The Welcome-Mat Vol. 01

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FOREWORD

:

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I'm intending

The Welcome-Mat

to be a serialized affair, consisting of many short instalments. (As short as I can get away with on Literotica, anyway.) These will serve as a sort-of palate refresher for me in-between writing my longer-form stories.

Please, do be liberal with your comments, both positive and negative. Due to the serialized nature of this story, I'm going to be able to incorporate your feedback much easier than I otherwise would be able to. I'm

'taking requests'

, you could say...

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PART ONE

:

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It's five o'clock.

You arrive, on time.

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After ringing the door-bell twice, you wait anxiously, standing on the welcome-mat and attempting to peek through my curtained windows.

A long moment passes, before the front-door finally swings open.

I greet you with raised eye-brows. "Juliette?"

You nod, averting your eyes away from mine.

I take this opportunity to survey the woman standing before me, head to toe, letting my eyes linger where-ever they wish to.

My assessment:

A mature woman, a little passed her time, maybe, but aging gracefully enough for my taste.

Your tits hang low inside your blouse, almost pendulously. As you nervously shift your weight from side to side, I can see those fat tits gently bounce off of each other, flesh rippling a little.

You are dressed in the same clothes you wore through-out your day, wearing nothing particularly special for the occasion. This is exactly how I instructed you to arrive:

'simply as you are'

.

The brief invitation you received in the post came with few caveats, one of them being not to

'apply make-up before-hand'

or to

'dress in an overt attempt to impress me'

.

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"Your ring", I say, pointing to the mail-slot beside my door. "Put it away, for a time."

You blink at me for a long moment, only gradually understanding the meaning of my words.

"It'll still be there for you in the morning, I promise."

After a brief hesitation, you slide your wedding-ring off of your finger and drop it through the mail-slot. It lands inside the locked-box below with a painfully loud

clank!

The sound seems unavoidably final.

Your eyes are still averted from mine, but you can sense the half-smile on my face.

"Excellent", I whisper.

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I raise my eyes, looking down the long, almost snake-like driveway behind you.

Beside the curb, an SUV stalls, purring exhaust into the afternoon air. I can make out what looks like a middle-aged man, pressing his hands up against the glass.

Then, the figure in the glass sees me looking back at him and suddenly shrinks down into the driver's seat, out of sight.

"Is that your husband, watching us?"

You nod.

I smirk.

"Okay. I want you to send him a message for me..."

I close the front-door in your face, then disappear for a short time. When I come back, you can see a black Sharpie tucked into my shirt-pocket.

"Step forward, Juliette, onto the welcome-mat."

You obey.

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A few moments later...

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You look over your shoulder, back down the long drive-way you just walked up.

Tall hedges block-out most of your view of the street beyond. But all around you, the neighbourhood seems full of sound: wives talking to their husbands in their backyards; a couple kids playing basketball somewhere, hollering to each other; a dog, barking endlessly at the traffic.

I can do this

, you think.

I can.

The walk back down to the SUV felt twice as far as it should of.

With every step, the same thoughts echoed inside your head, practically over-lapping each other, like a radio tuning through channels:

It's only one night; I need this; It's only one night; Henry wants this; It's only one night; This is my chance; It's only one night...

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As you drew closer, you can make out the disappointed look on Henry's face. He thinks you've been rejected, turned away at my door-step.

It's not until you see that expression on his face that you realize he truly does desire

this

every bit as much as you do.

He starts to roll the driver's-side window down, but you motion for him to leave it up. He leans back into his seat, frowning; then, he puts the car in drive and waits for you to climb inside.

You stand beside the window, feeling your heart pound against the inside wall of your chest like a drum.

I can do this...

You take a deep, deep breath.

I can do this... I can...

After knocking your knuckles against the window, you yank the bottom of your blouse up, then press the flesh of your breasts against the glass, creating a twin set of flat saucers.

My message, written in neat Sharpie print, reads:

"Go home, Henry. You can have her back tomorrow morning, like we agreed upon. I'll make sure she sends you a pic before bed."

On both of your nipples, I've doodled rudimentary pictures of clamps, with a scribbled chain attached between them, which crosses your cleavage. Along the chain, I've written:

"

Henry's

My

Wife

Anal Slut."

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You yank your blouse back down as quickly as you raised it. Henry blinks at you through the glass, astonished. His jaw pops open, as if a spring inside it gave way.

Then, you spin around on your heels and begin to walk back up my long driveway, without saying a single word to your husband.

The glazed look of shock on his face is cemented into your vision, like after-burn. You blink, but the image won't leave.

Behind you, you can hear Henry pulling away from the curb and driving off. And in front of you, you can see a group of teenagers in the backyard next-door to mine, standing in a dumbfounded circle, with a basketball rolling neglected between their feet.

"Did she just show her tits to that old dude?", one whispers, rather loudly.

"Yeah, bro. She just squeezed her huge udders on the glass for a moment, then, like, just turned and fucking walked off", another whispers.

"I like old bitches, man", a third whispers. "The way their pussies feel kinda like, y'know, some old velvet or shit. Love it."

"The fuck would you know?", the first interjects, while punching his friend on the arm. The teenagers then begin a raucous round of shoulder punching.

As you approach, they suddenly stop, continuing to watch your ascent toward my residence. As you pass-by, the teenagers whistling toward you, grinning and making lewd gestures.

"Wanna show us some ol' titties, mommy?"

You're not sure which of the teenagers hollered that. You're not looking.

All you're trying to do is ignore them; and soon enough, you are concealed again behind the tall hedges lining by driveway.

Finally,

you think, relieved to feel the searing sensation of the young men's eyes on you fade away.

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Meanwhile...

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Henry parked the car up the street a ways, then doubled-back toward the mansion, with his binoculars hanging from around his neck.

Henry wasn't particularly in shape, but that didn't matter; there was ample tall grass and shrubbery around him to provide the cover he needed.

Once he'd picked a spot he deemed suitable to stake-out my place for the night, Henry settled in, expecting to be there for a while.

He was there all night, it turned out...

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Meanwhile...

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You wait for me to step aside, allowing you through the front-door.

You've done everything I've asked of you, and now, you expect to let you inside.

But it doesn't happen.

When you finally raise your eyes to meet mine, silently pleading to me, I speak: "Before you step inside my house, Juliette, I need you to undress for me. Literally, figuratively:

all of it

..."

"What?", you ask, feeling your face glow with embarrassment. "Are you s-serious!?"

I stare back at you. My expression is unwavering.

"Yes", I reply, motioning with my hand for you to step forward. "Tonight, there will be no room for symbolic gestures." As I speak, I slip two of my fingers beneath the button of your jeans, effortlessly popping it open. "Your shirt, your pants, your underwear; you know that's all they've ever been, right?

Symbolic

. There is nothing clothed about you, Juliette, and there never has been; I can already see everything I'd ever need to..."

My hand slowly unfolds the opening of your jeans, then my fingers begin to creep down the crotch. "Be honest, do you really think there are any

true

obstacles between your body and the outside world? Between you and, well, someone like me" As if to punctuate my point, I let one of my fingers press against your panties, spreading your pussy-lips apart beneath the fabric. "There isn't, sweet heart. There never was."

My hand begins to grope, causing your panties to cling to your wetness. "I can already feel your cunt starting to drip. You're warm, flushed with blood." While I casually stimulate you through the flimsy fabric of your panties, all you manage to do in protest is stare back at me, blinking blankly.

Then, I remove my hand, smirking in that vaguely sinister way you've already begun to know through repetition. "I haven't actually touched you yet, have I? No, not yet, not technically specking. I've only touched your panties. But, now be honest, how clothed do you feel right now, Juliette? I bet you've never felt more naked in your life."

You nod your head, saying nothing.

"...Your life so far, anyway", I finish.

You glance up at me, flashing me your eyes for only a single, fleeting moment.

I smile, then continue: "Before you cross this threshold into my house, I want you to understand what I'm telling you;

internalize it

, Juliette." After absently licking the dampness off of my finger-tips, I continue: "And as for your clothes, leave them right here on my welcome-mat. Pray to God that it doesn't rain over night and

Lord forbid

any of them blow away in the wind."

You to glance up at me again. This time, you don't look back down afterward.

"But not your panties, no -- not your panties. That pathetic symbol of control, the one already betraying your trembling cunt with their wetness, I want you to hang them on my door-knob, for everyone to see. The teenagers who hang-out next door always get a kick out of seeing that. Had them steal a few pairs before, truth be told."

Your eyes stare forward, two wet pools, glistening with panic...

"Now, Juliette. "

You whisper back, raising your eyes again to meet mine: "Yes, sir..."

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To be Continued...

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AFTERWORD

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Well, that's part one. It's done. I told you, these were gunna be short.

But regardless, what do y'all think?

If you want to pressure me to write part two quickly, feel free to nag. I've got a lot of balls in the air, in terms of juggling erotica projects. Which one I give the most attention to going forward will largely be determined by the volume of responses it generates.

Until next time, dear reader, take care and be safe.

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