Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Please let me know what you think of this tale, feedback is what pushed me to finish it. Did it make you rock hard? Soaking wet? Or did it make you yawn, or angry? Let me know, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did…
Our small kitchen was a bustle of activity, my own rushed, anxious movements contrasting with Hanna’s relaxed calm. She sat down at the small breakfast bar in her fluffy white robe and began to delicately segment her pink grapefruit, a cup of tea gently steaming beside her. As usual however I was running late, standing with a bowl of cornflakes in one hand and a spoon in the other, forcing mouthful after mouthful hurriedly down, all the while trying to avoid milky splashes on my shirt.
“Do you want to meet for lunch today?” she asked, the grapefruit segment perched on her small spoon, awaiting its fate.
“Yeah sure, usual place?” I mumbled through milk and cereal.
“Usual place sounds good.”
The deal, as ever, was sealed with a kiss, a peck that lingered, her grapefruit tang on my lips and then I left her sitting there as I drained my cup of tea with one big, throat scorching gulp and rushed out the door.
I returned to her smiling face a couple of minutes later to collect my car keys, leaving another kiss behind, and hopefully, this time, nothing else.
Hanna doesn’t work mornings, so before she heads into the office we often meet up for a quick lunch at Sam’s, a tiny little café that does great coffee and sandwiches for me, Hanna usually sticks to coffee and cakes. The latter, she tells me, are always “amazing”.
Work that morning was, frankly, shit, it was nearly the end of the month and deadlines needed to be met. I gratefully escaped for lunch a few minutes early, knowing I’d be working late tonight anyway, and trying to elude the huge dark clouds I had seen building up not so far away through my grimy office window. I had no such luck however, and fat droplets of rain had begun staining my jacket even as I left the building.
The town centre was almost deserted, what people there were could be found huddled away inside shops, trying to escape the rain. I pulled my collar up against the wind and ran, dodging puddles and secretly enjoying it, wishing I had a big pair of Wellington boots like I had as a kid.
Approaching the café I tried to look through the large window, attempting to see if she’d already arrived. The window was steamed up however, the view obscured, I could see nothing beyond the display of fancy looking cakes on the sill.
A bell above the door rang brightly as I pushed inside the busy café, a lot of people had sought refuge here, some perhaps using the rain as an vague excuse to indulge in the delicious food on offer.
I scanned the room, and saw Hanna looking up, putting down her book, eyes smiling. If you want to picture what she looks like, imagine Velma from Scooby Doo, with the same sort of black glasses that match her hair, the same nerdish, quirky overtones, (she’s always reading obscure sci-fi, usually featuring blond sex sluts from the planet vlad) but now imagine her slimmer but definitely still curvy, with big, dark, fuck me eyes hiding behind those glasses and perfect, plump tits. That’s Hanna, she totally rocks my world.
I was thankful she got here first, we’d have never claimed a table otherwise, she’d even managed to get our usual place, a tiny round table sat in the corner, the most private and intimate table in the place, although in fact, it’s not much of either.
She got up as I approached, wearing a brown skirt that stopped just shy of her knees and a tight, chest hugging white jumper she knows I like, definitely not her usual smart office wear. We kissed, a quick peck, Hanna shying away, attempting to keep my wet jacket away from her.
“Raining is it?”
I flashed an evil look, saying, sarcastically, “Haha,” and then gave her a big hug, pulling her against my wet clothing.
She squealed, laughing.
“So you’re not going into work today then?” I asked as I pulled out my chair, causing the old couple on the table sited too close behind to grumble and moan into their tea and scones.
“No, I decided to take the afternoon off, thought I’d treat myself.”
“If I’d known I’d have done the same,” even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t true, there was no way I could have, still it would have nice to be asked.
“You really want to follow me around the shops and wait while I get my hair cut?”
She had a very, very good point there.
We ordered quickly, giving them to a plumpish young waitress I’d not seen before. Her accent and skin tone giving away her Spanish origins. She had great tits hidden beneath her black T-shirt, a fact not entirely relevant to this story, but I couldn’t help noticing.
As I tried to ignore the irrelevant breasts, or at least not let Hanna know I was perving, I noticed instead the collection of shopping bags Hanna had hidden beside her. Usually Hanna would show me her latest purchases straight away, a little child with new pendik escort toys, but on this day she was strangely quiet on the subject.
By the time our coffees arrived I was bursting with curiosity.
“So, are you going to tell me what you’ve bought me then?”
“You?” she asked. “Nothing,” she grinned. “Me though? Lots, like I said, I’m treating myself.”
The waitress returned, interrupting the start of my interrogation with a cheese and bacon toasted pannini for me and a random, ornate cream cake for Hanna. As she walked away I couldn’t help but notice that not only did she have lovely breasts but also a marvelously lovely arse, clad in a pair of tight blue jeans.
Hanna cleared her throat, and when I deliberately carried on watching the waitress’s behind she reached over and slapped my wrist. “Pervert.”
I grinned, “You’re just upset ’cause Julio isn’t here.”
Julio, or Juan, or Manuel, we didn’t know his name, it could have been Brian for all we knew, he’s the usual waiter in here that Hanna flirts outrageously with. I always jokingly argued that he was the only reason Hanna kept coming back to this place. I may even have been closer to the truth than I’d like to know.
That got me off the hook, and kept Hanna quiet long enough at least for me to get the subject back around to her shopping, I asked her again what she’d bought, looking down under the table at her collection. Tucked down between two larger bags, almost hidden, was a bright pink, expensive looking bag. The sort of bag where you know you’re paying more for the label on the bag than the goods themselves. That bag made me nervous.
“Oh not much,” she replied to my question, clearly guilty.
I motioned to the largest bag with my foot.
“What’s in that one?”
“Just a couple of dresses, nothing too fancy.”
“That one?” again I motioned with my foot, to the second of the large bags.
“Just a jumper?” there was clearly more than just a jumper in the bag.
“And a pair of earrings.”
She looked at me, guilt personified. It could only mean one thing.
“Shoes,” she said sheepishly. “But they’re really nice ones, and they were in the sale!”
I didn’t have to say a word, her own guilt was plain on her face. I didn’t mind, not really, it’s just that Hanna’s immense shoe collection was her weak spot, a sure fire way to wind her up. Seriously, does any woman really need over forty pairs?
“How many is that now?” I mumbled, my mouth full of delicious pannini.
“Just a few.”
I left it at that, storing up ammunition for later, and beside, my pannini was damn good, it needed full concentration. For a while we ate in comfortable silence, just Hanna’s ecstatic cream cake moans breaking in, eventually though, I just had to satisfy my curiosity.
“What’s in that one?” I asked, nudging it with my foot.
“Hmmm?” she was clearly faking ignorance.
“What’s in that bag?
“The pink bag.”
“Nothing,” came her reply, the tone of voice giving away her guilt, the flush on her cheeks was just extra confirmation.
“Nothing? I asked, eyebrows raised, sensing a secret, clearly having hit the jackpot. “Are you sure?”
She took a sip of her frothy coffee, her eyes peering over the oversized cup, resolutely, and obviously avoiding my gaze, playing the game.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” she took another sip, her guilty eyes sparking with mischief. “Yet.”
I leaned forward, eager to be in on the conspiracy.
“What do you mean, yet? What is it?”
She reached down and lifted the shocking pink bag from its hiding place, it was big enough to hold about two shoe boxes, I should know, and she made sure she showed me the logo on the side, before putting it down on the floor, at other side of the small table, and well out of my reach.
I couldn’t help but smile, a shiver of want forming in my chest.
The small logo on the side would’ve been discrete, even classy, if not for the vibrant pink surrounding it, it read ‘Perdita’. It was the name of a newly opened sex shop specifically designed around women, I’d never been in, my type weren’t welcome, not without a girlfriend in tow anyway. We’d talked about going in together.
“You filthy girl.”
She grinned, her foot finding my calf, nudging, rubbing, and then took yet another sip of coffee, hiding behind the cup, her cheeks flushing crimson. When she put it back down in front of her she looked me square in the eye, her foot still gently caressing my leg.
“You cooking dinner tonight then?”
I shook my head in mock disgust.
“Bribery, I can’t believe it’s come down to bribery, you should be ashamed of yourself.”
Cool as a cucumber, holding all the cards, she replied. “I’ve got the receipt, I can take it all back.”
“Take what back?”
She leaned forward across the table, her mouth finding my ear, planting a delicate kiss before whispering silken words.
“Later baby, tuzla escort later.”
The rich smell of frying onions filled the air as I loosened my tie with one hand, and stirred the contents of the deep pan with the other. All my ingredients were already chopped up and waiting in separate bowls on the side, I like to be organized when I cook, especially as often we both have to work late.
We usually share the cooking duties, we both enjoy it, and both hate clearing the mountain of washing up afterwards. I had a feeling I’d be doing the washing up as well tonight, Hanna would find a way of making sure I did it. Today though, I was more than sure it’d be worth it, Hanna clearly had an ace up her sleeve that she was itching to play. I couldn’t help but speculate on the contents of the pink bag as I cooked, and what exactly she had in mind for later, my simmering arousal leaving me restless and twitchy.
She’d been back home, but had left the house again, probably to her best friend Becca’s house, before I got home from work, the bags of shopping, including a couple of extras, were strewn on the bed, all except the one I most wanted to delve inside, that had been hidden, but I didn’t try searching, not wishing to spoil her game.
The stroganoff was simmering away, and I was relaxing on the sofa with a bottle of beer long before Hanna came creeping through the door. She glanced sheepishly at me, her pretty face framed by a new haircut.
She’d had her jet black hair cut a few inches shorter, into a messy, just out of bed look, I’m sure there’s a name for it, but I’m a bloke, I don’t know haircuts. She’d also had crimson highlights added, long streaks of it running through the black. Even in the hurried glance I’d seen of it, I could see she looked gorgeous. Her hair was similar in length now to how she had it when we first met, except for the highlights, they were brand new.
“Hi,” she replied, rushing to the door that leads to our stairs.
“I like your hair.” I called after her, she paused in the doorway and turned for a second, flashing me a heart melting smile.
“Thanks,” and then she was gone, a moment later I heard her call down.
“I’ll be back down in a sec, can you get me one of those beers please.”
I finished my bottle in one long swig, and moved to the kitchen, getting two fresh bottles from the fridge, setting them down on the side while I checked the dinner and then found the bottle opener.
I was just adding the rice to boiling water as she came into the kitchen, a good twenty minutes after she’d arrived home. I imagined she’d been stood in front of the mirror, trying everything on again, although she was still wearing the same clothes. I looked down to see what shoes she wore, but she was barefoot.
“Evening,” I said, deliberately mocking as I handed her the now warm beer, my own long ago finished. “What have you been doing up there?”
“What do you think?” she said, taking a swig.
“I think you’ve been parading in your new shoes.”
“Well, for once you’re wrong.”
I turned, busying myself with stirring the rice, and she sidled up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, her chin on my shoulder.
“But,” whispered softly in my ear, “I have been parading in something,” and then she added. “Hmmm, that smells nice.”
“What, me or the food?”
“The food of course.”
“I thought so.”
I put down the spoon I was holding and turned in her loosened embrace to face her, planting a long overdue welcome home kiss on her lips. She returned it with a sudden passion that took me by surprise, her tongue snaking into my mouth, gripping my waist with tight fingers and pulling our lower bodies together.
“Hmmm,” she murmured before opening her mouth to me again, tongue tips playing. Not surprisingly I was suddenly very horny indeed, my cock twitching into eager life, pressing against her. Sordid images of bending her over the worktop and lifting her brown skirt flowed to mind, and I grew ever harder, wondering what panties she wore, wondering if they were what she’d been “parading in”. I lifted a hand to her jumper, brushing the perky swellings of her breasts with the back of my hand, toying with the thought of slipping a hand beneath the tight, ribbed wool.
She pulled away, just inches, her hand sliding into the space created, finding the long swelling there, squeezing me hard. The naughty smile on her face wavered as she looked beyond me to the fragrantly simmering dinner.
“Is that nearly ready?”
“Five minutes,” I nodded.
“Shame,” she whispered leaning in for another kiss, slow and deep, and then: “If it were ten we could have done something.”
“I can do five.” I replied, a little too eager.
“I can’t,” and with that, and a cheeky smile, she was off, swinging her mouth-wateringly flared hips as she walked from the kitchen, knowing I was watching, and leaving me to boil in more ways than one.
I’d set the dinner table earlier, and when I carried our kartal escort plates from the kitchen I saw her sitting at her place, waiting to be served, like some kind of royalty.
She smiled at me as I placed her plate down in front of her.
“That looks good, I’m starving.”
I sat down besides her, and she poured some red wine for us both.
As she placed my glass before me she leaned over, just slightly, we were sitting close, and moved in for another kiss, a thank you peck on the cheek.
“Thanks hun,” she pulled away, lifting a hand to flick a thick, newly red strand of hair behind her ear self consciously. She looked at me, a question clearly on her lips.
“Thom… do you really like my hair?”
I looked at Hanna, pretending to study her, pretending it was a difficult decision.
“Do you want me to be honest?”
“Yes,” she sounded heartbroken already.
“You look gorgeous.”
Her face cracked into a smile, and again she tucked that errant strand behind her ear, exposing her slender neck.
“You really like it?”
“Hmmm,” I replied. “I do.”
I reached for her, my fingers trailing lightly over the exposed skin of her neck.
She purred, tilting her head to ease my access further, an open invitation. I leaned over, bringing my lips to where my fingers had just played, brushing lightly against the velvet skin, she shivered, and I wetted her skin with the tip of my tongue.
“What about the red?” she murmured.
I pulled back with some reluctance, running fingers through her hair where the highlights splashed in contrast to the ebony.
“I fucking love the red bits.”
Her eyes glittered and I could do nothing but kiss her then, really kiss her, the mewls of pleasure that came from her throat egging me on, my stiffening cock urging me to forget my hunger pangs.
She pushed me back, creating a moment of highly charged eye contact that could so easily have tipped over into charged contact of another sort, we teetered on the brink. I leaned forward, decision made. Fuck dinner, it could wait I wanted her now, on the table.
She gave a little chuckle, leaning away and picking up her fork before tucking in to her food with gusto. Knowing I was being toyed with, I forced myself to take a small sip of my wine, calming myself before also starting. The stroganoff was okay, not one of my best, it needed something extra, I’m not enough of a cook to know what though.
I watched her as she ate, curious, mildly amused and horny as fucking hell, there was definitely something different about her that went beyond a new hairstyle.
She caught me looking at her, and something flashed in her eye, something impish.
“What?” she asked, before shoving another large mouthful down, clearly in a hurry to finish.
“Nothing,” I lied. “I was just wondering what was in that pink bag” I took another sip of water, watching her response.
“Oh nothing much,” she replied, another mouthful racing down.
“Really?” I asked again, failing to keep the sarcasm to a bare minimum.
“Yeah, nothing much,” she mumbled through a mouth of food, grinning at me, “Not even any more shoes.” She swallowed and then leaned over to give me another kiss, “No more questions,” she whispered against my mouth.
My hand strayed to her bare knee as we kissed, and I heard the metallic clink of her fork as she blindly left it on her plate, her own hand joining mine, resting upon it, fingers between fingers. This was silly, we were acting like horny teenagers.
“So?” I asked, pulling away from the kiss, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows, gently squeezing her knee. “If there was nothing in that bag, why are you so horny tonight?”
She held my gaze, she always has been good at staring me out, and her wide eyes sparkled with secrets behind her thick rimmed glasses.
“You complaining?” then another kiss, a deep one, her tongue eager, pushing past mine, then breathlessly adding. “Maybe I got some naughty underwear.”
She pulled my hand a little way up beneath her skirt, just until it disappeared beneath brown cotton, her legs parting. Her tongue flicked out, leaving my lips wet.
“Maybe?” I asked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied, in her best ‘I’ve got a secret’ voice.
I moved my mouth to her ear.
“Are you wearing it now?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
That just wasn’t a good enough answer, I moved to push my hand higher, if I couldn’t see then I wanted to feel, but her guiding hand wouldn’t allow it and her legs closed, trapping my hand, a giggle escaping her lips. I fucking ached to see her cunt, clothed in whatever, to touch it, to fuck it. I kissed her ear, her cheek, then, as she turned to me, her mouth, hard, angry with desire.
Her grip on my hand became white knuckled as we kissed, fighting her desire as well as mine, but slowly our hands began to move, her iron will softening. She mewled, a soft sound of resignation and need as her legs parted, her bare knee touching my thigh, rubbing against it.
Hanna let go of my hand, letting me find my own way, her fingers resting lightly on my forearm as we pulled back from the kiss, seeking that eye contact as my hand sought her hidden secrets.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32