We take our places, I in my chair, she in the practiced pose: feet neatly tucked under her bum, hands on top of each thigh. Such delightful elegance in the curve of her upright back, the graceful arch from her bare shoulder, interrupted only by the strap of her lacy bra, along her neck up to the jewel dangling from her ear lobe. Her chest rises and falls softly and I find my own breath falling into rhythm with hers as I watch. Her admirer, her guide, her lover.
The silence in the room is intimacy itself. It speaks of how well we know each other by now. Both of us shift imperceptibly, her lingerie and my crisp shirt and pants rustle softly. The jewels dangling from her ear lobes jingle soft music. There is time and space to enjoy each other, to savour the scent and aura of our connection.
We have both waited for this all day. Amid the rush of work, just prior to lunch, a text arrived. "I have a surprise for you tonight when you get home x". My attempts across the afternoon to learn anything more were defiantly batted away without words, a "you'll see", a winking kiss emoji; the shushing finger to lips signalled how determined she was about this.
Back in the present quiet of the room, her wistful eyes look up at me, my dark ones questioning. In the stillness she does not need to ask permission this time. This is her show. Coyly her gaze turns downward, between her legs. A hand moves, grazing up her thigh, across the suppleness of her belly, then down again with a soft swish, a flat palm, feminine fingers snaking across the front of lacy black panties and resting there. She waits, fingers poised. She's teasing me as much as herself.
Her eyes look up again. I know implicitly what they say: "Daddy, I have something to show you".
Her eyes move down once more, mine follow, as her black-painted fingertips slip the panties to the side. There, nestled in the beauty of her glistening pink petals, hanging from the waistband on a delicate thread, is a chain of dainty glass and silver charms. Her clit is visibly swollen, it has been stimulating her since she dressed, clearly. Has she had this on all day? However long it has been, the anticipation of this show has had her nectar visibly leaking. With two fingers she prises herself open just a little more. The wetness of her lips smacks in the stillness. Fingers trace the lines of her slit, translucent slivers of honey, spider's silk between the tips of her fingers and her delicious femininity.
I move from my chair, take her hand and have her take my place, with me kneeling. I want to savour this intimacy from close quarters. She opens her legs and hangs one over the arm of the chair. Now, from the immediacy of my vantage point, her scent is in my nostrils, the glistening wetness audible as her fingers begin their slow dance. I'm literally salivating, wiping the corner of my mouth, my beard moist as it rasps under my fingers.
