Colleague and her husband

Last Friday had the kind of energy that made me feel like I could get away with anything.

It all started innocently enough, a late-night movie with a work friend and her husband. Nothing out of the ordinary on the surface. Just the three of us in a mostly empty cinema. Xav was supposed to join, but bailed last minute because of overtime. I was furious, not just because he flaked, but because he completely derailed my plans. I had something else in mind.

I dressed the way I felt, a little bold, completely unbothered. Oversized black hoodie zipped all the way up, long and baggy enough to pass as a dress. Underneath? Just a black bra and a thin thong. No pants. No shorts. No intention of playing it safe. No one would know anyway, unless I wanted them to.

Thankfully, my friend offered to pick me up, saving me from stewing in frustration over Xav’s no-show.

The theater was quiet, scattered couples tucked into corners, too cozy to notice anything beyond each other. We picked the back row, tucked into a shadowy corner. The perfect little hideaway in the dark.

We arrived a little early and before the trailers even rolled, I excused myself to the restroom, not because I needed to go, but because I knew exactly what I was about to do.

Inside the stall, I locked the door and, in one smooth, deliberate motion, slipped off my panties. I folded them neatly and tucked them into the pocket of my hoodie.
The sensation that followed was immediate, electric. It felt like peeling away the last layer between me and the night. Suddenly everything felt sharper. The cool air against bare skin. The awareness of my own body. The knowledge that I had just made myself vulnerable and no one knew.

Back in my seat, I settled in like nothing had happened. But everything had.

I crossed my legs. The cool air teased me, brushing softly over the most sensitive parts. The hoodie hung innocently over my thighs, zipped up and modest, but underneath, I was bare. Every subtle movement sent ripples through me. Every shift in posture was a jolt of sensation. I tugged the hem slightly higher on my hips, careful, intentional. Hidden in plain sight. That was the thrill.

For a while, I stayed still. My heart beat a little faster, a sly smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Then I moved again, curling my legs into the seat, balanced delicately on the edge of control. The position opened me just enough to feel completely exposed, even if no one could see. My skin prickled. My breath slowed. It was almost too much, and yet not enough.

The movie played, but I couldn’t focus. Every rustle from the row ahead sent little jolts of awareness through me. I kept catching myself holding my breath, waiting. Wondering.
What if someone turned around? What if they saw?

Time stretched, suspended in that shadowy corner of the world. All that existed was the thrum of anticipation and the quiet, wicked buzz of secrecy.

When the credits finally rolled, I lowered my legs, adjusted my hoodie, and stood like nothing had happened. Calm. Innocent. Composed. My friend looked at me for a moment, unreadable. Maybe she noticed something. Maybe not. Either way, I felt flushed and glowing, charged with satisfaction.

By the time we were back in the car, the rush had softened into something warm and lingering.
A night that left no trace, except a folded pair of panties in my pocket and a memory that felt far too good for how little I’d actually done.

Sometimes the best kind of mischief is the kind no one ever knows about.

Library

Yesterday was beyond thrilling, I reached a new milestone: selling my freshest, juiciest panties yet.

The truth is, I’d made a deal with a buyer who craved something extra special. He was willing to pay triple the usual price, but with one strict condition: he wanted my freshest, juiciest panties, meaning straight from a freshly earned orgasm. I couldn’t resist, but not because of the money, but because pushing my limits always turns me on.

Why the library? It’s my favorite secret spot, quiet, discreet, with plenty of hidden corners. The perfect place for a daring game no one else would suspect.

I arrived earlier than planned, hoping to avoid him, but fate had other ideas. He was there around the same time, though he was grabbing breakfast at McDonald’s when I sent my photo text.

I settled into a secluded corner and with deliberate teasing moves, I orgasmed after edged twice, one of my favorite tricks to build up more juices and stretch the pleasure. Then, without a sound, I orgasmed silently, my body shivering from the intense waves of release.

I wasn’t sure if anyone noticed the trembling, but I was almost certain an older lady caught a glimpse of my soaked pink thong when it picked up from the floor. Trust me, I’d been scanning the room carefully before deciding to remove it, but just as I was about to tuck it away, the lady appeared out of nowhere.

My fingers was shaking when I slid the damp panties into a ziplock bag, heart pounding with the rush of being so close to being caught. After packing my things, I crept over to a shadowy corner of the bookshelf and slipped the bagged treasure between the volumes—my secret gift, hidden in plain sight.

Uniform fetish??

A few weeks ago, I surprised Xav with a Japanese schoolgirl uniform for his birthday. Tight blouse, short skirt, the whole fantasy. I thought it’d be a fun, one-time thing.

Apparently not.

Since that night, he’s become obsessed. He’s been bringing home other school uniforms, SAJC, ACS, Woodgrove Sec, ACJC, NYJC. I don’t even know where he’s getting them, but they’re all perfectly folded and still in brand-new packaging. Like… does he have a secret supplier?

Don’t get me wrong, I play along. It’s not exactly hard to slip into a skirt and let him ravish me like a forbidden secret. But I still don’t totally understand the appeal. The uniforms don’t stay on for long. Half the time, they’re pulled aside or yanked off before anything really begins.

When I asked him what it is about them that drives him so crazy, he just smirked and said, “It’s a guy thing.”
Cool. That told me absolutely nothing.

So here’s my question for all of you:
What’s the deal with the school uniform kink?
Is it the innocence? The control? The taboo? The aesthetic? Or is it just a deep nostalgia thing I’ll never fully understand?

If you’re someone who’s into it, or if you’ve been with someone who is — I’d love to hear your take. Leave a comment or DM me. No judgment, just curiosity.