It is Saturday morning and I’m doing housekeeping chores. A white T-shirt, nearly transparent with wear, and lavender sleep shorts. No kids home, so no need for a robe or a bra, and I don’t have to get dressed 'til noon.
I love these loose layers that let the sun and breeze touch my skin. I love my body, and I appreciate the reminder that it was made for fun as well as work. I love the music, how it moves me, flowing through me.
As it flows through and around me, I Dance.
I weav in and out of chores as a cross-genre mashup of high-energy fuck-me songs plays. My playlist is called Yepp. Silly, I know, but it makes me happy. Ass shaking, I bump and grind to an audience of my own pleasure. Running the vacuum and mopping floors as Joan Jett: Do You Wanna Touch Me? Follows me through the house. As I go, thoughts of you flash through my mind.
Seeing your eyes get dark as you watch me from across the room. We talk about mundane things as my fingers play with pearl buttons before opening one, then a second. Your eyes follow my fingers as they slide along the lace edging the valley of my cleavage.
“Show me,” you say. “I want to see those gorgeous tits.”
An old favorite comes on, Def Leppard. Love Bites, and my body slows. This song talks to me, and I see your hands on me. What would you do if you were here?
Your hands rest on my hips as i sway with the song, and you draw me closer.
Fingertips dragging along skin, sliding under my shirt, palms covering my breasts, kneading. You watch your hands on me through the thin fabric, cupping each before you roll and pinch nipples between your thumb and finger.
“Beautiful” you breathe before your mouth dips down to nibble as you shove the shirt up out of the way, your beard tickling skin where it brushes. I can’t suppress the moan as you suck and squeeze each full mound.
I start dishes, singing country songs that tell stories of wild, strong women. Chrome, a playful song about a girl with a love of trucks. It speaks to me of stolen moments and smooth, hard strength. Some women want soft. Not me. The thought of hard, smooth heat brings me back.
You take my hand and draw me where you sit in front of me, pulling me to sit astride your lap. I can feel your hard heat through the layers of clothes as my hands trace up your arms and shoulders. My eyes hold yours as I rock against your cock to a rhythm only I hear. Leaning close, I whisper. “Wanna play a game?” At your quick nod, I continue, “I dare you to get me in your lap three times today. If you do, you can have me on my knees this afternoon.”
The anticipation of the chase, being caught and pulled against your hard body each time keeps me edging all day. When will I see you next?
Drying and putting away dishes, my hips drop and grind, moving against the memory of your fingers, your cock, inside me. I am wet for you, and my body waits for your hand to slide under the leg of these shorts, loose enough that you could lean me against this counter pull them aside and fuck me.
You’ve caught me again. Trapped between you and the counter, fingers trace up my thigh. Along the edge of my pussy, pushing panties aside to find the slit and plunge inside.
“So tight, and wet. You want me there, don’t you?” One finger, then two, and I’m rocking against your hand. I have to bite my lip to hold the moan in. Then, your mouth covers mine as you alternate forceful strokes with firm circles against my clit. My hand drifts down, sliding under the band of your boxers to find you hard, ready, warm steel encased in smooth satin. Fingers cup and slide along your skin, following a path from tip to base, and on the return stroke pulling you free of your pants.
“Let me. I want you in my mouth.” I breath as your lips and teeth trace a path along my throat.
I feel your chuckle as much as hear it. Hands move to my shoulders as I sink to my knees, legs spread to either side of you, and I hear that short gasp I always love as my tongue first touches sensitive skin, licking the first drop from your tip. Did you know I could worship your cock, stroking, touching, for hours? The view from here, where my apparent submission holds the real power. I look up at your face as my lips slide around the head, moving to pull you deeper into my mouth. One hand firmly around your base, my other slides down my front and you watch me touch myself, fingers gliding into the wet folds of my pussy as my mouth and other hand explore you.
Your hand has come to rest near my ear, fingers tracing the lobe before threading into my hair. I know that you are close to the edge, and I pull back. “Do you want my mouth or my pussy?” The hand in my hair draws my to my feet, then falls as you turn me, bending me over the counter and pushing my panties aside, you drive into me, hard and fast, both of us slick and ready for the end.
My fingers slide down, to rub and pinch my clit, a quick finger-fuck as I think of you touching me, hands on my skin, cock buried in me from behind. Leaning against the kitchen counter, my other hand rests on my own breast, kneading and pinching as I get myself off to music and the thoughts of you. The rush of release, and electricity slides through my body, followed by the warmth of satiated lethargy.
