Dress Down Sunday

This is my first story. I am a man, in his thirties so writing in the voice of a woman was a strange choice no doubt. However I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it.

--------------------------------------------

He was listening to Aimee Mann again on the CD player, lounging on the futon with, facing away from me. I like to walk around the house wearing my sexiest lingerie. We live in a quiet suburb of London and thought of all those respectable people walking past the garden gate, yards from the door and the curtained windows which are all that separate my body from their view, really turns me on. That day I was wearing a white corset, satin panties and cream hold-up with my best high-heels. I feel powerful whenever I am dressed up and want to dominate my husband, who is usually the one who calls the shots. Earlier I had spent at least an hour putting on the corset, my make-up and readying myself for a leisurely Sunday parading around the house semi-naked. As I dress my pussy begins to feel moist and I touch myself, running a finger or two between the lips and lingering on my clitoris, pressing slightly. I like that pent up feeling. I'm not that tall, five nine, with long, straight black hair and a firm but not skinny body. As I feel my pussy I get the urge to pee. I always do – I associate pissing with sex so strongly that going to the toilet, especially on my 'dress-down Sundays' is a very intimate feeling. So I walk from the bed to the bathroom to relieve some of the pressure.

When I squat I have to lift the ribbons of the corset out of the way. Don't want to get those wet! I can feel the pressure built and the need for release increase, I bare down and a small jet is forced into the toilet. At this point I am straining to watch the show and slowly placing my hand in the stream to feel the warmth of the liquid. I spread my fingers through it, fanning the piss and then cup my hand to catch a small yellow pool. I don't generally like the taste or smell of the early morning piss but this time it looks quite weak and I bring my hand carefully to my lips to sniff it and take a small, cat-like lick. I resist the sudden urge to press my face into my hand and rub the small amount of piss into my cheeks, down my neck and over my breast. Don't want to spoil the make-up or stain the very expensive corset.

My husband is out as usual in the early morning. He's a minister at a nearby church. A wonderful man but a bit weak when it comes to sexual matters. Strong in everything else he seems to deflate, physically and mentally when we get to the bedroom. Maybe that's why I parade around. If I force him, in the kitchen say, to get on his knees and lick me from foot to pussy, he is, strangely, more relaxed, than if I ask him to kiss my in the bedroom.

After getting ready I will walk around the house doing the 'housework' but taking time out to give myself some pleasure as I go. Vacuuming the carpet for instance I might press myself into the hard neck of the machine, feeling the vibrations, watching my ridiculous position inn the mirror. I slowly hump against it, feeling my pleasure overwhelm the embarrassment of the scene. I admire the cut of the corset and the sheen of the hold-ups as I totter in my impractical shoes. I am not a minister's wife now.

When I come it is short and sharp usually. I build towards the crescendo at the end of the day. I like to pick up the phone and speak to others, safe in the knowledge I am invisible to them as they ask me how I am. My friend Barbara always calls around 2pm. She lives in Glasgow and is lovely but a prude. As she chatters away about her life I will slip a finger into my pussy and press my arse into the armrest of the sofa. Then, as she asked my how I am and I say 'fine' I will work the finger into my anus. It's disgusting but I love to feel around the puckered entrance. I always clean myself thoroughly but it's still a filthy thing to do. I talk away to her with a finger stuck up to the knuckle in my arse, feeling around. When I put the phone down another finger joins it and I shove three fingers from my other hand into my pussy and properly fuck myself to a great orgasm.

Husband, John, gets home around three and is shattered. He stares at me usually for a while before kissing me.

"I'm tired darling'" he says and walks to the sofa, sits down and flicks on a CD.

As I now press myself into he neck he knows what I want, but he sits there, a little frightened, but I can tell he's turned on. I rub my hands over his hair and place my fingers over his mouth. He takes them, one by one into his mouth. They're not filthy but he can smell the musk of my sex and arse and he devours them, licking and moaning.

I then climb over the sofa and press myself again into him but this time he's facing me. he inhales my scent through my soaking panties and pulls me into him with hands on my buttocks.

He's mine now and I know he loves me. One day I might have sex with another man and make him eat me like he is now. One day I might piss in his mouth as I masturbate. I don't know but, as the wave of my shattering climax hits I know tonight I will suck him into my mouth and then he kiss him fully as a reward for loving me so well.