Skirt Chasing Novels & Stories

A foolish indulgence, I knew, but the urge for something different, something unpredictable, tugged at me. My skirt, a whisper of silk against my thighs, rode high with each confident stride. I felt its delicate fabric brush my skin, a soft tease against the chill air. The material, unforgiving in its brevity, offered easy access, a detail I rarely considered outside the confines of my own bedroom. Tonight, however, a prickle of awareness bloomed low in my belly.

Thanks dad. Chloe’s dress was impossible to ignore, crimson red, low-cut back, her hair pinned up but a few strands loose, framing her face. Brian forced himself to look away, though it took effort. The gym looked deserted, but a massive vampire swung the door open for them. Behind the curtains, a hidden hallway buzzed with chatter. Fighters stood by the doors, some inside, waiting their turn. Chloe moved past them, her eyes locking with Hunter’s. He grinned, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

Beautiful, elegant, and so comfortable—big brands really were different. Coming out of the restroom, Chase’s indifferent gaze slowly swept over her long, slender legs. His sharp brows drew together as he noticed the stockings made her legs seem even more alluring. The depth of his dark eyes held an unspoken urge. Noticing his gaze, Harper instinctively pressed her legs together and spoke with deliberate distance, “I’m going to work now.” She walked straight to her desk. From behind, his low, cold voice rang out, “That skirt… don’t wear it again.”

It is a beautiful full-length gold underlay with a patterned black lace overlay; it was a long-sleeved off-the-shoulder evening gown. The skirt is not loose, but it isn't skin tight either, with a slit going up one side. It was a little restricting, but it did allow me to move just enough that if I had to protect Zachariah or myself, I could. The slit in the skirt may just get a little bigger if I have to fight too much.

*They date either the football players or the popular guys, they're sluts and let's not forget grade A bitches. But don't worry I could never say this to them. In my head I can diss anyone but on the outside I somehow stutter and allow them to walk all over me. *The annoying and ear piercing high pitched voice. She didn't have the voice so I knew I could look up. I slowly lifted my head. I watched from her milky, long and smooth legs, to the black flair skirt that reached mid thigh to the white buttoned shirt. And finally to her warm and emerald green eyes which were a shade I couldn't quite describe to her long chocolate brown hair.

She likes to see a reaction from her mother. The winds started blowing the moment Winter stepped out of her home, She cursed her luck for the bad Weather, it's almost two years since Willow quit wearing her long flowery skirt. And times like today, which is a rare occasion for her to wear a skirt, the wind just had to mess up her fashion. The joy of having to hold the end of her skirt every step she took!! She passed by the VIP house and last night's event started replaying in her mind. She wondered if he would recognise her. She was hoping he couldn't see her face clearly and perhaps suffered from night blindness.

Chloe walked on shaky legs, looking at the waiting staff who were just getting ready for their shifts. They are wearing a tight corset and a short skirt with ankle boots. That skirt is not long enough to cover their legs properly. It barely covers their ass. But if they bent over, it's entirely another story.

Her eyes studied me and I took time to study her too. She was neatly dressed as usual. She was wearing a crisp white blouse paired with a tailored black pencil skirt. The skirt was that type that revealed her curves in a way that aroused me. I could see a bit of her cleavage and the skin under the white blouse was looking creamy from afar. I wanted to hug her the way she was, smell her hair and suck in the scent of her pure skin.

I let my body speak, moving in ways I never would outside this club. Piece by piece, the corset slips down, and I let it fall to the stage, hearing the murmurs from the men in the crowd grow louder, more eager. I glance toward the tables, catching the eyes of men who are already with dancers, their attention now locked onto me. It’s exhilarating, intoxicating. They watch me, their gazes filled with desire, with hunger, as I slide my skirt down my thighs, letting it pool around my feet before stepping out of it.

His action makes me laugh a bit, it looks nice and provocative at the same time doing that. I feel a chill running through my whole body when his fingers touch the skin of my legs. He takes one of his hands towards the closure of my skirt at my waist and pulls it down so he can get rid of it. I hear him curse quietly when the skirt gets a little caught in my hip; but at last he can, with my help, pull it out of my legs and throw it somewhere in the room.