The Welcome Home - Sex Stories

The Welcome Home

Thank you for such a wonderful night. You looked beautiful as usual. The black dress you wore is my favourite. On first glance the style seems so demure but it also gives tantalising glimpses of the flesh beneath, moulding to the lines of your body like a second skin. Let’s not forget the view it gave me and the waiter, at the restaurant, when you “accidentally” dropped your napkin and then bent down to pick it up. The teasing glimpse of pale breast against black lace had me instantly hard. I still am. As you walk through the front door I grab your wrist to stop you from turning on the lights. You go to speak but I lay a firm finger against your lips. An insistent finger, on the softest of lips, to let you know with a gesture that I am in control and you will do as you are told. The room is dark and lit by only by pale streetlight streaming through large windows. While your features are hidden by the dimness I can feel your acceptance of my control by first the smile and then the kiss upon my silencing finger. I tug at your wrist. You give a token, teasing resistance but I pull harder, insistent, leading you silently across the darkened room to the couch. You just stand there relaxed, waiting for instruction and now fully accepting of my little game. I turn your body and press you against the back of the couch. I lean into you so you can feel, by the hardness of my cock against the curve of your arse, how much I want you. Your slow grind back into me tells me you want me ...

... just as much. Reaching up I brush the hair from your nape and lay light kisses on your warm skin but it isn’t till I nip at the flesh between your neck and shoulder that I get a response. You muffle a moan but I feel you tremble as I mark you as mine. I step back and place my hands on your shoulders. They look so large and rough against your delicate skin. I use just enough force to slowly push your body forward until I have you bent over the couch with your face buried in the cushions. From my point of view you’ve been reduced to just a great arse crowning a stunning pair of legs. But the laughter I hear, muffled by cushions, reminds me you’re all woman. The woman I want. I take a moment to admire your arse. What sane man wouldn’t? Then ever so gently, barely touching you, I run my hands over the swell of your hips. Slowly and patiently I let them move their way down your legs, past hemline, over stocking covered thighs and calves until they reach journey’s end at your feet. I smile as they are quite appropriately, for tonight, wearing the most stylish of fuck-me pumps. Bent over as you are it’s easy to grasp each ankle and widen the distance between your feet to a quite unladylike gap. Having positioned you in such a way as to meet my demands I then run my hands back up your legs to reach for the hem of your dress. Slowly I lift it over your arse and hips until it sits bunched about the small of your back. I pause briefly to stare at the scrap of lace that barely covers your ...