Youāre coming home for lunch today.
It might be because of the long hours you put in yesterday at your bosses black tie benefit, or the way your new secretary seems to bring out the animal in youā¦or it might be because I traded your ham and cheese on pumpernickel for a pair of my scantiest panties when I packed your lunch.
Who knows?
But youāre coming home, and Iām ready for you. Iāve bathed every inch of my body in hot, soapy water, then scrubbed my skin with a stiff brush until it glows with a pearly pink sheen. No scent. I want you to smell only me today. They say that half of the enjoyment in a meal is in the aroma.
Then, after buffing with a thick, white towel, I donned that frilly, French maidās apronā¦and nothing else. You know the oneā¦it was given as a joke on our first anniversary. Bet you wonāt be laughing at it today. On the other hand, you may not stop smiling for a week.
Then, as a last minute afterthought, I affixed your black bow tie about my bare throat. Perfect. Just the right touch of formality and submission. A sensuous mix of right, and-oh-so-wrong.
I step now before the mirror and take my measure, astounded at what I see before me. No housewife here, not anymore. Sheās taken her little PTA butt and flown to higher ground. What I see in my glass is the reflection of a seductress, a wanton woman for whom there are no limits, no safe havens.
I shake my long hair loose and watch as it flows in auburn profusion down the length of my back. My nipples struggle to peek that last half inch above the bib of my apron, but donāt quite make it, and the southern edge of my attire hints at a dark crevasse that could only be one thing.
Iām ready.
Silently, I slip down to the kitchen, intending to listen for your car in the driveway. I can always hear when you arriveā¦so why did I miss it today? Instead, I feel your presence long before I hear a soundā¦sense you before I see the muted flick of your trench coat in the doorway. I close my eyes, a coiling, liquid hunger building even now between my thighs.
Youāre here. My body tenses and I hear you draw nearā¦closerā¦closerā¦an eternity. Finally, as my composure begins to shatter, I feel the smooth fabric of your suit pressing hard against my naked buttocksā¦your hands circling beneath my flimsy garment.
You speak not a word, but at once your breath assails my neck, your teeth grazing my flesh. I gasp as a shiver courses through me. This isnāt youā¦this isnāt me. Who are these people whoāve taken over our well- composed lives?
With slow deliberation, you turn me towards you, lifting me onto the kitchen counter, curling my fingers into the handles of the overhead cabinets as though chaining me helplessly before your gaze. The look in your eyes is something wild, feral, and it strikes a cord between my thighs.
You tug me forward until my dripping sex lays vulnerable along the very edge of my perch. I feel your hand exploring my moist recesses, probing my readinessā¦one fingerā¦two. I gasp and my grip tightens. Three fingers, so fullā¦four, and finally as my body screams silently for releaseā¦the last.
Your left hand unties the bib of my apron, and my hardened nipples are free at last, pebbled and eagerly pressing against your chest. Then, in what seems to be a single, fluid motion, you grasp one between your teeth as you thrust your hand deep into my body.
My startled cry fills the room. I feel your fist curling against my g-spot (is that what they call it?), and I moanā¦and then it begins to move. Your hand pumps repeatedlyā¦in and outā¦wetting the cuff of your expensive shirt, wetting the counter with the juice of a thousand flowing fantasies.
A scream (mine?), and my knuckles whiten against their shackles. Shamelessly, I rut against you, needing youā¦devouring you with my bodyā¦and then you pull away, licking my churned offering from your fingertips.
I hang limp and senseless for a moment, steadying myself, finding my strength once againā¦ then slip fluidly to my knees on the floor between your gabardined thighs. Slowly I calm the trembling of my fingers as I release the buttons of your shirt and strip it from your body. Your eyes are intense, hungry, and I reach for your belt buckle, dispatching it with a boldness I never thought I had. Slowly, I slide the zipper downward, for your bulging manhood now demands to be released with an urgency that requires a careful hand.
Your sex springs forward, brushing my cheek in its mad rush to consummate. I prickle, gooseflesh rising along my naked body. I have plans for you, my Darlingā¦forbidden plans. Our black tie affair has just begun.
Fist clenched in my hair, you thrust your hips in my direction and I lick eagerly, lapping at the tiny spurts that even now escape from the hungry mouth of your glistening warrior. I caress the rounded orbs beneath, rolling and milking them between my fingers until your eyes close and I hear your sighs retreat behind a deep, primal growl.
Then I rise, and taking your hand I lead you into the formal dining room, dominated even now by the heavy. mahogany table that I love so much. I remove the chair at the head, leaving you standing there while I circle toward the opposite side.
I pause. Are you watching? Could you possibly do anything else? Then, slowly I drop my apron to the floor and turn, standing with my back toward you, and raise myself until Iām sitting atop its polished surface. I lay back, nudging closer and closer to your hard, eager body until I am lying at right angles before you, my head dangling from the very edge in an inverted position between your thighs, my warm breath wafting around your pulsating sex. My eyes strain to adjust as the world spins in upside-down confusion.
