filthy with your pleasure and you were so overstimulated you'd cry.

(Honestly, with all the stocking he tore, it was starting to be quite the monthly bill! But it was so, so worth it...)

Next, the stockings had been an impulse buy when you were looking at new lingerie. The kind of lacy thigh high socks which were thin like hose and came with a garter you clipped to them, and a little waist anchor that looked sexy on the model and even better on you.

This had been a little too much for your boyfriend.

You'd teased him with them before dinner plans you had. He'd tried to cancel them, but as with most things he'd eventually relented to your evening plans (though he'd had eyes for you all night, which declared where he'd much rather be than out and about.) When you got home, he'd practically ripped your clothes off, and he fucked you so hard you limped the next day.

What to do after that? You considered how you'd raised the stakes for a while, and planned your attack for tonight's party.

It was a bon fire out in the country thrown by one of your mutual friends to celebrate Halloween, eat too much candy and drink heavily. Zack actually brought up the idea of going, and you eagerly agreed. You were dressed skippy, like a little black cat. It was a closet costume, and the only thing you had to buy was a cat ear headband. Most importantly, you work a skirt that showed off the bottom of your ass, and so tiny a top it should have barely counted as clothes (both of which you borrowed from a friend who was much sluttier than you).

And then, to finish off the mission...

You had to wear the fishnets.

Dark black fishnets that and tall heels, so you knew that his eyes would be nowhere but your legs the moment he laid them on you. You didn't let him see your outfit until you got here. You'd worn a long trench coat and pretended like you were freezing the whole drive to the party. The moment you saw your friends though, the coat was off your secret was revealed (along with most of your body!)

Since then, he'd been pouting.

You might have created his problem, which came in the form of a raging hard-on and no where to put it, but his problem wasn't your problem. You were busy with your friends, trying to get them to dance and having far too much fun to bother with how he was staring at your legs in those fishnet tights. He simmered in the desire to drag you away from the party and show you just how well your teasing worked, but he restrained himself.

As usual, his patience would bear fruit. Because after a long night away from him, eventually you return to his side. Zack frowns when you do, eyes following as you approach with a smile. This is all an act, as you well know.

When you're actually close enough, he snatches your arm and drags you further from the fire-light and sound of laughter.

Of course, he's confrontational.

"You did this to me on purpose."

He says that and sulks. When your close enough he brings your hands down to the v where his abs end and his tail begins. You can feel how hard he is immediately, and you can't help but chuckle.

He really was a pervert.

"How long am I expected to take this?" He added in a low voice, petulantly glaring at you.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" You ask back, and gesture behind you, "Everyone is here. Are you trying to fuck me in front of a whole party?"

"I'm thinking about it." He contends.

He says that, but you know better. He's much too shy and much too possessive to outright screw you against a tree when all your combined friends are just a few stone throws away. He's a closet-pervert, he'd never let them see this side of him. This part of him was just for you, and in turn yours was just for him.

You turn your head and coo at him, just a little demeaning in the way he likes, and trace your fingers over his chest and then down further. It's teasing, you know it is, but that's just part of the fun.

"I'll make sure to take care of you when we head home." You offer.

He hangs his head a bit, and you feel his cock throb under your teasing hand.

"But I can't wait." He admits (pitifully.)

You look over your shoulder and back at him, eyes brimming with mischief. Those words sound gruff, but to your ears they're a submissive plea. "But you can't fuck me here, babe. They'll notice. You know I'm terrible at being quiet."

He huffs a sigh and thinks it over.

"Then just let me touch you." He practically begs.

You think for a second, but then nod. Why not? Halloween night is the perfect time for taking risks.

He's so eager, that's all it takes for him to accept. You've been half hidden behind some bushes and trees already, but he grabs you, lifting you up by the thighs and slithering his way into the quiet of the forest a little deeper into its boughs. Here, your place will be more out of sight, and the noises of your play not so close to the party. While the sounds of fun leech into the forest, it's so dark you can't see anymore and assume no one there can see you.

He can see the silhouette of your hot form held within his grip, and right now that's all he really cares about.

"Pull up your skirt." He demands, and you shimmy it up the rest of the way so he can see how far the tights go up and his eyes rake across your skin, to see you also have no underwear on. "Can I?"

"What--" you begin to ask, but he's already taken you by the hips.

He'll do as you said, and he won't fuck you, but there's no way he's leaving here without feeling your skin pushing through the holes of the fishnets and squeezing against his dick. You'd chastise him, but he's doing exactly as you asked really. Even though he's only off of the mark by a few inches.

Fucking your thighs wasn't fucking you outright, after all.

He's really relishing it to, holding you close to his chest and thrusting real slowly. It's like he's savoring the push and pull of ridged flesh against his. He rocks his hips in such a way that you begin to feel a warmth too, imagining just how good it would feel if he were fucking you like this instead of just rutting between your legs.

You can almost feel it, like a phantom dick is teasing you with the idea of how good the real thing would be. The denial is too sweet, you cling to him as he pulls you closer, and you sandwich your legs tighter.

It shouldn't feel so good, but it does.

"Fuck." He whispers out as the friction hits a peak.

"Are you going to cum?" You ask him, hot against his ear.

His chest heaves a bit, and he lets out a sound no one else would ever be allowed to hear but you. You coo condescendingly back. Even though you're totally grinding your hips back on his, dry humping his shaft like a cat in heat and chasing your own high. You try to be quiet now, but your grateful the wind means that when you keen and whine it's not so very obvious.

When his breath studders, you know he's close.

You reach around and grab his dick, jerking the part that sticks out a bit when he slides all the way across your thighs.

"Damn it, woman..." He curses, "I was... not... fuck..."

But it's too late for him. It feels far too good all together for him not to spill out onto the back of your legs and onto the nearby tree, which was a slick slime of semen trancing down the bark a moment after his words trails off.

"Aw, finished without me." You tease him as he huffs and catches his breath.

He shoots you a sharp look, then gets a bit sheepish. "Sorry."

"It's alright, babe." You say to him playfully, "Just make it up to me later."