We’ve been texting each other all day – nothing super naughty (I am on work WiFi after all), but dirty enough that I have to check for a tent in my pants before I get up to go to another meeting. You’ve taken today off and are working around the house, but somehow find a way to tease me in between the tasks that you’ve given yourself.
It starts off innocuous at first; you’re telling me about wiping down the counters while I’m imagining what you’re wearing. You eventually relent and tell me that you’ve slipped into those black yoga pants that you swear you can’t wear in public because they’re too tight and someone might see the faint outline of your pussy, or the lines of the thong that you’ve put on for me. You know how much I love that tiny black piece of fabric. Up top, you tease me about the lacy black bra that you “just happened” to find in the bottom of our dresser this morning and the impossibly small white tank top that hugs your breasts so nicely and shows off your smooth, flat stomach. I am literally aching in my office for 5:00 to come.
When it does, I power walk to my pickup truck, fighting the urge to sprint there. My colleagues are firing questions at me as I walk past their offices, but I can’t hear them – my mind is squarely on you, all five feet five inches and 120 pounds of you.
The commute is hell, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the garage door closes behind me. Slowly, as if teasing myself, I walk through the door and find you at the sink. Those black yoga pants, the ones you’ve been teasing me with all day, frame your heart-shaped ass perfectly. I stand in the doorway and examine your ass in search of the panty lines you swear could be there. Finding none, I feel myself growing in my pants, the imaginary line between work and home freeing me to become a steel bar in my pants. I love the dimples on your back, the slender curve of your shoulders, the way that your dark brown hair falls across your shoulder blades.
You turn around and lean against the sink, your elbows resting on it, thrusting your breasts forward. My eyes are immediately drawn to your chest; a hint of the cups of your bra peeking out over your tank top and the straps running tantalizingly up your shoulders.
“Hey,” you say, nodding your chin up.
In less than a second I am on you, my hips pressed against your stomach, my lips greedily on yours. You throw your slender arms around my neck and our tongues explore. I feel myself grow even harder against you and your hand slides down to graze my length. I reach behind you to grab hold of your full ass, then lift you unexpectedly so that we are in a full-on makeout session. You’ve got a handful of my hard-on as I reach for the hem of your shirt in a desperate attempt to slide it up – no place in particular, just up. Maybe over your full breasts, maybe over your head, where doesn’t seem to matter.
“No sir,” you tease, pushing me away. You place a finger on my chest, drawing your face excruciatingly close to mine. “This needs to be continued upstairs.”
I watch intently as you slide off the counter and sashay your way towards the steps. I cannot help but stroke myself through my jeans as I still search for those evasive panty lines.
“You like that?” you ask, looking backwards and placing your hands on your hips in a model pose. I can only grunt in return, your deep brown eyes locked with mine.
“You’ll love this,” you say, hooking your thumbs into the band of your pants. In tune with music only you can hear, you slide your yoga pants down, revealing a black thong that disappears quickly between the full, smooth cheeks of your ass. I am utterly stunned as you stand at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on each cheek, swaying slowly back and forth in time to the music in your head.
As you go to take a step one foot gets caught and before either of us know it, you’ve fallen and are sitting at the landing of the stairs, facing me, with the pants around your ankles. My eyes travel to your breasts that are heaving as you laugh, embarrassed. Your flat stomach leads to the vee of your pussy, covered by a light layer of back fabric, a small wet spot forming in the space where we join together as one.
I know that I won’t last long inside of you and, wanting to prolong our pleasure, I reluctantly tell you I will be up in a minute.
“Hey,” you say in a sultry voice, your hands sliding down to your sex. “Don’t make me get started without you.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ec5ags/coming_home_from_work