Home From Work 11

On first reading, many have thought that this story is one of female domination - but is it?

Happy to hear any thoughts of comments you may care to offer.

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The man frowned as the shrill tone of the telephone punctured his concentration. He had been deeply lost in the problem on his computer screen. He snatched up the phone and paused to ensure that his irritation was not reflected in his voice.

Instantly recognising the voice on the line, he relaxed. He suddenly realised that he welcomed this interruption. Glancing at the clock at the bottom of his screen, he noticed it was much later than he had thought. He smiled in recognition of his loss of time - a frequent occurrence when engrossed by a problem that needed a solution. It was what drove him. Not the money, nor the relaxed lifestyle of working from home, but the challenge of problem-solving that he had loved since first reading the Sherlock Holmes short stories as a young boy.

The voice on the phone was his wife. Background noise told him she was calling from her car. He half guessed what she was about to say. He smiled a different type of smile in anticipation.

"I have had a REALLY tough day! Be ready downstairs when I come home!"

The line went dead. No need for a response from him. He knew only too well what was needed, demanded, and he loved it.

He sprang up from his chair and felt the problem he had been wrestling with for hours just melt away, to be replaced with a familiar, eager anticipation. The problem could wait.

He moved swiftly from his office to the bathroom, glanced in the mirror, ran a comb through his thick hair that had just a touch of grey at the temples. He had asked his wife if she wanted him to cover the grey, but she had surprised him by declaring that she thought it made him look more distinguished, so he was happy to leave it as it was.

He quickly cleaned his teeth and used the minty mouthwash, rising away the traces of endless coffees imbibed since lunch.

He descended the steep stairs in the tiny cottage to the ground floor. He quickly tidied the kitchen then walked through to the lounge where he lifted a cushion from the sofa and dropped it in the middle of the floor.

He had initially closed the curtains when they first developed this routine, but his wife admitted that she enjoyed the idea of them remaining open, being excited by the remote chance that someone might be able to see in from the distant street and recognise what they were doing. So he simply waited, looking through the full length window at the front garden and drive, waiting for her car to pull in.

He thought briefly about the challenging job she held down, with many staff reporting to her. He remembered, too, that the majority of the staff were men. She found the range of attitudes to her as a boss to be frustrating and irritating. Even in the 21st century, there were men who tried to patronise her. She knew that others admired her strong sexuality that was reflected in her choice of clothing for work. She adored high heels, which she said made her walk in a more upright and confident manner. She also enjoyed the extra height they gave her. She liked to be able to meet the more problematic men eye-to-eye.

He heard the unmistakeable engine note of her car approach even before it swung into the driveway. She liked a powerful, sporty car, whereas he preferred the solidity of his Range Rover.

The phone call indicated that her work day had, once again, filled her with tension and they had developed a sure-fire way of releasing that tension.

As the key rattled in the front door lock, he lay down on the floor, on his back, his head resting on the cushion. He closed his eyes and relaxed with the certainty of what was about to happen.

He heard her footsteps enter the lounge and slow down as she caught sight of him, exactly where she wanted him.

He heard her walk round to stand just by his outstretched feet. He knew that she was looking down on him, her back to the window. He knew she was starting to replace the frustrations of the day with stronger, more basic, human emotions and desires. She needed a release, and they both knew how it was going to happen. He opened his eyes slightly to remind himself of how she had dressed that morning for work. The elegant flared skirt matched her pale, fitted blouse perfectly. The below-knee length of her skirt simply emphasised her shapely legs.

She stepped astride his feet and started a gradual walk up the length of his body. Each pace was followed by a long pause. He knew she wanted him to keep his eyes shut until she was in position. He also knew that she was building up the sexual tension, the excitement, in herself by moving slowly. He remembered that the tougher her day, the slower she moved at this stage. He could smell her perfume suddenly, and he realised she was now standing directly astride and above his head that was resting on the cushion. He now open his eyes fully and he was looking directly up her skirt. She stood stock still, her feet apart - displaying her long legs . She was wearing, as usual, sheer black stockings. The light that penetrated her pale skirt showed the sheen that accentuated the curves of her calves and thighs. He liked that she always wore her stockings high on her legs, almost touching her pudenda. He could sense her anticipation. He knew she was enjoying his viewing of her panty-less crotch. She had undoubtedly removed her panties in the car before she set off for home. He could not quite make out the carefully trimmed pubic region, but he knew to be patient. She had admitted in their discussions that she felt a sense of empowerment by displaying herself to him in this way. He reminded himself again to wait patiently. When she was ready, and that could take several minutes, she would reach down with both hands and slowly draw her skirt upwards. He was never quite sure if that slowness was for her benefit, building her arousal, or intended as a tantalising tease for him.

As her hem reached the top of her stockings, the rays of light revealed that she was already wet. He could see the moisture on the skin and wisps of hair. Sometimes, when she had been anticipating this moment for a long time, the moisture, her natural juice, was clearly visible on the inside of her upper thighs. Her outer labia were already engorged.

He closed his eyes again because he knew what was to happen next.

Slowly, she bent her knees and lowered herself so that she was kneeling either side of his head. She ensured her skirt was hiked well up over her hips, out of the way. She bent at the waist so that her weight was evenly distributed between her hands and her knees. He felt the nylon of one leg brush his cheek as she eased herself into position. He could now smell her. That strong musk of sexuality mixed with her favourite perfume. Not too strong, but always erotic to his senses.

He felt the first brush of the fine pubic hair covering her engorged labia on the very tip of his nose. That merest touch made her shudder. He could hear the shudder as well as feel it. That sound from deep in her throat was one he was used to, and welcomed. It was pure sex.

He knew that he must keep his lips together and not move at all. As he breathed in her musk, he felt the start of her sliding movements. The merest extra pressure came as she pushed down forcing his nose between her labia until there was contact with her rapidly swelling clitoris. A slow rocking, sliding, motion commenced. She rocked gently so that her clitoris slid from the tip of his nose down, across his closed lips to his chin. In rhythm with her internal needs, she moved, almost imperceptibly, back and forth with tiny increases in pressure, sometime pausing as, he assumed, the intensity increased. He adored the decadence of it, the sheer sexuality. She was using him and he loved it. He guessed that after a day of dealing with work problems, she needed to be in absolute control, taking exactly what she wanted, what she desired, what surely would give her those glorious ecstatic feelings.

The pace of her movement increased and he could feel her juices flowing freely across his face. He waited, listened, felt, even sensed, her stages of arousal and excitement. He could hear the moans of pleasure coming from her. He could judge her state of arousal. Her speed increased, as did the pressure. It was never smothering, never uncomfortable. It was, in fact, a revelation. A demonstration of the pent-up sexuality that burned inside her.

He could feel her climax approaching. Sometimes she would pause, withdrawing slightly, almost losing contact. He assumed this was to delay the oncoming orgasm, to build the anticipation.

He knew it was time for action. His hands moved to her calves. He started to stroke her silky legs, firmly but gently. His hands worked their way steadily up her legs, stroking and sometimes kneading, searching for nerve endings to enhance her pleasure. His hands reached the delightful globes of her buttocks as she started to slide up and down his face with greater urgency. He could hear and feel the orgasm building within her. He knew his timing would be everything. When he was sure she had reached the point of no return, he parted his lips and his tongue emerged, seeking her clitoris. As she slid once again in a downward motion, he felt her clitoris collide with the very tip of his tongue.

The result was a jolt of pure electricity passing from her to him. A momentary pause and she slid down again to his chin, pressing harder. As she came upwards he knew she would pause and his tongue searched for that tiny mound that protruded, seeking the touch she so desired. He found it and licked avidly all around it. Sometimes he would attempt to suck it into his mouth, but this time there was no need. As his tongue darted and probed, he heard her climax crashing and reverberating throughout her body. Where his hands touched her, he felt the convulsions of her orgasm rippling through every muscle in her body. He heard the familiar gasp and simultaneous moan erupt from the back of her throat as she threw her head back. The moan turned almost to a whimper as the effects of the physical contact receded. He could now hear the heavy panting of the sprinter, or was it the marathon runner? He had no idea of how long it had been. Time had truly stopped still.

He relaxed and waited for her to recover her senses. After a full minute, she moved down his body until they were face to face. He could see the sensuality in her eyes as she leaned down to kiss him, and this time she surprised him by first licking her wetness from his cheeks, followed by a deep kiss as they shared the taste of her natural juices. No words were needed, the kiss said it all.