The Green Apron

It was darker than usual when he pulled into the driveway- a product of being held over an extra hour at work. He could feel the ache in his calves from an hour of extra walking, and the tension in his forehead from an hour of extra irritation. It would be a divine experience indeed to get off his feet with a beer in his hand, to close out the time until she got home to join him.

The sidewalk seemed longer than ever as he carried his bag to the doorway. Immediately inside, he dropped it, careless of its contents. A light from the kitchen outlined the sillhouetted shadow of a vase of flowers, stetched across the floor to nudge the edge of his bag. They were the zinnias he had brought home for her the day before; no occasion, really...but, he had been admiring the way they looked on the cherrywood table on the way out this morning and had forgotten to turn off the light. He would have to remember to turn it off on his way through to the livingroom.

Lost in thoughts of his impending comfort, he hardly heard the sound of the oven snapping closed. In the archway to the livingroom, he paused to turn off the light and turned back. She was standing in front of the oven, an amused smile touching her shining lips. His gaze was torn; he was locked on her deep, laughing eyes, but part of him was urging him to let his gaze trail lower. When he gave in, his heart nearly stopped. She was still wearing the red high heels she had put on for work that morning, but above them were a pair of bare legs so long he thought they must never end. She had on her green apron. He had a flash of memories from times he had seen her wearing it over a summer dress, or on fewer occasions, one of her silk nightdresses. It seemed to cling to all the right contours of her body, pushing up and flaring out to fit her gently curving figure. Tonight, it was all she was wearing.

She smiled even fuller, setting down a pan she had just removed from the oven, and removed the oven mits from her braceleted hands. "You're late," she whispered conspiratorially, looking back and forth in mock secrecy. "Did you have other plans tonight, darling?"

He didn't know what to say. He was stumbling over the words inside his head, and her approaching nakedness wasn't helping hinder that process. He realized she still had on her necklace, too. The green, carefully cut pendant was resting between the swell of her breasts, which were almost entirely visible behind the narrow block of fabric serving as the bodice of the apron. He was so glad she loved green, and that she had been more than pleased with the jewelry. She was so close now.

The lace lining the top of the apron brushed against his chest as she slid her slender arms over his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in. Her lips were less than an inch from his when she stopped, and as she spoke he could feel her lips brushing softly against him. He knew she could feel what she had already done to him, and almost lost the feeling in his legs when he recalled what those lips had done to him before.

"You're home early," was all he could manage before his hands slid impulsively to her soft, bare lower back, where the apron was tied. He felt the knot and loose ends against his palms as he pulled her whole body against him, gasping internally at the pertness of her. She was warm from standing in front of the oven, but he knew that there was a greater warmth she was creating all her own. She moved her lips up to meet his fully, and he could feel her wet tongue sliding over the inside of his top lip, pushing his physical restraint to the limit. He was about to meet her tongue with his when she pulled back, out of his embrace, and let her hand slide down his chest to land at her side.

"I made manicotti and apple yogurt..." she began, playing ignorant to the building up of passion she had just stepped away from. He opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced when she turned to stir the pot on the stove. She appeared to be wearing nothing more than a green lace tied about her waist. The rest of her was bare, and lit with the soft glow of the kitchen lamps. She still had a small scratch in the middle of her back from the metal lock on the doorframe of the garage, where she had bent to retrieve a screwdriver that had rolled beneath his workbench several days ago. Above and below that tiny scratch lay what seemed like miles of flawless white landscape, curved to fit his now trembling hands.

Before he had time to think about his situation, he was feeling the front of her warm thighs against his palms as he slid his hands around them. The heat from the oven was thick, but his senses were concentrated on the smooth perfection of her body. He knew she must feel the hard, straight pressure of his erection pushing against her bare ass, and wanted to feel her shiver with the joy of it. She had always loved the feel of him when she knew what a tease she was being, and he loved nothing more than to feel her noticing. She was noticing now. He knew, even before he had heard it happen, that a soft moan was formulating in her throat. "Did you find something you like?" she asked coyly...a common question from her. He never got tired of hearing it, or confirming it. "You bet I did..." he answered in a whisper, letting his breath puff against her earlobe as he moved to her neck for a kiss, his hands gripping their prized targets. He was pulling her back into him now, giving her the full benefit of his arousal. She dropped her spoon against the edge of the pot and gasped with the low tremor it gave her. Her hands were idly fishing at the dials of the oven, no doubt in an attempt to turn it off. He took the opportunity to kiss his way down the back of her neck, to the scratch that decorated her symmetrically. The memories of that day in the garage with her flooded his mind again, and he was overcome with the image of her straddling him on the floor in her messy work clothes, her hair in a loose ponytail with curly tendrils framing her face. She had kissed him, grinding her pelvis against him suggestively, and then they had been interrupted. A neighbor had knocked on the door asking to borrow a screwdriver, and she had knocked it onto the floor trying to pick it up, flustered. The scratch meant to him what more of her sexy antics would have meant to him that day.

He kissed his way past the scratch and caught glimpse of her manicured nails as she gripped the handle of the oven door. She was actively anticipating his decent, and his arrival at the center of her natural heating system. With one hand, he gripped her right leg around the ankle, urging her to move it further to the right. She did so without much urging, and he sat comfortably on his heels as he looked up at the provocative view she was giving him. The green laces caught his eyes as he trailed his way back down to the task at hand. He was amazingly turned on at having that tiny bit of fabric on her naked skin, knowing it wasn't going to be in his way.

He let his eager hand slide up her ankle, along the inside of her thigh, to touch her where she so needed to be touched. He felt her shudder pleasantly when he let his fingers slide into the sweet, wet crevasse between her legs, and was instantly overtaken with a desire to taste her. He brought his fingers to his lips, convinced that he was only teasing himself with her flavor, and licked her juices from them with a breathy moan of satisfaction. He returned his hand to her wetness, trailing a single finger through, then two, then pressing against her gently as he leaned in to give her a single lap of his tongue. Her lower body was trembling with the need of it, silently begging him to continue while her voice spoke only disconnected, pleasured words of encouragement. She was gripping the oven handle hard now, bending at the waist to allow him better access. He wondered what her gorgeous breasts must look like from her front side, nearly spilling out of her apron atop her writhing body.

He inhaled her delicious scent as he lapped into her as deep as he could manage, intent on hearing the sharp rise in her voice continue for a long time. She rocked against him, letting him have the best angle, and rode his fingers and tongue with perfect enthusiasm. He wondered how long he could take it.. as his cock was already throbbing nearly painfully in his work pants.

He felt her begin to turn, and rose to his feet again to face her as she came around. Without a word, he slipped two fingers in between her lips, letting her suck her own juices with her soft lips and eager tongue. Her hands were already at his waist, pulling him free from his pants as she slid them down his strong thighs. He knew just what she wanted, and wanted desperately to let her have it. Another part of him scolded the other, urging him to feel the climax of passion that was building up, and to deny the impulse to feed the explosion so soon.

She made the decision for him. As he was lost in the gap between decisions, she had moved around to his other side, putting him between her and the oven. He impulsively reached for the collar of his shirt, wanting to be rid of it in the warm room, and needing to feel her skin against his. As he pulled it off, she turned away from him again, casting him an inviting glance over her shoulder as she spread her palms face down on the cherrywood table.

"Darling?" she asked, a doting quality rising in her voice which was not at all fabricated.

"Yes?" he asked, feeling his hand take ahold of his fully-swelled erection and his feet relocating his unnecessary pants to the floor beneath the table. She never ceased to amaze him with her submissive, wanton eyes. Let alone the set of legs she had and the prize between them, so wonderfully showcased in that green apron. She was bending again, intent on laying her breasts flat against the surface of the table, and capturing his eyes with her own welcoming pair. She wanted what he wanted, and there was no way he could hold back anymore. Just the freeze frames that were invading his mind for milliseconds at a time were nearly enough to make him lose it.

"I want you to bend me over this table of ours..." she began, and he had hardly heard the words she finished with before he had a hand on her back, pushing her to a fully bent position. He knew she had told him to fuck her from behind, and he could think of nothing in the world more heavenly or perfect. He loved the way she said the word "fuck." It was so forward, and so very sexy coming from between her articulate lips. He couldn't wait.

He felt the outsides of his feet touching the cornered insides of her high heels as he positioned himself between her spread legs. With his fiercely throbbing cock in his hand, he slid the swelled tip through her wetness as he had with his fingers and tongue. The slick sensation was intoxicating, and he forced himself to slide it up and down, through the valley of her honeyed juices, dying to push into her. She was moaning happily with the touch of him, her words of encouragement and appreciation continuing from the surface of the table, where her face was so nicely resting.

When he thought he would go mad from the desire to be inside her, he forced himself to stay composed for a moment longer. He used that moment, however spare it was, to run a fingertip from her upper back, along her backbone and across the scratch he had so focused on, down to the curve of her ass she had so prominently displayed. With the same hand, he spread her open for him, guiding the head of his rod to meet her equally throbbing center. When he felt her quiver with the anticipation of him pushing forward, he took his hand off of his cock and let it rest teasingly against her. With his free hand, he reached up and gripped her shoulder, giving it a compassionate little squeeze of affection before using it to lever his way firmly, slowly into her.

As he pushed forward, feeling her hot, slick center surrounding him on all sides, he told her he'd be more than happy to sate her request. She gave a breathy laugh in between ecstatic moans that was very characteristic of her. They had always prized their wittiness during steamy moments like this one, and she appreciated the litotical irony. Being pushed deep inside her, feeling her shiver and throb around him had to be the greatest feeling known to man, and the beauty of her soft laugh drove him to push even further, filling her completely. She was gasping in disbelief, and had he not been completely captivated by the feeling, he might have as well. It never ceased to surprise him how amazing she felt, even after feeling it time and time again. As he used her shoulder to balance his movement, he slid back out of her, and in again with a gently building rhythm. My god, she was so wet.

Even in his small movements, he could feel her juices being pushed out of her by his generous cock, where they began to drip down onto him. Feeling her melting for him that way completely pushed him over any composed edge he might have marked. He had to fuck her, and it had to be hard.

He picked up his rhythm, hearing her breaths grow shorter and heavier with each thrust. She was squeezing him from the inside and pushing back against him as he slammed into her. He knew her hands must be seeking for friction on the table surface, reaching for something..anything.. to grab onto. He noticed with a smile that she had already moved the flower vase, and doted on her ability to plan ahead. He placed both hands on her ass and assisted her effort to counter his swift thrusts, pulling her onto him when he moved forward. He leaned over to his left a little, and then to the right, to watch the sides of her perky breasts bouncing against the inside of her apron. She was moaning and squealing beautifully as he had his way with her. He was enthralled by the way she moved on him, and her never-ending enthusiasm to please him.

Before he knew what he was saying, he was confessing his true need to look into her eyes. Coming to a common understanding his request, their rocking rhythm slowed, and then stopped as he pulled himself from her, basking in the amazing feeling of her tight center gripping him. He gasped aloud with the sensation. When he looked down, she had turned over, and was untying the laces that held the halter of the apron around her neck. Before his eyes, her breasts were revealed in their round fullness as she pushed the green fabric of the apron down around her waist, where the only remaining laces lay. The heavy pendant of her necklace had slid around to the back of her neck, where it was now weighted, lying on the table top. She was displayed for him now, the look on her face begging him not to stay out of her too long.

He once again sated her silent request. Inside her again, he joined her on the table, pressing her down with his weight. In the moment, he was reminded of the day after one of her meetings that they had bought their dining furniture. She had cast a sidelong, secretive look at him when the salesman had prided this cherrywood table on its strength and sturdiness. She had been wearing a dress suit that day with a pair of black thigh-high stockings that had driven him absolutely crazy all day, and he had fantasized about taking her right there on the table. Of course, he had ended up waiting...how, he had no idea.. until later that night, long after her suit and stockings had been shed.

Now she had her carefully filed nails on his back, pulling him deeper into her as he thrusted, staring down into her gorgeous eyes and communicating all the desire he had ever felt for her. He noticed that their motion had pulled a few of the pins loose from her hair, and some were just sitting patiently on the table to be picked up later. Her eyes were wild with her need, focused on nothing but his as she used every muscle in her body to thrust back against his hard advances. He felt himself beginning to approach the point of no return- knowing that it was that look in her eyes that had done it. It was the whole reason he had wanted her to turn over. He knew she was going to hit her climax soon, and as soon as she did, the look in her eyes would rocket him to whatever edge still existed atop this incredible pleasure. He could feel her clenching him with the oncoming orgasm.

As soon as he felt it, he reared back, using his arms to push him back to his feet. Once on the floor, he gripped her thighs and slid her to the edge of the table, where he proceeded to serve her the deepest, fastest pounding he could administer. She came almost instantly, her cries music to his ears as he grunted through her pleasured convulsions. Her back arched, moving her body to lay the pressure right where he wanted it on his cock. Her breasts looked so amazing, bouncing and rocking, and he took ahold of one in each hand as he felt himself starting to fuck deeper into her softening center.

Time suddenly flew on in its own accord. He felt himself pulling his hot, soaked erection from her melting slit and gripped it in his hand. He was groaning, and knew he was smiling as she arched her back further, wanting to feel his cum on her body. She felt much of it cover her exposed breasts, and some was lost on the surface of the apron bunched around her waist. Both of them were panting, feeling the aftermath waves of both their great orgasms, and he felt his knees give out. He grabbed for the back of one of the matching cherrywood chairs that was sitting a few feet away. Catching his weight in it, he watched with a smile as she rose from the table, untying the remaining laces and dabbing at her skin with the cum-splattered apron. She tossed it aside and onto the floor with no care of where it landed, and it reminded him that he had something in his backpack for her.. something he had dropped carelessly inside the door. He would have to get it for her later. For the time being, he wanted her to come over and kiss him in the way that only she knew how. Then they would have dinner. Manicotti. And of course Apple Yogurt. She always added coloring to make it green.