Just Tuesdays

Tuesday is not "Sex Day." It's not like we sat down and had a discussion and scheduled it in our phone calendars, a little recurring appointment with a secret code name, "Tuesdays: Berry Picking, 9PM". And we certainly have sex other days. Tuesdays just sort of...happened.

I'm a Team Lead at Target. As something of a night owl, I stay up late whenever I can, and because I I have a closing shift on Wednesdays, Tuesday nights I can.

For David, who's scheduled weekend is Sunday-Monday, Tuesdays are the start of his work week. His job pays pretty well, and his quarterly bonuses paid for the ring on my left hand which my sister described as "a boulder of bling" (it's not that big, she just has to tease because her dating life is, in her own words, like a shampoo bottle: lather, rinse, repeat).

But the work David does for his bonuses is shit. The call center he works at is a collections agency. So by the end of the day on Tuesdays, he usually needs to unwind.

You see where this is going.

Yesterday was Tuesday, and I'm still mooning over it.

"Let me see that," My fellow Team Lead Chaz says to me. "Is that the planogram?" I quickly fold up the piece of paper I'm reading and cram it back into my pocket. Chaz is helping me condense the leftovers of the Christmas merchandise and set up the "Stuff Santa Forgot" display. The planogram is a printout of what goes where.

"Ohhh, I know what that is," they say with a grin. Chaz leans down to slice open the box of signage with his cutter. "Another love letter from your boyfriend?" They've worked too many Wednesdays with me to deny it.

"Fiancé," I say, feeling my face warm up. It's not actually a love letter. Much more simple than that. But the first time Chaz caught me daydreaming over a paper that wasn't on company letterhead, it was just easier to call it a love note than saying what it really was.

On Tuesdays, David gets home from work about an hour earlier than I do. Yesterday, when I got upstairs to change out of my work uniform, this note had been sitting on my side of the bed.

Priya,

I've been thinking about you all day...

And here's what I've been thinking. After your shower, put on:

Short skirt (over the knee, your choice)

T-shirt (your choice)

Your cat-ear hoodie

Your blue stripe thigh-high socks

Panties that go with socks

Then come meet me in the kitchen.

Love you My Beloved,

-Your Beloved

It's not uncommon for him to do something like this, but it still gave me butterflies. When I'd gotten home, we'd embraced and asked each other about our days. David hadn't given any hint that he already had plans waiting for me upstairs. He's the good kind of sneaky.

It's not much, but I'll reread my little instructions at least a dozen times at work today. I have coworkers who smoke, and when something stresses them out, they'll say things like "Ugh, I need cigarette." But if a customer bitches me out, or if I have to cover because Jesse calls in again, I'll just find a quiet moment, pull out David's note, and that's my little pick-me-up.

I never used to wear thigh-high socks. I've never been a huge fan of my body. I certainly never enjoyed showing off what some asshole in middle school gym class called my "thunder thighs." Before I met David, my entire wardrobe could be described by the word "baggy."

I still struggle, but when David dresses me up like that--and the expression he has when he sees me--well, let's just say that he looks at me through much kinder eyes.

Revisiting his list, I see the thought he puts into it. It's the beginning of January. The blue stripe socks are one of my thicker pairs, and they keep my legs warm when the only other thing I have on my lower half is a skirt that barely covers my butt. They stay up without a sock garter and also aren't so tight that I feel like I'm squeezing my legs into a sausage casing. David also knows how much I hate wearing a bra, so when I'm home, he never makes me wear one. My cat-ear hoodie is warm too, so even though he had me dressed for his desires, I was also perfectly comfy.

After I showered, I tried to put a similar effort into assembling an outfit that would be to his liking. To go with the socks--which were two tones of blue in alternating horizontal stripes--I picked a pair of panties that was close to the lighter blue and also happened to be trimmed in a powder pink that matched the color of my cat-ear hoodie.

For my t-shirt, I picked a simple white one with a blue logo on it from some 5K walk years ago. David would be happy with that. He likes all my t-shirts. Or more specifically, he just likes t-shirts. He says that a t-shirt and panties are what he considers lingerie.

For the skirt, I waffled a little bit. I rarely wear anything other than pants if I'm going out of the house, and would never wear a short skirt in public. But when it's just David...

I was in a good mood, I guess. I dared to look at myself in the mirror and chose the shortest skirt I have: a plain, black, ruffly one, David's favorite. Layered under the hoodie, it looked like barely more than a bit of fringe. Even pulled low down my hips, I barely needed to bend for the blue and pink of my panties to peek out.

And so I went out to the kitchen as instructed.

David got up from the living room sofa and came to kiss me. I don't know how, but he has this way of smiling and gliding toward me that makes me feel like I'm his prey and he's stalking me, ready to pounce. I could only stand there and wait, a deer transfixed.

He enveloped me in a tight hug around my waist, and his warm tongue in my mouth had me salivating as if to set the tone of the entire evening.

"Mmm...what sounds good for dinner, Priya-berry?" He said, hands still on my hips.

"You." I said. We both knew I was going to say it. This conversation is practically a script we follow.

"Yes, but if we jump right into that, we'll get distracted by our stomachs growling."

"But it's what I want."

He kissed me again, this time just on the lips, then broke our embrace to look in the fridge.

"We still have some leftovers from Christmas," he said.

"Oof," I said, coming to stare at our options with him. "No more stuffing for at least a month."

"Really? No more stuffing?" He grinned. I stuck my tongue out at him.

After nearly ten minutes of debating and being indecisive, we settled on breakfast for dinner: omelettes and English muffins.

If we have a meal that requires anything beyond just chucking something in the oven or the microwave, we cook together. In this case, that meant David cracking eggs while I chopped an onion and some broccoli. Then he governed the frying pans while I loaded the toaster. These were our roles, our little dance. David finished the omelettes, slid them onto plates, and brought them to the counter where the toaster had just popped. I started buttering.

"Need some stability?" he asked, stepping behind me.

"Always!"

A silly little thing we do, but "providing stability" meant that David pressed his front against my back. He slipped his hands under my skirt, caressed my hips, held me as firmly as if he truly did mean to make me more stable. But if anything, the effect made me a little shaky-legged. I couldn't help but let out a small moan.

And when he gave me a few kisses on the back of my neck, well, I was just glad that the only thing in my hands now was a butter knife. Anything sharper and I'd be afraid to let myself be so deliciously distracted by the tingling sensations he sent down my spine.

Somehow, I finished buttering, and we went to the living room. We turned on an old season of Iron Chef and sat down to eat. Don't judge us! Couches and old reruns of cooking shows, that's dinner at home for us. It would feel weird to do anything else.

We finished eating and let a second episode play as we digested. I sat on the long side of our L-shaped sectional and he sat on the short side so we could both lounge with our legs up.

Sitting in those spots, I was extremely aware that he had an excellent view of me, a view of exactly what he wanted to see by putting me in such a short skirt. I can't tell you how it feels to me, feeling those eyes that I love and trust looking slyly at me with that hunger. He acted like he was stealing glances, but we both knew they were freely given. I shifted my legs, squirmed a little, teased him, let him see a little more, a little less.

I don't know if he knew it, but I was admiring him too. I'm less visual than he is, so his clothing isn't quite as important to my arousal. He wore Christmas pajamas of a red and white plaid with a plain black hoodie, one loose enough that I could see he had no shirt on underneath it. He looked comfy too, ready to snuggle and have my face buried in his chest. But more than what he looked like(A vaguely Christmassy teddy bear with glasses, a beard, and a ponytail) I admired him. I admired his expressions, his smile with the one dimple on the left side, the little laughs he might make at Alton Brown's commentary. The flush in his cheeks when I spread my legs a little wider and immediately caught him looking. While I squirmed with purpose, he squirmed in reaction, adjusting his pajamas 'for comfort.'

I'd only had the ring on my finger for a few months so far and I hadn't gotten used to it. I felt it on my hand, spun it with my thumb. We knew fairly early in our relationship that I took more of a submissive role. His submissive, he sometimes called me, making his mellow voice extra low and gravelly.

But ownership works two ways. I'm his. And he is mine. We just show that in different ways.

After a few episodes, he went upstairs, saying he still hadn't showered himself. I pulled out my phone, checked my social media. Without his presence, I felt a little less confident in such provocative attire, so I pulled a blanket over myself. A short time later, I saw a text message notification across the top of my phone. I read it in his growly voice.

"Come upstairs."

Even just those two little words stirred up a heat in me, heat that made me practically throw off my blanket and pad up to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs, I looked around briefly. We have a game room and an office up there which have both been settings of our activities. But the only light came from our bedroom.

I approached.

As I came around the doorway, I found David setting something on the dresser. He'd changed clothes, now wearing a pair of black silk pajamas and a blue button-down shirt with black pinstripes. He knows I like him in button-down shirts. It's not a turn-on for me per se, I just think he looks dapper in them (as well as maybe a little bit authoritative). The silk pajamas also made it clear he had opted not to put on boxers after his shower.

He turned toward me and again, I was held immobile by the predator in his eyes. Again, he strode toward me, oozing quiet desire. In an instant, he pressed me against the wall, pushed his tongue into my mouth, leaned his body against mine.

And while one of his hands found my hip, his other hand deftly slipped behind my head so that I didn't bump against the hallway wall.

It's things like that that turn me into putty for him. His passion as well as his care.

The sweet, clean scent of his body wash, a smell I so fondly associate with him filled my nostrils, like a garden after rain. I ran my hands along his back while he slipped his caress down from my hip to my thigh and up under the skirt. We kissed with an urgency that made me feel like a teenager under the bleachers.

He moved from my lips to kissing my neck and I threw my head back, moaning. He moved one of his knees in between my legs. Without any hesitation, I started moving, grinding along his warm thigh. I felt so wet, I had to be practically dripping. I hoped I wouldn't leave a stain.

Then his mouth found my earlobe, nibbling, drawing on them with his lips, lightly biting, pushing away all other thoughts.

"Priya," he breathed in my ear, a quiet whisper that somehow felt loud and hot to me.

"Ohhhh, David..."

"It's been a long day," he said. "Can I take it out on you?"

"Please!" I moaned back.

His answer was simply a growl as he bit into my neck, making me gasp. No wonder there have been so many Wednesdays when I wear a turtleneck to work.

I reached into the soft waistline of his pajamas, then snaked my hand from back to front, feeling the small patch of soft pubic hair he keeps neatly trimmed above the hardest part of him.

"Not yet," he growled softly into my ear. I whimpered, but yielded. He pulled away from my neck and took my hand in his, guiding me into the bedroom. Putting his other hand on the small of my back, he faced me toward the bed. He had already taken off the comforter and flat sheet, leaving just pillows and fitted sheet; a blank purple slate we were about to decorate with our desires. Peeking over each of the bed's four corners, I could see the white felt wrist and ankle straps we had bought last year. They attached under the mattress and could be adjusted quickly to hold me exactly where David wanted me.

He stopped me, stood behind me, much like he had done in the kitchen to "provide stability." I raised my arms above my head as he reached around me and found the top of the zipper to my hoodie, then undid it. His other hand found my chest through my shirt, caressing the curve of one breast, then the other. His fingers touched with the same hunger that had been in his eyes, I could sense it in how he squeezed me, savored me.

My arms, still up, found his head behind me, and I ran my fingers through his long hair. He found and pinched each of my nipples through the fabric with an accuracy that astonished me. I love how well he knows my body. My breaths turned into alternating gasps and moans.

Through my shirt was nice, but I craved his touch directly on my skin, and he seemed to know. He paused, and I felt him pulling at my hoodie, so I lowered my arms and he pulled it off of me. A guiding touch at my hip told me to turn around, so I did. He hooked his thumbs under the hem of my 5-K shirt and slipped it upward. I took the hint, raised my arms again and he whisked it up over my head. Cool air rushed against my flesh which was already so hot from my lover's influence I wouldn't have been surprised to see steam.

He leaned forward, giving my breasts the same tantalizing treatment he'd given my earlobes and my neck. His lips and tongue made savory sounds, pulled at my tender skin, and occasionally he set off sparks by taking little bites which somehow always caught me by surprise. Each sharp little nip made my whole body spasm in pleasure.

In one long lick, he moved from my chest to the side of my neck.

"Turn around," David said, his voice melting into my ear.

I did as I was told, and felt his hand on my arm, gently directing me back into the sleeve of my pink cat-ear hoodie. I worried a bit that the soft fleece would get me sweaty, but he left it unzipped. He slipped his hand inside the hoodie, giving me another quick caress across my chest, a couple more squeezes.

"Bend over," he murmured. I did.

Not that he needed to with how short it was, but he hiked up my skirt. I felt a pressure I knew to be his fingers right on the softest part of my panties, drawing a moan from me that carried in it a note of pleading. If he just pushed the cloth aside and entered me now...

I knew things were just getting started, but god, I was already so wet for him.

He massaged me through my panties for a moment.

"Ayy!" I yelped.

He'd bitten into the curve of my butt, a chomp he clearly relished as I looked back and saw the satisfaction on his lips. The initial surprise gave way to a rush of excitement and tingles of pleasure.

David slid a hand between my legs and applied a little pressure to one side, his nonverbal instruction to spread my legs apart for him.

Then I felt his fingers on either side of my waist, grabbing the side of my panties and pulling them away. He slid them down, exposing me to him so close by, and then left them at my ankles.

I picked up my right foot so he could remove them completely, but then I heard his growl, saying "leave them."

A wave of desire passed through my body from head to foot, just the physical manifestation of

want

. I didn't care what he chose to do with me, I just

wanted

.

Thankfully, he didn't make me wait long before pressing two fingers into my pussy.

My knees bent without me telling them to as pleasure escaped my mouth in a loud, wordless sound.

With the expertise of experience, the tips of his fingers found my most sensitive spots immediately. He started slowly, but the speed increased much more quickly than I was prepared for. I flushed with pleasure, as well as with surprise at myself--my moans filled the room.

My legs wanted to spread wider, but I soon found that my panties restricted my movement in a teasing way...and the teasing made me feel, once again, like he knew exactly what he was doing with me. I love that.

I clawed at the bed, grabbing as best I could at the smooth sheet, gripping and biting as the pleasure compelled me to do. Even I was caught off-guard at how quickly the it was building. David's fingers pulsed and pawed inside me with such an incredible rhythm and accuracy. Already, I could feel my legs starting to tremble, my muscles tensing up.

I felt his warm face on my thigh and this time when he bit me, he did it slowly, so there was no surprise, only a bit of pain that set off the pleasure in such an exquisite way.

"Please...please!" I must always ask David for permission to orgasm. That said, typically, I can't form very many words beyond 'please.' He knows what I mean.

"Come for me, Priya!" He said, pulling his teeth from my flesh for a moment. "Come for me!" And with that he bit into me again, and at his bidding, the pleasure peaked. I clenched tightly around his fingers. I shouted the joy of my orgasm into the mattress, my body no longer in my control at all but in his.

I don't remember super well how I got up from being bent over the bed or having my panties removed from my ankles, but the next thing I recall, I was on the bed, flat on my back with David kneeling over me. I tried to catch my breath, something made slightly more difficult by David's kisses filling my mouth. Even though the mattress was soft, he still had a hand behind my head, this time it served more to pull me closer to him as we panted into each other. I became aware that his knee rested between my legs, pressing against my wetness, so as we kissed, I squirmed against his thigh, wrapping my arms around him as tight as I could.

Without moving his lips from mine, he put each of his hands on my shoulders and began sliding them down the length of my arms. I got his intent and with some reluctance, I stopped hugging him. He spread-eagled my arms out to each side, holding my wrists.

He slipped his one leg from between my own, and moved up to straddle my waist in something of a sitting position. He was heavy on me but not painful; it just made me feel a little bit pinned in place...not that I wanted to move or be anywhere else other than right where I was.

He leaned over me, first to my right and then my left, fastening my wrists into cuffs of the bed restraints he had prepared. Then he got off me, off of the bed entirely, and moved to each of my ankles, which I had already spread apart for his ease of access. He put them in the last two straps. Each time, he checked for tightness by making sure he could fit two fingers between the felt fabric and my skin.

Only David could make me so excited while also making me feel so vulnerable...and yet also safe. He pulled the tail of each strap to remove the slack. I tested them and found I had a little lateral movement, but could not bring any of my limbs closer.