And so I was behaving myself quite well that afternoon, sitting quite happily next to him in the lounge. Earlier I had giggled quietly to myself when I recalled that my choice of off-white underwear would be a nice little surprise for him on a number of fronts. The colour in itself was the first thing to strike me as out of kilter from my usual choice of black cotton for everyday underwear. That was thrown out of the window, along with the notion of ‘comfortable’ knickers in favour of my frivolous decision sprung from seemingly nowhere to draw that thong up my thighs a few hours beforehand.
I was bubbling away in anticipation of when I would pounce on Mister to then drag him upstairs and ravish him, surprising him with my little secret I was conserving beneath my prosaic pair of jeans. Biding my time until the right moment struck, I was knocked off my feet when it was Mister who bounded in from an all-too-brief jaunt up and down the stairs and then proceeded to paw at me most deliciously. It should have raised my suspicions immediately that this was to be more than simply the affectionate groping of my thigh. And breast. Oh, and a nipple as well.
You’re hiding something from me, I can tell.
I don’t know what you mean! I say this in faux-shock. As you do.
You’ve been acting differently all afternoon. I think you should strip and show me. Come on.
Never one to beat around the subtle nuances of hinting, my Mister.
Nor am I myself one to take my time over getting a little more nude, first to go was my top. Lifted up over my loose hair and flung off to some corner of the room. Then a light shuffle of my tresses that has to be done and a coy smile to him.
Oh no, no. Make a show of it. In front of me. Wiggle.
Mister loves to see me writhe before him. I may not have the snake-hips of a belly dancer, nor much rhythm, but boy can I wiggle well. I know it to be a weakness of his and I exploit it to its full potential. Which is to get my own way. Most of the time at least, but today it was all for him, his desires, his need. I followed my order to the letter. Standing up to face him, I unclasped the buckle of my belt, drew down the zip of my jeans and slid the denim from my waist, making sure to wiggle my hips as the material slipped down my legs. About halfway down my thighs, I twisted away from him to show off my behind and curve myself down to flick off the jeans. Again, tossed to the side of the room somewhere. He approved of these flourishes and I heard a low chuckle from him in his front-row seat.
I saw the coffee table before me and took advantage for the next part of the performance. What was potentially an opportunity for a crass and lewd show, I made….just nicely lewd. Leaning forward onto the wooden table on my hands, I went for a full-on ass-in-face wiggle for my captivated audience member. Well, I wanted him to really take notice of my underwear, after all.
Is the lady permitted to be felt up by the gentleman?
I love it when we role-play – and when it works.
What gentleman? I see only this rogue before me. My turn to chuckle as I throw a glance back over my shoulder.
Well in that case, I think you should be a little mis-treated for this naughty show you’ve been giving me. But first, we need more warmth. I want to spend as much time with you out of your clothes as I can, after all.
With that he went to switch on the small electrical fire we have in a fake-fireplace in our sitting room. It was getting cosier by the second. As he returned, he drew the curtains for I have no shred of shame – and our house is on a hill overlooking the town with only the smallest chance that we would have voyeurs, and then only if they knew where to look – and promptly got naked himself. In similar fashion, his clothes were strewn across the room (one miscreant sock only to be found just under a week later, in fact).
Thus, finally to the eponymous leather that this blog post allude to – I know you have been waiting impatiently until now. Our living room has a wonderfully comfortable array of mis-matched furniture that we’ve inherited through the years. One being a lovely armchair of leather. I’m often found within its soothing confines of an evening following a particularly tough day at work. This afternoon, however, it was to support my knees and elbows, first and foremost, as Mister edged me forwards to guide me down onto the soft leather. I sank into the chair, pressing my skin against the cool surface.
Oh, don’t stop wiggling – keep going. No, wait – let me get you completely naked first. A man driven by his immediate instincts – what he wants now…he gets now.
I allowed myself to be stripped completely, I was in no place nor mind to challenge him - I was having far too much fun with him in this certain mood. I love it when he tells me exactly what to do, has his wicked way with me, and all that. I was warm and highly aroused, my head was heavy, eyes lowered, lips smiling that sideways smile of lust. Of course my cunt was aching for his touch making me edge my body back into his frame standing behind me in front of the chair. I inched back, straightening my spine up against his chest, bringing a hand up and around his shoulders, neck, into his hair and grasping, raking through his hair. My own head found that spot on his collarbone where I nestle in so perfectly, just the right place for my neck to be exposed to his carnal overdrive to kick in and whip his tongue over my skin there, nipping the flesh. This time he bit down into my neck and onto my shoulder. My grin widened as my head sank down, overwhelmed. His. Always, his.
By the time he reached down to retrieve the condom which was of course what he had snuck upstairs to obtain on that swift visit to the floor above, there was very little of me that hadn’t encountered his hands roaming all over, or lips kissing and biting into. He has managed to even find a technique to make me come through my nipples being kissed, licked bitten and sucked - my nipples that are annoyingly not sensitive unless I’m highly turned on. Like the point he had driven me to here and was edging deliriously over. My back undoubtably now had red streaks down them and my arse had a wonderful stinging to it from his firm hand’s attentive care.
Picture by vuephoto on DeviantART
No wonder, in which case, that as he entered me the want and desire spilled over into his energetic thrusts from behind me that the heavy leather and wooden frame of the armchair momentarily tilted over adding to the drama of the performance of it all. So as I lay spent, my orgasms sending me into the beauty of aftershocks as they subsided, I had nothing left to give but to stare through my lashes at him and feel the glowing smile on my face and just enough energy for one final wiggle. For him. Always for him.
