You were wrong about the sex.  Not about how great it would be, no, but how you would stop being consumed with thoughts of her 24 hours a day once you could be with her.  Once you’d settled into your comfortable patterns, once you lived together, once the initial haze of what felt like drunken lust wore off, you could think of other things.  Focus.  But you were wrong.  Oh, you thought of other things all right, but they were all about sex.  All about her. 

~~

It’s Saturday afternoon and you’re in the kitchen with her.  She’s cooking or baking something, but you don’t care about that.  She’s wearing a traditional cook’s apron over her lounge pants and t-shirt, heavy white cotton with a bib and it’s tied around her waist at the back.  You can’t stop picturing her wearing nothing but that apron, the bib barely covering her full breasts, the apron encircling her hips and stopping just where they start to swell into her perfectly round bottom, the strings in the back accentuating her waist, with the tails trailing down the crack of her ass.  You think about standing behind her, sliding your hands underneath that cotton to her bare skin, cupping her breast, a nipple squeezed and hardening between two fingers, bending her over the counter and sinking into her hot wetness. 

You step behind her and without a word, you slide her lounge pants down to her ankles.  She yelps, asks what you’re doing.  You tell her ‘nothing’ because she’s not wearing any panties and the actual sight of her bare ass framed by the apron has jetted your mind out of the present, as you twirl the apron strings between your fingers, tickling her. 

Quietly, you tell her to take her shirt off.  She says her hands are full of dough, she can’t, and she asks if you’re okay.  You say you want to see her in just the apron.   She starts to make another joke but you cut her off by turning her toward you and unlooping the apron from her neck and pulling her t-shirt up over her head as she raises her arms.  She starts to protest again, but then her nipples are surrounded by your mouth, sucking and biting, and your fingers, rolling, pinching just a little too hard and she only moans softly.  Her hands lay still on the counter and as you loop the apron back over her head, you catch her eyes, dark and questioning.  You put your foot on her pants puddled on the floor around her feet and nudge her to move so you can kick them away and you take a seat at the kitchen table.

“What are you…?”

“I just want to look at you.”

She’s a little uncomfortable, a little vulnerable.  She says it’s not fair that she’s basically naked in the kitchen and you’re fully dressed.  You tell her sometimes life isn’t fair and she laughs a little, nervously.  In the dark of the bedroom, you’ve found her to be willing and adventurous, quickly responsive to your touch.  But in the bright light of the kitchen, you know you’re stretching the boundaries of her comfort zone and that, every bit as much as the sight of her dressed only in that apron, is deeply arousing.

~~

You wake up on a Wednesday morning with a ridiculously hard erection and an idea.  You want to play with her all day.  Tease her, distract her, take her for an all-day ride before you finally take her home later that night.  As you step into the shower with her, you start gathering your thoughts.  You wash her back and make a mental agenda.  She turns around and reaches for you, but you say you’re done and step out. 

Later, you’re both dressed, ready to go, and you lay her back down on the bed and kneel on the floor in front of her.  She manages only your name and something about being late as a weak objection but she complains loudly when you stop, just before her orgasm started to build.

I can’t believe you’re making me go to work like this, Jim!

She wants to have lunch with you, but you have an appointment with a prospective client.  You casually drop a note over the counter at reception on your way out and wink at her.

From 2:00 until 2:05, I want you to think about me touching you, licking you, making you come.

When you come back to the office at 1:45, she glares at you from her seat and you chuckle under your breath before you say, ‘hey, how’s it going?’  You laugh louder when she says, ‘great…it’s just great…good day.’ 

You IM her after you turn your computer on.

You’re so cute when you’re mad!  And look at the time!

For five uninterrupted minutes, you watch her.  Her eyes are closed at 2:00.  Thirty seconds later, she looks at you with a bit of a warning, a ‘how dare you do this to me’ in her eyes.  For the next few minutes you watch a familiar look come over her, glazed, dazed, the same look you saw ten minutes before you left for work this morning.  A few seconds past 2:05, your IM alert sounds.

What are you trying to do to me?  You’re going to get it.

You reply:  Exactly.

~~

One Friday afternoon she IMs you and tells you she’s bored.  She wants to know if you’re up for a playing a prank and you respond:  ‘definitely.’  In fact, you type, you have one that you’ve been saving up for awhile and she wants to know all the details.  You raise your eyebrows at her and she nods, so you push yourself away from your desk and walk over to hers.  You lean over the counter and motion for her to move closer so you can whisper to her.  ‘You never back down from a dare, right?‘  ‘Right,’ she whispers in your ear.  ‘Perfect,’ you whisper back.  ‘At 3:00, I want you to go in the ladies room and make yourself come.’  She pulls back, her eyes wide and says no, tells you you’re crazy.  ‘Go in the stall,’ you whisper.  ‘Close the door and touch yourself until you come.’  You pull back and you can see she’s thinking about it - the secrecy of it, the possibility of being heard or found out.  You lean back in and whisper, ‘I dare you.’ 

At 3:00, she heads to the bathroom and when she emerges only a few minutes later, she’s flushed and glances at you briefly before she stops at your desk, leaning to block Dwight’s line of vision, and drops her panties in your lap and says, ‘your turn.’

And that is how you end up locked in the bathroom stall at work, your nostrils full of her scent, one hand braced against the wall, the other hand full of her silken panties and your pulsing cock, trying hard to swallow the groan coming from the pit of your stomach.

She’s very pleased with herself for turning the tables on you and she shoots you a look of triumph as you return to your desk with her panties stuffed in your pocket.  As you sit there, fully aware that she’s completely naked underneath her skirt, the idea of punishment comes to mind.

~~

You take her beer from her hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table.  You say ‘c’mere’ and pull her onto your lap, her skirt riding up her thighs.  You ask her how it felt to be sitting there at work with no panties on and she says it felt weird but she did it to pay you back and that made it feel kind of...naughty and she giggles.  You tell her that was breaking the rules and she needs to be punished.  She laughs and you almost laugh with her, because it’s funny.  It’s funny how you both like playing this game and it’s funny how you keep coming up with new rules.  It’s funny that she plays at resisting because what fun would it be otherwise?  It’s funny that nobody knows what you both did at work today.  It sounds funny to hear the word ‘punished’ coming out of your own mouth.

What isn’t funny, and turns out to be even more intoxicating than you imagined, is having her face down across your lap, the fabric of her skirt stretched tight across her ass.  You slowly roll the hem of her skirt up nearly to her waist.  Your little finger trails behind, tracing the cleft between her cheeks and you feel her grinding herself down on your leg.  You ask her what she’s doing and she says ‘nothing’ and stops. 

“You’re so…bad.”

“I am.  Very bad.  So bad.”

You wait and say nothing and you know the anticipation is killing her.  She twitches her ass at you a little, as impatient to discover her own reaction as you are.  That mystery is solved after the first tentative connection of palm and bare skin when she says, ‘oh, I was much worse than that.’

A few minutes later, after she promises to be good, she moans loudly into the cushion of the couch as you lay your cheek against her hot pink skin and bury your tongue deep inside her.

~~

The space where she feels comfortable has stretched and there’s a new definition of pleasure over each threshold.  So when you tell her you want her in a black garter belt, stockings, and the black patent leather stilettos dangling from your fingers, she doesn’t resist.  She takes the shoes, flashes you a teasing smile, and walks into the bathroom to change.  You sit in the chair in the corner of the bedroom and wait.  A few minutes later she walks into the bedroom slowly, hips swaying, displaying none of the self-consciousness she had just a few months ago.  She stands directly in front of you, hair curling loosely over her bare breasts, and everything about her including her smile is just a little smug.  She knows the effect her body has on you, knows how desirable she looks.  The lace on the garter belt frames the neatly trimmed dark blonde triangle and you reach one finger between her legs, feeling her wet and slick, shaved clean with your own razor, your own hand, just the night before.

Turn around, you tell her, and she does, hesitating only a second.  Her legs are long and taut, calf muscles clearly defined in the sheer silk, the high heels lifting her ass to your eye level.  You push your feet in between hers, spreading her stance and you trace the garters from her waist down and watch goose bumps rise on her skin.  You place one hand on the small of her back and tell her to bend over.  You tease her with your fingers, make promises with your tongue, and she pushes back against you, wanting more.

You tell her that you think she needs a lesson in self-control.  You direct her to lie down on the bed and you pull three old ties out of the closet as she watches you.  You secure her wrists together first, making sure the knot isn’t too tight, but not so loose to allow her to escape.  ‘Okay?’ you ask her and she nods.  You miss her hands in your hair, her running her thumb along your bottom lip as you kiss her.  She struggles a bit against the tie, moans, says she wants to touch you.  You tell her no, with one hard nipple between your teeth, listening to her suck in a breath.  When her legs start jumping around and her hips are coming up off the bed, you tie each ankle to a bed post. 

Now, she’s in uncharted seas, treading water.  You can see she’s not sure if she likes this feeling, being so helpless, not being able to move.  As you undo your belt buckle and unzip your pants, she watches, her eyes settling on your erection as you pull your sweater off.  She says she wants to touch you, again, but you say ‘can’t’ as you kneel between her legs.  You say, ‘tell me what you want me to do.’  She moans your name and lifts her hips toward you.  You tell her all she has to do is say what she wants.  She’s frustrated by the restraints and struggles to make the words in her head come out of her mouth, but she’s still quiet.  You say, ‘I guess I get to do whatever I want then’ and you run your hands down her legs and back up again, using your thumbs to open her and as you dip your head she says, ‘no, don’t’ and you sit back up in surprise, raising an eyebrow at her.  ‘No?’ and she shakes her head side to side.  You say, ‘okay, then…’ but then she stares straight into your eyes when she tells you she wants you to fuck her. 

You lean over her, smiling, supporting your weight on your elbows, her head cradled between your hands and you kiss her.  You undo the tie around her wrists and tell her how beautiful she is, how incredibly sexy, how hard she makes you as she sinks her hands into your hair and pulls your head down to kiss her.  You loosen the ties around her ankles then, and her legs go immediately around your waist and in one long, slow solid and achingly pleasurable stroke, you push all the way inside her.  You stay still for a moment and bow your head over her and she’s groaning your name and God’s name and ‘fuck’ and you tell her how good she feels.  You pull all the way out of her before sliding back in and she tells you ‘harder’ and the next stroke is and her tongue’s completely loosened and she’s saying how good you feel inside her, how hard you are and you make her so wet.  Before you feel her tightening around you, she tells you she’s going to come and that nearly finishes you off but somewhere between her orgasm and your own, you find the rhythm that is yours and hers and you lose yourself in it.  Underneath you, you can feel her eyes on you, watching you, as her legs squeeze your hips and she says all the words you want to hear and you echo back, always, always.

~~

Now she’s got this crazy notion of tying you up, but that’s never going to happen, you tell her.  ‘Way to be open to new things,’ she tells you.  You tell her, ‘no, that’s the part where I pretend to resist, like you did’ and she laughs.  She says it doesn’t matter, either way.  She says she’s got a million other ideas she can’t stop thinking about, so we’ll just try another one.