It’s been a long day, and a long week at work. It seemed like everything that could go wrong did. When you finally wrap things up in your basement office, you close your laptop and head upstairs, ready to unwind. It’s Friday, and we don’t have any plans tomorrow.
As you climb the basement stairs you hear music playing in the kitchen. Dishes and silverware clink and cabinet doors open and close. You smile, relieved at least one chore is crossed off our long list. You hate emptying the dishwasher.
When you open the kitchen door, you’re surprised to find me in lingerie – a sheer little black thing that holds my enormous breasts tight, as if a strong wind could cause it to pop open. It’s barely long enough to cover me, and I’m not wearing anything underneath it except thigh high stockings. I’ve meticulously waved my hair like you like it, and my smoky eyeliner intensifies my green eyes. It’s clear I’ve prepared for this.
“Hey love,” I smile mischievously and tell you to stop where you are. You look at me like you want to take me right this second. I explain that there are two rules tonight: