They had talked, emailed, texted. Words were her medium of comfort before his broad shoulders entered her door. The previous heat was now consumed by a pressure to be charming, to be like she was before they met. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Instead of turning the door knob in his hand, he turned around, looked down at her, and said, “One thing before dinner.”
“Oh?” She asked, thinking maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he’d mistaken her awkward silence as a sign and no longer thought her interesting. I get better. I really do, she thought, with time.
“Yes. One thing,” and with that his hands — the fingernails trimmed nearly to cuticles — firmly grasped her shoulders, spun her around, and pushed her forward to the back of the couch.
Leaving her shoulders, those hands traveled down her hips, tracing the snug cotton of her skirt to its hem.
“Bend,” he commanded. She did, effortlessly and comfortably, feeling a familiarity at last. The hem was lifted over her stockings, past the naked tops of her thighs, past the lace panties.
“Oh,” she breathed again, wondering at his next move, not caring that her retort lacked brilliance.
They stood there: her skirt at her waist, her hands on the couch cushions, his formidable shoulders behind her. Fingers straightened the edges of her panties before a palm gently soothed her cheeks.
Anticipation engulfed the silence. She wondered at herself, at him, how he could know that this wouldn’t scare her, but instead calm her.
“Better?” He asked.
On a breath, the first she’d taken since he arrived, she simply said, “Yes. Much.”
“Good,” he said as he pulled her skirt back down. “Ready for dinner?”
The verbal picture develops
the anticipation builds
and then……..
Aaargh!
I want more.
don’t stop, don’t stop, oh please don’t stop!
xxx
J
Ha. That is it. The end. Deal with it.
(Really, so sorry J. So, so sorry.)
That was lovely. Thank you
Hi, Serenity! Love hearing from you!
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
Somebody should smack you. But that’s just what you want.
Low and to the center, please.
Such a tease.
Ha. Pot, meet Kettle. You sooo deserve it, with your little peeks into your books, Cara.
Hiya Queen a Hawtness,
In between giggles and discussions of lawn furniture, I realized that I haven’t fully expressed my love of your blog as often as I express my deep admiration for you.
We made a deal you and I, to sit on the bleachers, chew gum and talk about not much at all. In talking about nothing, it was really everything.
I wrote you months and month ago now. About a girl, me. Who was like you, but different. I told you that night for all the world to see, what you had done for my man and I. By offering a blog that told a story of a kinky woman that was very very good, with just a hint of naughty in her
We have learned so much here, from implements, to positions, to emotions, to the color of your heart, which by the way….. is not Pink. Its true blue.
Thank you for sitting on the bleachers with me and for hiding under them when it rained. I wrote your blog a love letter. Go take a look, and feel the Power of Pink.
The end.
xxoo Newt Kai
Love letters are the best from you, Newt.
I remember that night that you came out of the “corner” and walloped us with your profundity.
But I do have a question. Lawn furniture? Did we really discuss such a thing?
Big hugs, bleacher sister.
Oh. My. GAWD. (fanning self)
Too bad I didn’t write about what happened AFTER dinner. Phew. It’s a scorcher.
Wow Pink, you should publish these short stories! I even have a title for the anthology – “Pink in Shorts”. Hot stuff.
Love it, Wordsmith. Thank you!