Dance
Our honeymoon was over. Back to our little home. Stepping from the car, you turned to pick up your bags from the floor. Calves stretched, bum forced up by the high heels, your body - for an instant - frozen, as from behind you, my hands slide the fabric of your dress up your thighs.
A tremor down your spine as the cool air reached the wet heat of your core, a groan of pleasure as my tongue slides between your legs, my hands pulling your cheeks apart. Toes pushed against the floor, body arches the straps of the suspender belt pulling across your bum as you push against my probing tongue. My fingers rolling your hard nipple before sliding between your fiery lips, sucked eagerly into your mouth.
Those fingers sliding between your thighs, your foot lifting onto the step of the car opening your body further straining against my hardness that now fills you.
The promise of the dance floor, the texture of silky thighs above fishnet stockings, delicate caresses, the catch of a breath and the flutter of the dress coming off, transforming into lifting, thrusting hardness, hands gripping breasts, straps, hips.
Probing fingers taking you higher, grasping of my cheek against your bare shoulder, my tongue in your ear, our bodies in climax.
And finally unsteady legs, heavy breathing, ana swift check over your shoulder to see if the garage door was down.