Daydreaming
He sits on the swing in their garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of the blooming flowers his darling Elsie has planted. It's warm so his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the forearm which allows the gentle breeze to caress and cool his skin. He is wearing dark trousers, his comfortable socks and shoes, and a white shirt without the braces. He is at home and comfort is more important than appearances for once. After all, he is retired and can afford to live a little.
He closes his eyes and tilts back his head to allow the sun to kiss his face. These are simple pleasures that he has grown to enjoy since his days are now his own. He is no longer bound by the ringing of bells and the whims of others. As long as Elsie is happy and wants for nothing, Charles Carson is pleased.
Normally, on an afternoon such as this, his wife would join him in this relaxing pastime, but today she has other plans. It has taken over a year of marriage to convince her that everything Charles has is now hers to share, including the money he has saved and what she has contributed to their household accounts. So, he is most pleased when she tells him over breakfast that she would like to go into town to choose a few new garments, underthings and nightgowns in particular. He offers to go with her but she refuses saying he would be more comfortable at home than in a shop filled with ladies from the village and unmentionables. With this assessment, he cannot and will not argue. Mrs. Carson is always right.
He does not hear the front door of their cottage open or his wife calling out his name. He has always prided himself on being able to detect her footfall from everyone else in the large house where they once served. It is the same boast she can make as well. Years of working together, looking out for each other, falling in love … a couple in love without admitting it for so many years in almost every sense of the word … affords them these little insights.
Suddenly, she is standing in the garden which is shielded from the lane leading up to the cottage. Thick trees with full branches line the side of the house. Other trees, rosebushes, various blooming and evergreen plants also surround the back of their property. With everything in bloom, it is their little garden paradise hidden away from prying eyes, though there are no neighbors to look and their house is the last on the lane.
The grass is cool on her bare feet, her toes wiggling happily in the plush greenery. She has rid herself of the restrictive stockings and shoes, choosing comfort over sensibility. How many times had her mother told her never to walk barefoot outside for fear of stepping on something or being bitten by something else? Today, she does not heed the advice. She does not think it necessary, especially in the safety of her own little patch of land.
Charles opens his eyes when he senses her, and his breath catches. She is a vision of beauty and grace, a goddess standing in mortal form. His lips are suddenly dry as he drinks in everything about her from the tips of her bare toes to the top of her head. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, and she has his absolute and full attention.
Elsie is standing there in one of her new purchases. It is white, nothing but lace and satin. She has never owned something so fine, so extravagant, so … revealing. Her shoulders are almost completely bare except for the shiny satin straps that are almost non-existent. Her creamy complexion is exposed to the warmth of the sun's rays and her lover's eyes. She can see by the darkening of his eyes that she has his interests piqued.
Her full breasts are adorned in the soft material of the nightgown. She knows her husband can easily see her peaks and their lovely rosy color though she is not ashamed. In fact, the very thought excites her. He has always appreciated her bosom, lavishes each breast with attention, both from his hands and lips, whenever they make love. Sometimes, when she is doing mundane chores such as washing dishes or dusting, he will wrap his arms around her from behind, cup and massage her breasts until they are both trembling with excitement and anticipation. Now, encased in the softest and thinnest material, she is teasing him, taunting him, enticing him as only she can.
There is no collar to the garment, only a deep plunge in the shape of a "v" meaning her collarbones and upper chest are being cooled by the breeze in the garden. The gentle wind glides across her chest and through her hair. She has taken it down since she was in the village. It flows freely down her back, tiny wisps dance along her cheeks, shoulders, and the very chest he is admiring.
One tiny hint of color resides in the form of a dainty pink rose nestled among a satin bow, perfectly positioned at the bottom of the deep neckline, the very center of the valley between her breasts. His fingers itch with a deep desire to touch it, to see if it feels as soft as it appears. There will be time for that later. For now, he will continue to wonder as there are more delights to explore.
As his eyes drift downward, across the plane of her belly and her shapely hips, his eyes widen when he drinks in the sight of her most intimate part. Once, before they were married, she worried about sharing herself with him, concerned that she might not be enough for him. He has, through actions and words, proven that she is, indeed, the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, that he's the luckiest of men, and that he desires her above all others. Now, she stands before him, seducing him without ever uttering a word, luring him into her arms like a moth to flame. He knows he is powerless to resist her charms, and he has no desires to even try.
The nightgown does not reach the tops of her feet. The hem falls just below her knees. Legs toned by years of climbing stairs and walking endless corridors peek out from the lace. His pulse rate increases as he remembers how she moans when his lips kiss the spot behind her knee or whispers reverently along her inner thigh. He smiles as he recalls the first time he kissed the top of her foot and ankle and how she moans in bliss as he massages her feet after a long day.
There is a gust of wind which blows through the garden. It is as if all of nature is trying to get closer to her. The sunlight is caressing her exposed skin, the grass is tickling her feet, and the wind is wrapping her up in comfort and tranquility. The lower part of her nightgown is pressed against her bottom as the breeze blows forward, then is clinging to her front as it whips in the opposite direction. Her hair is swaying as if listening to some melodic tune.
Suddenly, she is no longer content to remain still. She steps forward until she is standing between his legs. His fingers flex instinctively as he moves to reach out and touch her, to wrap her up in his arms. He is halted by a gentle shake of her head. Intrigued, he remains motionless, curious to see what his wife turned goddess has in store.
Slowly, she closes the distance between them, her lips barely touching his. Her breath is warm, warmer than the air surrounding them. Her fingers stroke his face lightly, slipping down the sides of his neck, along his collar, and into the top of his shirt. One by one, she unbuttons it, raking her nails through the sparse hairs in the center of his chest. He has never felt this level of intensity before, and it is almost his undoing. She tugs on the sides of his shirt until it is free from his trousers and she can push it open revealing his entire upper body to nature.
Once again, she moves, though this time she is slipping onto the swing beside him. She rests her head on his shoulder as her palm glides over his chest and side. Her lips nibble and nip along his neck and ear, soothed by the tip of her tongue as it darts out to taste him.
It is only then that he dares to touch her. His hand is not trembling, thankfully. It's as steady as it was in his youth, though he now possesses the confidence of a husband deeply in love with his wife. It lands first on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, letting her know that he is moved beyond words by her actions. When she sighs deeply into his ear and shifts closer to him, he grows bolder. His fingertips begin to dance along the inside of her thigh, inching closer and closer to her center.
She stops him with a gentle pressure on his hand, and he turns his head to look at her, an unspoken question written on his face.
"Charlie."
He moves to kiss her but she shifts away again, saying his name once more. "Charlie!"
"Hmmm, yes, love." His voice is thick with emotions, revealing his aroused state and his deepest desire to make love to his wife, to peel away this garment and to caress every part of her until she is blissfully happy.
He hears his name once more, though this time more forcefully. "Charlie!" Suddenly, his eyes are opening and he's blinking quickly, trying to adjust to the bright light above. Elsie is standing there, her knees touching his, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.
"I called you several times. Are you feeling unwell?" She places her hand to his forehead. His cheeks are flushed and he's a little warm, though that is to be expected from sitting in the sun at midday.
"I'm fine, love." He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. "I didn't hear you come back from your shopping."
"No, I dare say. Your eyes were closed, and when I walked out here, you were moaning." She'd heard those sorts of sounds before, though usually they were together and she had said or done something particularly enjoyable.
"Just daydreaming, my love. You caught me in the middle of a daydream."
She sits down beside him and kisses his cheek, wrapping her arm around his and hugging it to her. "From the sounds you were making, it must have been very nice." She is naughty and brushes the back of her hand against the front of his trousers, feeling just how excited he is. His sharp intake of breath confirms her suspicions. "Perhaps, we should get you out of this heat and into the cottage. I'd like to hear more about his daydream of yours." She stands and takes both of his hands in hers, helping him to his feet.
"I'd like to see your purchases from today. I hope you found something pretty." He allows her to lead him into the house, locking the back door behind them, though, as Elsie loves to remind him … "This is England, Mr. Carson." She is not afraid of burglars or intruders, only nosy cooks and sometimes an imposing lady named Mary.
She thinks of the new items she had bought in the village and a smile curls about her lips. She has splurged a little, bought things that were sensible and one or two which were decidedly not. However, given the way her husband is looking at her and reaching for her, she has no doubts that he will approve of her choices. Perhaps, if he will tell her about his daydream, she can see about making it into a reality. At the very least, she is willing to try. She is confident, either way, that once he sees how flimsy this new material is and how it clings to her in all his favorite places, there will be no questions about her purchases … only hungry eyes, roaming hands, hot kisses, and endless happiness.
He wraps his arms around her and draws her flush against his body. His lips leave a series of passionate kisses all along her neck. "Do you really want to hear about my daydream, Elsie?"
"Ohhhhhh, I do," she moans as his hands cup her breasts, massaging them as they both enjoy.
"Well …" and he begins to tell his tale, going into great detail, all the while proving once more that the woman of his daydreams is the same one who occupies his every waking thought, his one and only love. His wife. His Elsie.
A/N: Thought we could use a little warmth since we're entering the cooler months of the year. Thanks for taking the time to read the chapter. I'd love a review if you are so inclined. A special thanks to all the guest reviewers and those who read but don't review. I love and appreciate you all!