Hey Guys! Happy Mardi Gras! Happy Pancake day for us Canadians!
For Maxwell Sheffield it seemed to be a long drive from the theatre back to the mansion in the brittle and cold winter air. His car had some trouble starting up, protesting the moment he turned the key in the ignition. When it did start, the thing chugged and whined almost as though it were a living thing being forced to comply.
'Ugh, Blasted cold.' His warm breath was plainly visible in a cloud amongst the coldness as he shivered.
There was no snow in the forecast and it just didn't feel like snow. Too cold. To be honest he just wanted to get back to his mansion in a hurry where he hoped Niles would have a brandy and cigar waiting for him on the coffee table in front of a roaring fire place.
'Huh?' He thought to himself as he backtracked the brandy and cigar thought. Really, he was just married. Why the hell would he be blowing on a cigar when he could be blowing something far more interesting, or someone rather? The funny thing about him being a newlywed for the second time in his life was that it made him fall back on old habits, not quite sure of his current status.
He finally pulled into his small driveway and made a beeline out of his car and into the enveloping warmth of his home. It felt so good to have the rush of warm air greet him as he took his boots off and peeled off the winter jacket. He looked at the clock on the fire mantle and saw that it was still only 9 PM. The children should be out with their impending social lives but home by 10 PM at the latest. Fran did say that Gracie would be at a sleepover tonight, however.
He turned to walk up the stairs but spotted something on the first step and when he bent to have a look he saw more of them. One on each step. It was a cluster of rounded beads on a string that appeared to be a long necklace. He picked up each one that were a different color as he went up the stairs. Green, red, blue, silver, gold, purple, and many more. He grinned as he wondered curiously what his wife was up to in all of her infinite creativity to amuse him. As if right on queue he heard and felt a loud thumping reverberating off the floor and the walls to a rather odd beat. It sounded like something Maggie would be dancing to on MTV. He stopped at his door and looked around to see if anyone was going to come in wondering where the sound was coming from.
'I took an early night out. If I don't come back til morning, yay for me! And the children are off to sleepovers. Enjoy, Sir!'
'How considerate of Niles to stick a taped memo to my newly varnished door.' Maxwell thought sarcastically, but that was only momentary as he heard some more thumping and musical noises behind the wall.
Maxwell turned the knob on his door and entered cautiously and his jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw his room which was decorated much like a boudoir in a New Orleans whorehouse. The bed was smoothed over with what looked to be red satin and draped with a gold canopy overhead. His drapes were even replaced with these gregarious red velvet ones. He thought he was seeing things when he noticed that the light bulbs even had a red tint.
When the music calmed to something a little less on the upside of a headache he spotted Fran standing in the far corner of his bedroom dressed indeed for some naughty part. She wore the crimson corset well as her pale breasts nearly spilled out of the top and the garters were in perfect place accentuating the black and white striped thigh highs. If she was attempting to give him a heart attack she was doing a very fine job of it. The black curls were piled on her head in a messy up do and some strands circling her face making a show of her dramatic makeup effects. She even had those long black gloves on that shimmered in the light. She grinned lecherously at his shell shocked expression and turned into the wall seductively twirling on her spiked heels. His heart leaped in his throat when he saw that she was indeed wearing a black thong, her perfectly rounded cheeks exposed to him and the air in the expansive bedroom now transformed into the Bourbon Street Whore House.
Fran walked with a sexy gait in time with the burlesque sounding sax, each step forward with grace and motion that made her hips move towards Max. When she made her way to him she took his hands in hers and walked him towards the seat at the end of his bed, urging him to sit for the show.
Max's eyes were surely bugging out of his head at his wife's audacity but he really shouldn't be surprised at all. She was certainly good at finding ways to make his repressed interior squirm like the dickens. When she was done with one task to get him accustomed to this side of her she was sure to come back with an even more outrageous scheme just to see how far she could throw him. He swore she thoroughly enjoyed torturing him. She really was just too much. Who was he kidding? He enjoyed the boldness without shame or pride. He would never openly admit that to her.
Standing in front of him, she wiggled her hips a little and caressed her sides with her glove encased hands bringing them up to her face, in her hair, to her bold red lips. She caught the finger of the glove in her teeth and pulled until she could pull it off all the way with her other hand to fling it in some corner of the room. Repeating the action she did the same with the other glove. With the gloves removed she reached up and pulled the pin out of her hair. He watched mesmerized and he could feel himself melting inside as her long black curls fell around her face, landing at the top of her breasts. Her hair was one of his many weaknesses. She leaned down in front of him, her arms on his shoulders she was making like she was coming up to kiss him but merely gliding in the air over him. She could visibly see his eyes darken at her proximity and she smiled inside knowing she had him. She sat up on her haunches over his lap, seductively thrusting her hips in his hardened stomach and pulling his head closer into her cleavage. His hands flew to her hips on autopilot and slid down around to caress her bare bottom. Fran caught this and removed them, shaking her head at him as a small reprimand. No one touches the dancers
After Max's little mishap she removed herself from his lap and turned around to bend over, her perfect bottom teasing him. Was it so crude that he just wanted to drop his head on her ass and kiss it? He could feel his pants getting tighter with her every move and he knew he was quickly developing a serious erection that needed to be taken care of soon. He was so baffled that he wasn't sure when exactly she decided to move away from him until he felt the cool air in his face. His vision cleared to see her back to the wall sliding down it in a heady dance clearly mimicking her reaction if he was purely fucking her against it, her mouth an O-shape, bedroom eyes, her hair sliding up the wall as she slid down to the floor. So this is what they call 'holding up the wall'.
On the floor she was on her hands and knees crawling towards him like a creature of the night. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she slithered up to him, between his legs. He wanted so badly to take her face in his hands and kiss those pouty lips but he feared he would get reprimanded again. He really didn't want her to go away again.
'Oy!' Fran let out a puff of air as she realized she was unsure as to what to do next. She was merely stopped by the electrical charge in the air that seemed to pass between the two of them. His emblazoned gaze held her captive. 'Damnit! Why'd I look?'
Her heart pulsated in her ears and she was reluctant to do so but she turned on him dramatically to show him her backside. She just had to escape his eyes for then she would never finish this. This was a bravado that deserved to be finished judging by the expressions that flickered across his face and she'd be damned if she was going to cut that short. She still had this blasted costume to take off first.
Recovering quickly she stood up by her vanity chair and reached behind her to untie the strings on the corset behind while keeping in step with her music. She smiled when practically saw the drool from his lips as the corset loosened up while she held the front up. Like a good little stripper she made a show of removing it and she was sure Max was having a mini stroke at the revelation of her rosy breasts. She sauntered to him again and she was suddenly dancing within his reach. She threw her head back with her fingers tangled in her hair and she was unable to see his hands move to touch her taunting breasts, sliding down to caress them.
"Max!" She gasped lightly and slapped his hands away from her. This was her show and she wasn't going to be distracted. Worst damned patron ever. It affected her greatly though. She wasn't sure how long the stripper would remain the professional. With every smoldering gaze, yearning touch, and glimpse of his tenting pants she was loosing that façade. She really needed to get this show moving. Again she turned away from him wiggling her bum as she bent over to remove the black thongs from her endless stocking covered legs. The moment the chilled air hit her wetly aroused center she wasn't sure how long she could keep this going before she died from his lack of touching. At this point she had driven herself to the point of madness and wondered if she had tortured the poor man enough yet.
Fran lifted herself on his lap again brushing against him, daring him to touch. She should have noticed the telltale flicker of his eye that gave away his imminent snap of control as his arms came up to pull her into him as quickly as a predator. She yelped as he pinned her on the bed under him with a growl deep in his chest. The show was definitely over now.