Johannes Vermeer and Scarlett Johansen had it wrong – it’s the Girl with the Pearl Thong, not earring, that epitomises sexual prowess and enigmatic mystique. They’re just as visually stimulating, historically taboo and spectated upon solely by true connoisseurs, and open-minded individuals alike.
Erase any ‘porn-star’ connotations you may attach to the pearl thong, and picture this: a slender layer of lace that sits high on the hips, contrasted in their warmth and texture by the cold kiss of a gleaming string of pearls between your legs. A body necklace of innocent white or dark, sultry black pearls nestle themselves to suit your physique, and move in subtle, powerful pulses.
The sensations you get from wearing the thong mix raw promiscuity with a delicate touch of coyness one only gets from the girlish excitement of anticipating an orgasm every time they shift around.
The pearl thong boasts many similarities to a Romanticist era masterpiece. Their colours are bold, their lines are striking, and the image of them when witnessed in the flesh are impossible to forget.
Much like my night in them.
Slipping a pair on under an oversized, silky t-shirt and climbing the stairs from my vanity to my bedroom, I wondered whether these pair of panties had taken my underwear fetishes to a new, comical level. The thong perched itself on my hips, hugging at the curve of carbs that had formed there from the evenings dinner, and the string of pearls left a playful, giddy kiss.
Looking at myself in them, I could only think: “Am I just too vanilla for this?”
I walked, as confidently as one does when they know they have a gorgeous suitor waiting in the next room, each step taking me further from hesitation and deeper into total titillation. I felt like Samantha Jones when she stormed up a flight of stairs in a pearl thong – constantly on the edge of orgasm, but destined to get somewhere without completely succumbing to leg-shaking delight before the actual action.
Wrapping each of my fingers, individually along the door frame, I managed to pull in what was left of my pulsating body to a mildly arousing position. It was very much a moment of expectation vs. reality: expectation being, I looked like a complete sex goddess, clad in some outrageous underwear – reality: a woman too busy enjoying herself alone to stick out her hips and lick her lips for seductive purposes.
My partner could see me struggling, naturally thinking that I’d fallen prey to yet another wardrobe malfunction. I finally pulled myself to a position of dominance – leg spread, hips tilted and gaze locked on his widening eyes.
His smirk said ‘get over here’ without adding ‘please’.
What guy says no to a pearl thong, really?
Sex in a pearl thong was met with heightened sensations, each thrust accompanied by perpetual external stimulation. The added thrill that the underwear was also crotchless meant we spared ourselves an extra half minute, and enjoyed the evening’s entertainment without any awkward striptease ceremonies.
The dual string of pearls, adjustable to suit any demanded pressure meant for greater mutual enjoyment. It was a constant novelty, a stable stimulator and the perfect accessory to a night of accentuated pleasure.
Put simply, it’s was like wearing a built in sex-toy, that stimulates you externally, while also alluring your partner completely by the sheer ingenuity of them.
A win, win situation really.
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