Ironing! God, I HATE ironing, but the height of the pile of clothes awaiting my attentions had grown to such a level, that I needed to do something about it.
So there I stood; unhappily, surrounded by slowly growing piles of neatly laundered pants, t-shirts, dress-shirts and sweaters. The contents of the basket were, thankfully, reducing to the level where I could think about other things. My task had been aided by soft music in the background, and elsewhere in the house the slight noises of your activities. You had kept out of my way because you knew how much I disliked this chore, and how grumpy I became whilst struggling through it.
A smile crept across my face as I heard you on the stairs, and then your face appeared around the door.
"Almost finished, love?" You asked, smiling softly at me.
"Almost. Just a few scarves and t-shirts to do, and I'm done."
You disappeared into the bedroom behind me, trailing a hand over my arm as you passed me, teasing me with your touch. "Wicked girl," I muttered, and heard you chuckle in response.
I could hear you moving around, the sound of you close by, comforting and exciting at the same time, as I work away, relieved that my task was almost done.
A touch on my arms, and the feel of you pressing against my back, made me jump, as the iron twitched in my hand.
"Careful, love! I almost burned my shirt. That wouldn't be very helpful."
Your hands snaked around my waist, pulling us tightly together, your face pressed against my shoulder. "I'd love to help you with your ironing. I really would," you whispered, as your hands moved upwards to lightly caress the undersides of my breasts.
Taking a deep breath, I replied softly, my heart already increasing its rate at the promise contained in that simple touch. "And would you like to describe to me, my sweet tease, just what form that 'help' would take?"
Your hands released me, as you moved around me, to stand the other side of the board, where I could see you. You had stripped off your outer clothes, and were now simply dressed, if dressed was the appropriate word, in a satin suspender belt, and stockings, and matching bra and panties in a delicious shade of ice blue.
Lowering yourself to lean your elbows on the board, your cleavage on full display to my admiring gaze, you smiled up at me, licking your lips, and quietly began to describe your definition of help.
"Well, I think to begin, I would kneel under your ironing board and slowly remove your pants and panties; and then starting at your ankles I would gently kiss, lick and suck my way up your legs."
As you spoke one hand reached out, a fingertip tracing lightly around the curve of my breast, circling my nipple but not touching it, making me gasp, my breath catching in my throat.
Softly you continued, "Once each leg had been properly attended to I would help you by making sure I got all the sticky sweet cream from between your legs. Of course, if I help you make more... so much the better." Hardly daring to breathe, I felt your finger and thumb gently hone in on my nipple and squeeze it.
Moving away from your touch, I set the iron to rest on the floor, and bent to unplug it from the wall. Taking my time, allowing my heart rate to slow slightly, I spoke as I turned back to the board, and you.
"And during this licking and kissing and sucking, I'm supposed to be ironing, am I? I wonder how many items I will burn, as I forget to move the iron, while my hand grips it tightly for something to hold on to. And once you have attended to my legs, what would you do then?"
With growing excitement I watched as your smile widened, and you pushed yourself up off the board, and walked round to me, turning me slightly, so we were facing each other. Your hands reached out to my shoulders, and slowly you allowed them to drift them down my body, over my breasts, and sides, dropping gracefully to your knees in front of me, your hands settling on my hips.
Looking up at me, your eyes glinting with mischief, you continued, "Well, I wouldn't want you burning anything. But once your legs were all attended to I would have to see about that lovely pussy."
Your hands grasped the waist of my sweats and slowly dragged them down over my hips to my ankles; your fingers returned to graze over my belly, making me gasp and shiver. Softly you chuckled, allowing your fingers to move lower to play through my curls, briefly touching my lips.
"Just licking and sucking, tonguing it all around," you continued, "perhaps sliding in a finger or two to make sure it's nice and wet both inside and out. Does that sound like it would help?" As you spoke the words, you copied them, sliding one long, elegant finger into me, making me gasp. One of my hands flew out to hold on to the ironing board the other to your head, as my legs trembled.