I have this hot pink T-shirt that I used to love, but it’s now an “at-home” only shirt. No longer can it be worn with my most comfortable summer skirt; no, a few someones put it on its path to ruin. Cheap material that led to a few teensy bitty holes in bad spots, combined with a red nail polish accident have this shirt at one level above rags.
But I wear it now and then, around the house or to bed. Hub always loves it, mostly because the neckline is stretched out and he gets big eyefuls of cleavage. He loves waking up in the morning when I sleep in it.
Today though he reminded me of another reason he loves this shirt.
He still remembers how hard he fucked me when I came home from a “date” with a still-damp cum stain gracing the front of it, last summer.