The Problem With Thongs.

When I threw out all of my old and now too big under­wear, one of the agree­ments that I made with my hus­band was to wear thong under­wear more often. He didn’t care what kind of thong under­wear it was, whether lacy or skimpy, see thru or plain cot­ton — as long as the back was a thong. I agreed, and he bought me an entire lin­gerie drawer full of new under­wear, almost all of them thongs, though he did let me keep a few pairs of reg­u­lar ol’ bikini panties.

I wear a thong almost every day now — I’m get­ting used to the feel­ing of wear­ing them, learn­ing which pairs are com­fort­able and what kind I pre­fer. I’ve even got­ten used to the feel­ing of my ass hang­ing out — I’ve started to under­stand why my hus­band thinks it’s sexy. But there are days when I wish I could go back to wear­ing my old so-called “granny panties”, and it’s not for the rea­son you’d prob­a­bly think!

Appar­ently, there is some­thing a lit­tle too sexy about wear­ing thongs! My hus­band doesn’t seem to be able to keep his hands off me when he finds that I’m wear­ing one. Just one peek beneath the hem of my night­gown, and if he sees those exposed globes of flesh, he’s all wan­der­ing hands and quest­ing fin­gers. He’s instantly hard, press­ing him­self against my back, work­ing the back of my night­gown higher and higher… Then he’s naked, and I’m naked but for my thong, and I’m over his lap while he slaps and caresses my ass… Well, you get the picture.

Nor­mally, I wouldn’t com­plain — I love my hus­band and he’s fan­tas­tic in bed! But some­times his atten­tions get to be a bit…problematic. Like when he’s get­ting dressed for work, and the sheet slips down reveal­ing a glimpse of my thigh and a lit­tle higher. And then he goes in rather late or sport­ing a very obvi­ous erec­tion through the thin mate­r­ial of his suit­pants. Or when we’re bik­ing together, and my shorts ride down to expose that well known “whale tail” — so far we’ve been able to make it back home, but it’s just a mat­ter of time before we end up half-naked on the side of the road under the gazes of a pas­ture full of horses. Last week, we were so over­sexed that we were entirely too sore for any fur­ther love­mak­ing, yet that glimpse of thong was enough and I ended up on my back against the head­board with my ankles near my ears.

Some­times I think that the Sur­geon Gen­eral should put a warn­ing label on thongs — just like they have on cig­a­rettes and alco­hol. Some­thing like, Warn­ing: May Cause Exces­sive Sex­ing, Sore Chafed Pussy Lips, Ram­pant Over­fuck­ing, and Over­whelm­ing Orgasms that may cause you to pass out and try to run from the bed­room. Of course, I never have any suc­cess run­ning out of the bed­room — as soon as I turn around and he sees my sweet ass pertly dis­played in that cute lit­tle thong, I don’t even make it to the door before he’s all over me! Is it any won­der that today I’m wear­ing the cutest lit­tle bikini panties?! A girl needs a break from all that fuck­ing some­times, but don’t worry — I’ll be back to wear­ing a thong by tomor­row. After all, I’m no fool — I know exactly what wear­ing a thong will do to him and I slip it over my thighs and tug it in place over my hips know­ing that it’s just going to come right off again!