I Sleep Nude, She Wears PyjamasI Sleep Nude, She Wears Pyjamas


I like to sleep in the nude. Stark naked. No underwear, no socks, just my skin and the covers. I have basically since I became an adult. My girlfriend is the exact opposite — she loves her pyjamas. Sometimes it seems like half her wardrobe is sleepwear, from the full-length striped flannel to the little satin shorts and tops to the brief, thin nighties. And if it’s not the dedicated sleepwear, she slides under the covers with at least her panties on, but usually a long shirt or a tank top as well. Sometimes I’m blessed by her lingerie, all straps and lace cutouts, accentuating her considerable assets, but never giving it all away. There is a fundamental inequality in exposure when we go to bed, but it doesn’t bother me at all.

Firstly, she likes to look at me, and I make sure she gets to. She’s usually in bed reading by the time I come in. I always notice the way she peeks over the top of her book when I strip, how she spies at my body, my dick, my ass as I move my used clothes to the basket and stretch a final time before lying down.

I like to be looked at. Men’s bodies just aren’t sexualised in the same way women’s are — where every inch of skin revealed is considered erotically charged. It’s kind of all or nothing for us. As a result, it feels to me like most women just don’t look at men in the same obvious, hungry, objectifying way men look at women, which I think can be a shame. I love to be objectified a little. Basically, I wish girls looked at me the same way I looked at them. Sometimes you just want to be someone hot’s bit of meat for a little while, you know? It’s a show of vulnerability as well, to strut and stretch about in the nude around someone fully clothed and hidden from you. I have no way to hide myself, and no secrets from her. Including how much it all turns me on. Guys don’t get the luxury of concealing that kind of reaction, and I rarely get to the end of my stretches without being at least at half mast, often all the way hard. She turns all pink and bites her lip as she watches it grow and the reaction never gets old.

And she can’t keep her hands off me. I slide under the covers and she starts touching and tickling and pulling, telling me she feels like she’s got full access when I’m like this. We play, and I have to dig through the layers and unwrap her body like the gift that it is while she has her way with mine. When she rolls over in the night — having always pulled her gear back on after the initial romp — she brushes up against me and realises again that I’m naked and exposed and lets her hands wander, and we start all over again.

And it’s not like I never get a show. I like to look as much as I like to be looked at. I love waking up in the morning to see how a tank top has been displaced, with tits spilling out between the straps, or that a top hadn’t been fully rebuttoned after we played. Sometimes, if it’s been hot enough to kick the sheets off the bottom, I’ll glimpse how the looseness of the little satin shorts flashes her pussy through the leg holes, or just find that a shirt or nighty has rode up to a pleasing height. She doesn’t mind that I look, or that I’ll sometimes wake her by touching or rubbing myself over the exposed parts, escort izmir and I feel like a successful voyeur, catching these glimpses of things that usually stay covered.

The other parts of our mornings are pretty great as well. I don’t get dressed until I’ve had my morning shower, and neither does she. Usually, I go straight to the bathroom after I get up while she mills around in her PJs and has a coffee. But some mornings, she’ll ask me to put cat food out, or just call me over to show off a meme or something else on her phone before I make it to the shower. Those days, I wander out of the bedroom starkers and shameless with my morning wood leading the way.

She grins over the top of her coffee mug as she watches. She says she loves it when I walk around with a boner, the way it waves and wags along with my movements. I play up the way my hips shake to give her the show she wants.

Some mornings, the show turns her on enough that she asks me to take her right there, wherever I’ve found her, in the living room or kitchen. One of my favourite things about her pyjamas is how easy they are to take off, and how little there is underneath them. It only takes a flick of the wrist to send a pair of those silky little shorts to the floor and leave her bottomless with her newly exposed pussy begging for attention. Nothing gives me greater joy than grabbing the bottom of a semi-transparent nightie and hiking it up above tit level, letting all the parts she’d tried to hide flop out in front of me. I’ve broken more buttons than I care to count, but she always gets mad at me when I do that. I see the way anticipation smoulders on her face as the advantage she has over my nakedness is stripped away. We fuck like rabbits, and she stays pleasingly half-naked after, wandering around with her dripping cunt on show as she goes back to her coffee to finish it off before joining me in the shower.

“Wow, is this how I’ve been making you feel this whole time?” I always ask as she finally, blissfully strips all the way to her birthday suit to wash off (and get pounded under the spray). I ogle and drool and make the most of the opportunity to see her skin — all of it — unobstructed, and I let my revived hardon make my feelings obvious. She pushes in next to me under the hot water and we’re skin on skin from top to bottom, hands everywhere, my rigid cock grinding into her softness. We savour the chance to be equals in nudity, with no difference in power.

And then, that evening, she slips into bed before me, all covered up, and watches while I dress down to nothing, and the games begin again…


Our sleeping arrangement started a few weeks into the relationship, on what the kids would call a “Netflix and chill” evening at her place. We’d hooked up a few times after our dates, but for one reason or another had always struggled to spend a full night together until now. The movie had been ignored (in magnificent fashion) and we were calling it a night. It was late and I wasn’t holding my breath for anything more after the fun we’d already had.

In her bedroom, she turned her back to me as she changed into her full-length, pink-striped flannel pyjamas. I took a moment to appreciate escort izmir the room — her old plush toys on the chairs in the corner, the organised chaos of her work desk and makeup area, the fairy lights around the posts of the bed, then did as I do at home. I shucked off my jacket, pulled my shirt over my head, and pushed my jeans and briefs down to the floor and stepped out of them. I stretched by the side of the bed I’d intuited was mine from the location of her phone charger. A squeak of surprise caught my attention before I could get under the covers.

“You sleep naked,” observed my red-faced lover. “Heh, of course you do.”

I had no idea what I’d said or done to give her the impression I was the kind of guy who sleeps naked, but I guess she picked it accurately. “Uh, yeah. I can get my undies back on if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t have to. I just wasn’t expecting to turn around and see it.”

I’d started to feel strangely exposed out here. I mean, I was naked, but usually being naked in front of a girlfriend was different. But at that point it had been kind of a first for us. Due to clashing schedules, our encounters had been quickies done through unzipped flies and into flipped-up skirts. Even during the movie, the frantic enthusiasm of our early encounters had carried us. My pants had made it to my feet and her panties had been kicked off and tits pulled out of her shirt, but getting to the sex had been a priority over finishing undressing. We’d talked about having this night as one for us to finally take is slow and ended up rushing like a pair of horny teens regardless. Oh, we’d been face-to-crotch both ways and had no secrets, but we’d never been nude with each other. It was a strange realisation, that I knew her pussy without knowing her body.

And she must have felt the same, the way she was staring at me. I supposed she hadn’t even seen me with my shirt off. She would know my cock by feel and taste, but she hadn’t seen me flaccid before. She seemed pleased with what she’d landed here, but also flustered with my casual nudity.

And I felt myself starting to rise. I liked that she liked me. I liked that she held the power, as we stared at each other in our reversed states of exposure from opposite sides of the bed.

“I kind of like it,” she admitted, sitting down and pushing the covers back. “You’ve got a nice body.”

I flopped down into the softness of her bed and reached across, placing my fingers on her thigh, on the soft material of her pyjamas. I walked my fingers up to the waistband. “I’m sure you do too. How about you take these things off and join me?”

“I couldn’t,” she batted my fingers away.

“Getting shy now?” I let my hand crawl up her torso instead and try the buttons of the shirt. “I saw it all before. And then some.”

She deflected me again. “I just can’t get comfortable like that. It’s always ‘what if someone walks in’ or ‘what if there’s a fire?’ Even if it’s after a late-night playtime, I can’t settle until I’ve at least got a long shirt or some knickers back on. But you can wear what you want. Or not wear things, if you want.”

I sighed and rolled to my back. “If you can get past the fear it’s really relaxing. Freeing, even. Plus, skin on skin during the night.”

“I can see how relaxed you are.”

What can I say, I’d been imagining the results of getting her out of those PJs the whole time. I was hard again, pointing straight up. I figured it wasn’t a big deal. She’d seen it. We’d fucked. And yet it seemed so novel to her. And that was exciting to me.

She reached over and stroked the shaft with a single finger. “You’re shameless. You don’t care who sees, do you?”

“I don’t care what you see,” I corrected her. “Well, actually I do care. I want you to see it all. My body and how horny you make me.”

“Message received.” She started pumping my cock, breaking her rhythm only to tease the tip in that wonderful way she did. In a moment, her free hand was inside her pyjama bottoms, fucking herself hard and fast. The orgasm came quickly, in a gasp and a shudder. Yeah, I figured something about this setup was working for her. Breathless, her grip on my dick faltered. Her hand moved south so her fingers could trace around my balls instead. “Finish yourself off for me, baby,” she cooed. “Show me how you do it. I want to see.”

I needed no further encouragement. I felt her hungry eyes as I brought myself to the brink. I considered going just straight to the end, but I asked her instead, “where do you want it?”

“I just want to see it happen.”

“You like to watch, the best views are from the splash zone.” I got up on my knees and rubbed faster and faster over her face.

She salivated for a moment, but turned her nose up. “I just brushed my teeth!”

“Give me another target then. I could end up splattering your precious pink PJs.”

“Nooooo!” she was laughing and tickling my balls and thighs, plainly enjoying the game.

“I won’t last long! I need a target!”

“Just a moment!” Her hands became a flurry up the front of her top, freeing button after button. I felt myself cross the masturbatory Rubicon. I could delay it for a moment from here, but it was coming out one way or another. A warm orgasmic tingle washed over me, starting from the base of my cock. She pulled her top open and for good measure hooked a thumb into the waistband of her bottoms and stretched the front of them down her thighs. Now she was exposed from collar to crotch, her breasts with hard, pebbled nipples rising over her stomach, her pussy pink and wet from her own play, her back arched, thrusting it all up toward me. I was naked, exposed and masturbating for her, with nothing to hide. She was rewarding my confidence with a momentary flash of her most intimate areas, but she was still clothed. This didn’t shift the power balance one bit.

I came. A hot surge ran up the shaft and manifested in an explosion of milky liquid that painted her midsection up and down.

“Good boy,” she purred. Despite her objections to cum on her clothes, she fixed her bottoms and buttoned the top back up without cleaning herself, leaving me on her skin, but hidden away with the rest until she decided otherwise. Between that and the surprising effect of being called a good boy, I was almost ready for another round on the spot.

We settled in under the covers. She turned off the bedside lamp and I snuggled nakedly into the back of her. The flannel was soft and warm on my skin. That was the night I knew we were onto something special.

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