I had every intention of taking your panties off. I want that on the record. I was going to be civilized about this, but then I pressed up against you and felt how warm you were through the cotton and something behind my eyes just switched off.
So now I’m grinding on you through the fabric, and the wet spot is spreading against the head of my cock and I’ve completely lost interest in doing this properly. I should stop. Pull them to the side. Be a person about it. But we’re dry humping like teenagers, except I keep pressing harder than a nervous teenager would, shoving you into the mattress, feeling the cotton stretch tight across your pussy every time I roll my hips forward. I want to know what happens if I just don’t stop.
The fabric gives a little more each time. I can feel you opening underneath it, your hips tilting up, trying to take me in through the cotton because neither of us is willing to pause long enough to move it. The resistance is making me feral. My whole brain begging, get through, get through, get through. And then the threads start to pull apart and the head of my cock tears through the wet ruined cotton and into you.
You’re a present I couldn’t wait long enough to unwrap. I still can’t get all the way in. The torn fabric is bunching between us, fighting me. But I don’t care. I’ll fuck you through it. I’ll make you cum with your panties still technically on, ripped open by my cock because that’s as close to undressing you as I’m willing to get right now.