Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary of Sensuality

I imagine:

It’s Friday night, the weekend has started.

I’m still in my work clothes. My skirt is slightly crumpled from spending the evening watching a kick-ass DVD. My shoes I’ve removed and are lying on their sides at the end of the sofa, feet indulging in the sweet escape from a week’s worth of tight, toe torturing heels. Hair, well, in a dishevelled unbound mass of strands about my shoulders having shaken out the pincer clips that hold it in bureaucratic order during the daylight hours of the week.

I’m unwinding in every sense.

He enters with my refilled glass. The wine is chilled and washes down my throat very nicely indeed. I murmer in appreciation. The cool glass is fogging up as I hold it languishingly in my hand over the arm of the sofa. Absent mindedly, I draw my finger over the mist and run it around the rim of the glass. Work is the last thing on my mind now.

He takes hold of my feet which have been resting on the edge of the coffee table in front of us. He swivels them round onto his lap and begins to rub them. Having replaced tights with my long black over-the-knee stocking socks for warmth, my feet are snug and soon contented after a few minutes of light massage. Running my toes between his thumb and forefinger he eases out the week’s stress and worry. I close my eyes as he continues up my foot, resting momentarily on my heels before working his way to my calves.

I am snatched out of my reverie suddenly as he places his fingers behind my knee, in that certain place he knows will make me jolt. My eyelids flash open and a gasp is drawn from my lips before it is joined by the small giggle illicited by such a tickle. He doesn’t want me to fall asleep. Not at this moment. Not when his fingers are edging ever higher up my thighs.

I feel a familiar stir. A mix of adrenaline, desire and butterflies. That is the feeling of being turned on. For me.

Shifting in my seat, I place my head against the arm of the sofa and slowly sip my wine. I do this whilst looking into his eyes deeply, longingly. We both know where this will lead. He smiles at me in that way I know he’s up to something. But what he does next I was not expecting. Instead of continuing his hands’ journey up under my skirt to my thighs, he moves so that his head is placed against my belly. A natural response, my right hand goes to cradle his head in my lap. I lose my fingers in his hair, toying with his short waves, curling them around my fingers. But his fingers are not idle. In this brief interlude they have wandered higher and are now brushing against the hem of my underwear.

This is it. This is what sends me over into complete abandon. Ever so subtly his hands move closer to their goal. He presses against my sex making me shiver inside. He senses these flutterings and places another hand on my leg. Just the warmth from its presence there is enough to awaken my loins fully. My hand in his hair tightens its grip on his strands as he delicately kneads the dampening fabric. One finger finds that nub and my breathing immediately changes. I inhale sharply as a short rush sweeps over my body from that single touch.

Twisting his hair so that his head turns up toward me, I speak in a voice altered from earlier in the evening. A voice that hearkens from an instinctual need for my man. I look into those clear eyes and say, “Take me to bed.”

He returns my look of lust and desire and replies, “No.” Despair fills my eyes. He can’t surely mean that, not after all he has done. He continues:

 ”I want to have you here. Now.”

My smile returns and my unwinding is complete.