As I alluded to in my last post, I had been away for the weekend. Spending time with my girls – very well-earned pampering at a spa. We all lead very busy lives these days and only manage to meet up a clutch of times a year. So in my genius, I suggested a spa day to give ourselves a treat. I thoroughly recommend it, although I did see my fair share of too many naked women in the changing room (if you can have too many naked women).
It felt nice to be away from Mister for those two days. In the best possible way, being around someone all the time can get…monotonous. The previous week had been particularly stressy at work and neither of us had felt properly up for sex, and only making the effort once. For us, that’s a very bad week. It’s usually at least three times, without it seeming like going through the motions.
I was travelling home on the train journey, rocking things up in my gorgeous sunglasses and my beige mackintosh coat that is just screaming out to be worn over some sexy underwear and nothing else. Hair hanging loosely, slightly damp still from the showers at the spa. My mind drifted, as it would, looking out across the fields and stretches of sea that the train was flitting past. My book splayed face down on the table in front of me, my thoughts flew of course, to Mister. The young man sitting across from me may even have caught the tail end of a wry smile I was having to myself, the girl sat next to him working on her laptop fully engrossed in her business I doubt ever noticed.
What was I thinking? Well, that is for me alone. What I will share are the moments upon returning back to him. Home. More specifically, those snap-shot moments of delightful memory. Stepping off the train and onto the platform, thinking he would be waiting in the car, only to be surprised as I look out across the tracks to the other side and seeing him. Expectant. Smiling. I giggle quietly to myself – I decide he’s deliberately wearing that shirt I told him to change out of as it made him look like he was from a 90s time-warp. Overnight bag over one arm, I descend the platform steps to be greeted by him warmly at the bottom of the stairs. The welcome kiss, the embrace as he draws me into his chest for a second or two. Instinctively, I run my hands under that shirt and around his ribcage, feeling his warm skin beneath. Taking my bag, he’s the gentleman once more as he escorts me to the car as I feel my spirits continue to lift and soar.
I chatter away during the short journey. The adrenaline coursing itself through my fibres. I remind myself that it has only been two days, one night only away from him – and this is the result of coming home from such a short departure from his presence.
The rest of the evening was blurry. What was the next snap-shot? Ah yes, of course. He sent me to bed.
I think you should head upstairs and await my arrival. You can be in whatever state of dress, or undress, as you please. But I want you to wait for me in a sexy pose.
I left the sofa without a word, knelt forward to kiss him playfully on the tip of his nose before turning the door handle and skipping upstairs. Luckily I was already in some great underwear. The black pair of knickers with the white frilled hem. The ones that make my arse particularly luscious. Those.
On to choosing the Right Pose for his entrance. I knew he wouldn’t be long so I quickly undressed, flinging the garments to the side of the room in a crumpled pile before arranging myself on the bed covers. Firstly I took to lying on my front, looking towards the door, head in my hands.
No. Too forced. Try again.
I turned around, feet towards the door, lying on my side this time, again one arm propping up my head – fingers entwined into my loose hair. I brought one leg up, crooked it slightly and rested my other arm across my hip and thigh.
No. A tad uncomfortable today. Next attempt.
Rolling onto my back, I kept one leg crooked upwards as I then moved my arms above my head, crossing my wrists lightly. I felt that I looked deliciously vulnerable like this, kinda Damsel-esque. Ready to be ravished.
Just in time to hear him climbing up the stairs in that steady, heavy pace of his. My wicked smile was already in place and he grinned right back.
The rest of the night, again became blurry. But not out of tedium, like the earlier part of the evening. Out of the fact that Mister proceeded to diddle the sense out of me. It had been a long time since we had that good sex that involves the immediate lust; I recall dragging off that shirt of his, making him shrug off his clothes, his eyes all the while bearing down onto me. As he stood looking at me, naked, for that split second I took the decision to lean up and drag him down onto the bed, kissing him as we fell together. Ragged breathing almost straight away as it was then his turn to undress the remaining barrier to his complete access to his girl.
He stood me up, told me to put my hands against the wall, to brace myself. I leant into the wall for support as he drew his hands up my thighs, firmly pressing into my skin to reinforce his presence – like I could forget?! Sporadically I felt his lips brush against my arse, kissing the flesh there, ending with a nip into the skin. Making me yelp in surprise.
You Devil, I breathed. My name for him when I can no longer deny, resist or rebel against him. When I am completely his.
Clearly, he had me standing so he could make my legs quiver in that way they get when he places his fingers over my clit, twitching, sliding over my lips. I not only quivered, I shuddered and shook uncontrollably.
The lasting snap-shot of the evening was moments later. Turned once again, kneeling on the bed as he now stood behind me, a knee of his own on the bed to afford extra leverage, he had entered me swiftly after the obligatory foil wrapper had been disposed of as flurriedly as my clothes. My hands grasped onto the sheets one second, splayed out tensed the next. This image has seared itself in my memory particularly well as it had been seen by myself in our reflection. The mirror at the foot of our bed, on my chest of drawers. It’s only in this position that the benefits of the mirror take flight. I had great relish in stealing a quiet moment of self-voyeurism, watching his closed-eyed expression of bliss.
We look fucking hot like this, I spoke to his mirror image. Catching him mid-stroke, off guard.
Once he realised I had been watching him, it sent him over his edge.
And I fell along right with him.
I should go away more often.