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The Lady of the House

The Lady of the House

When the lady of the house is not happy, then ain't nobody happy

Ray and I started dating shortly after my divorce. I’d been working for Victoria’s Secret Catalog so not only did I have an amazing forty percent discount on purchases, but I was also privileged to have first choice on new lines of merchandise before the catalog had been placed in mailboxes across the country. 

For this particular evening, I’d selected a very sheer black lace baby doll which enhanced my small breasts. I also picked a tiny black matching g-string to show off my curvy ass. 

I’d taken care in curling my already wavy hair, spent a great deal of time with my makeup creating the perfect smoky eye and red lips and groomed everything just right, adding the faintest dash of a sexy perfume in all the right places as well as a few hidden ones. I tucked my new lingerie set into my purse and dressed in a little black dress plus high-heeled black pumps and headed out of the door.

After a small dinner in Ray’s apartment, we cozied into the couch, drank wine, and indulged in chit chat. We were still slightly nervous from the newness of the romance. Eventually, he leaned in and kissed me, long and passionately, then asked if I would like to move into the bedroom. He said he had a surprise for me. I nodded excitedly and asked for a few moments to freshen up. 

In the bathroom, I changed into my sexy outfit, refreshed my gloss, fluffed my hair and admired the reflection in the mirror. I blew myself a kiss and repeated a famous line from a movie. “I’d fuck me… I’d fuck me so hard,” then opened the door, more than ready to begin the night.

Stepping out, I saw him resting shirtless against the headboard. He had a bottle of champagne opened beside him on the nightstand and a small row of lit candles on the dresser. I took a deep breath and, stepping slowly, produced my best catwalk strut towards the bed. At the footboard, I slowly turned around, moved a hand up my thigh and rested it on my hip. With the other hand, I drew my hair back over my shoulder and shook my head. In my best husky Kathleen Turner voice, I purred, “Do you like what you see?”

Ray responded with one raised eyebrow and a very cocky, “Nothing makes you look good.”

This is that moment in the movies where a needle is dragged across the record player and the whole world comes to a standstill with a giant screech.

“Um, I’m sorry? What did you just say?”

He leaned forward and repeated the statement, even cockier this time, “I said, nothing makes you look good.”

I could not believe the words that kept coming from his mouth and tears formed in my eyes. “I don’t understand. Why would you say that? I thought you found me attractive.”

He quickly got off the bed and came to me, asking “What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” 

He wrapped his arms around me and I could not hold back my tears. They streamed down my cheeks as I tried to push away from him.

“Let me try this again,” he said, sliding his hands up my arms and easing the thin straps of my baby doll off my shoulders. He continued pulling the material down to my waist, my breasts bouncing free. He cradled each breast, sending shivers down my spine as he leaned into me, grazing his lips down my neck. “Nothing makes you look good. You see? It’s getting better already.” 

I trembled under his kisses as the realization of his words sunk in. 

“Damn it, Ray. You could have said, ‘You look best with nothing on’ or maybe, ‘You’d look better if you took it off.’ But you actually used ‘Nothing makes you look good’.” 

He chuckled against me and, reaching for my hands, guided me to the bed. “Poor choice of words. Let me make it up by giving you your surprise. Lie back and relax. Close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

I smiled, wiped away my tears and settled on the bed. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the feeling as Ray gently lay on top and began kissing me, softly at first and then with more urgency as his tongue explored my mouth. He pulled back from my mouth and trailed his lips over my neck, down to my shoulder, nipping me gently with his teeth. 

He proceeded lower, fondling one breast while covering the other with his mouth. I gasped when he sucked the nipple, sending electric shocks through me. He continued kissing down my torso, teasing my tummy with his tongue and I struggled to breathe. He reached my hips and, trance-like, I watched him, feeling his fingertips tracing feather-soft patterns around my inner thighs, creating goosebumps along the way. 

Ray looked up at me and smiled. “I told you to relax. Close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

I closed my eyelids and bit on my bottom lip, anticipating what was coming next. My body was on fire and I suggestively raised my hips off the bed. 

I heard the noise — (krsshhhh) — before my body felt the next sensation.

I lay there paralyzed, trying to absorb what had just happened. Then I felt a cold rush deep inside my pussy and realization hit me. 

My eyes shot open and I raised my head. “Did you just squirt whipped cream in my pussy?”

I stared into his confused face as he started to explain. “Um, well, I was trying to be romantic and… um, well, I even have strawberries that I was going to…”

I propped up on my elbows and glared at him. “How could you possibly think a can of cold whipped cream squirted inside me would be a good idea?” 

I laughed in spite of myself — and that’s when it happened.

The first shot of whipped cream gushed out of my pussy and splashed across his face. He shook his head.

“Oh, shit!” I covered my mouth as I tried to stifle a laugh but it was too late. Another laugh was followed by another dollop of cream and then a third squirt.

“You’re such an idiot,” I screamed, jumping off the bed and racing to the bathroom, the gooey concoction leaking down my legs. Slamming the bathroom door and turning on the hot water, I grabbed a towel and, positioning myself over the toilet, contracted my vaginal walls to get out as much cream as possible. I covered myself with the towel until I felt warm again. When I removed it, I heard the first mutters.

Muthafuckingcuntwad! What the actual fuck was that? Of all the odd things I’ve had to endure, that one was by far the worst. I’m so cold and sticky now. How could you do this to me?”

Those were the first words I heard from my pussy, also known as ‘The Lady of the House’. She was fuming, absolutely mad. I tried to calm her down, shocked that I was having a conversation with my own body part. Clearly, though, she was going to require a lot of coaxing. 

“I will make this up to you. I’m sorry. I was just trying to take care of… things. I didn’t know he was going to get whipped cream and squirt it up you. How could I?”

You’d better make this up to me. I am the Lady of the House and I deserve respect, damn it. That asshole needs to be punished for this crap.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I will be much more careful now. Let’s just gather our dignity and leave as the ladies we are, shall we?” I said, collecting my dress and shoes and walking into the bedroom. 

Ray sat on the edge of the bed wiping whipped cream off his face and holding the champagne bottle. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to have a nice romantic evening and I screwed it all up. Is there any way I can salvage this and make it up to you?” He looked up at me with puppy dog eyes and I swear my heart melted.

“Aw, I know you tried. I do love strawberries and champagne. Why don’t you let me take the lead, hmm?” I took the bottle from him and had a long sip.

I then straddled him and wrapped my arms around his neck. I leaned in, kissed him, and he put his arms around my waist. I pushed him back, lay over him and replicated his slow seduction moves. 

I trailed my hands down his shoulders, chest, torso and finally his hips. I followed the same path with my lips, leaving small nibbles here and there. I parted his legs and caressed his ass cheeks. His deep moans were intoxicating as he slowly lifted his hips. I trailed kisses, gliding my hands between his legs, and gently fondled his balls. He continued to moan and raise his hips higher as I licked over his balls and perineum. I reached up to stroke his hard shaft while he wiggled and groaned, his fingers entangled in my hair. 

Sliding my hands under his buttocks, I spread his cheeks, caressed and massaged them. I wiggled one finger around his anus before dipping in the tip. He shuddered, looked at me and I smiled back, giving the familiar instruction, “Relax.”

I then turned my head and glanced at the can of whipped cream which had fallen to the floor and I heard her voice in my head. "Do it!" I grabbed the can and pointed it at the tip of his anus.


“Oh my God! You just shot whipped cream up my ass. Why would you do that?” he screamed, shooting off the mattresses and pushing his butt cheeks together. “My asshole is freezing.”

The Lady of the House laughed wickedly. “How does it feel jackass? Not so good, is it?” I yelled at him.

I grabbed the champagne, took a big swallow, and poured some on him. “Here, looks like you could use a drink.” 

I grabbed my belongings — and the strawberries — and strutted toward the door, still chugging the champagne. I stopped and looked back at him. “Maybe the issue with you is that it did feel good? Is that it?” I stared him down and watched his head drop. He didn’t answer.

“Ha-ha! Well, make sure to tell your friends you were pussy whipped by a real woman,” I yelled and stormed out, slamming the door. 

Good one,” the lady laughed. “Looks like we make a good team.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be expecting a high five.”

Nah, but maybe a caressing finger or two?”

“Deal. I think we can finish off this champagne in a nice, relaxing, warm bubble bath.”

Sounds good to me. When in doubt, rub one out.”


*A very special thank you to JWren for his editing genius and the helpful hints! It is truly appreciated!*




This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2016-2017. Gypsygyrl. All Rights Reserved, All stories and poems written by Gypsygyrl. No portion, in whole or part, can be borrowed, linked or reproduced without her expressed written consent. Thank you,

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