**Permanently Hers**

She told me I wasn’t allowed to take it off. Ever. That was the rule.

It started as a joke—my girlfriend tossing me one of her tight, soft tees after I’d showered, laughing as I struggled to pull it over my shoulders. “Looks better on you than me,” she teased, biting her lip as the thin cotton clung to my chest. I rolled my eyes but didn’t change.

Then it became a thing. Every time we were home, she’d hand me one of her shirts—tiny, stretched over my broader frame, her scent embedded in the fabric. I’d catch her staring at me, her fingers tracing the outline of my nipples through the thin material, her breath hitching.

Tonight was different.

I came out of the shower, towel around my waist, and she was already waiting, holding out another one of her tees—pale pink, worn soft from years of wear. “Put it on,” she murmured, her voice low. Not teasing this time. Commanding.

I smirked, reaching for it. “What, you like me dolled up in your clothes?”

Her hand closed around my wrist. “I said *put it on*.” Her grip tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make my cock twitch under the towel. I swallowed and obeyed, yanking the shirt over my head, feeling the hem ride up just above my waist.

She stepped closer, her fingers tracing the fabric over my chest. “Good. Now you don’t take it off. Not when we fuck, not when you sleep, not ever.”

I laughed, but the way she looked at me—dark eyes burning, lips parted—killed the sound in my throat.

She pushed me back onto the bed, climbing over me, her thighs straddling my hips. I could feel her pussy already damp through her panties, pressing against the thin cotton of my borrowed tee. “You’re mine,” she breathed, grinding down, making me groan. “And so is this shirt.”

Her fingers tugged at the collar, pulling it down just enough to expose one nipple. She leaned in, tongue flicking over the tight bud before biting down, hard. I hissed, hips jerking up against her, my cock throbbing under the towel.

She reached between us, shoving the fabric of the towel aside, wrapping her fingers around my shaft. “God, you’re already leaking for me,” she murmured, smearing my pre-cum over the head.

I grabbed her hips, pulling her down harder against me. “Fuck, baby—”

She cut me off with a kiss, her mouth hot and demanding as she jerked me slowly, her thumb rubbing tight circles over my slit. I groaned into her lips, hips thrusting up into her grip, already desperate.

Then she pulled back, yanking her panties to the side. I could see how wet she was—her pussy glistening, swollen. She raised up, guiding my cock to her entrance, and sank down in one smooth motion.

“Oh *fuck*,” I choked out, the heat of her swallowing me whole, so tight I saw stars. She rolled her hips, grinding against me, making the shirt ride up even higher.

She grabbed the hem, tugging it down over my cock, so the fabric stretched taut over my shaft, trapped between us as she rode me. The friction was insane—the soft cotton rubbing against my bare skin, her slick walls clenching around me.

“Feel that?” She gasped, bouncing harder. “That’s *my* shirt. *My* cock. You don’t get to take it off, understand?”

I groaned, thrusting up into her, my hands gripping her ass as she fucked me. The shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to both of us, her nipples hard under the fabric as she leaned over me.

“Say it,” she demanded, her nails digging into my chest.

“Yours,” I growled, yanking her down as I slammed up into her. “Fuck—*yours*.”

She came with a cry, her pussy pulsing around me, and I followed, my cock jerking as I spilled inside her, the shirt stretched tight over my hips, sticky with sweat and cum.

She collapsed against my chest, panting. “Good boy,” she murmured, kissing the fabric over my heart.

I didn’t take it off. Not that night. Not ever.