I watch her, swaying and nodding, entranced by her task and whatever she listens to. The sexy lilt in her hip and the way the tip of her tongue touches her top lip as she undulates and works. Who would ever think folding laundry could be so erotic. I can’t hear the music coming from her earbuds, but as she dances and shakes out one of my t-shirts, I know it’s something with a strong, slow beat. Her body rocks in an almost gyration, as her eyes close and she rolls her head in tempo, paying no attention to me watching her from the hall. Laying her last shirt in the basket, she raises her hands above her head, the song pulsing through her, and her hips oscillate with new freedom.
The view is so arousing, I debate with myself about interrupting her solo performance, but decide to play the voyeur for a little longer. She moves in such seductive, lush and graceful steps, she almost floats around the kitchen table. Spinning and hypnotizing me, I notice the pull of her jeans against her lovely, round ass, the stretch of her t-shirt over her large, lifted breasts, and the sweet tranquility in her face. I wonder which bra she is hiding beneath that thin fabric. I wonder if she cared to put on panties today, her lazy day, when she often goes without.
I’m so mesmerized by her performance, straining against my own jeans and contemplating stroking myself, I don’t notice her dancing towards me until she is a few feet away. She opens her eyes and smiles, never missing a beat, and I wonder how long she’s known of my presence. Silly of me, really, she always senses me. I smile back at her, positive my desire is visible in my expression, but she continues her dance, stepping to me and rotating her pelvis against mine. She takes my hands and glides them over her breasts, slowly down her sides to rest on her hips, before slipping her hands up my chest to rest on my shoulders.
I cannot hear her music, but I feel myself start to roll to her beat. Drunk from the stimulation, my hands become brave, and wander to her delicious posterior, pulling her against me to increase the friction on my cock. Her lips curl again at the edges and I hear a tiny hum in her throat. Her eyes tell me she isn’t finished, that the dance must continue. I release her, and she spins, pressing her ass against my full erection so that each magnificent fluctuation is a delectable stroke of my manhood. Her hands rise behind her and weave through my hair, pulling my head down to her neck.
I inhale the exquisite scent of her, a recipe of sweet, spicy and musky I would never attempt to decipher. I’m forcing my restraint at this point, desperate to touch, kiss and taste her, but not wanting to cut short this delectable moment. As she turns again, the heat in her gorgeous blue eyes is unmistakable. I lift my hands to her silky blond hair to pull her lips to mine, but stop as her temptation continues. Her infinite dance, tormenting me to a seemingly permanent state of arousal.
When she finally lifts her lips to mine, she whispers, “Sir, please…” So sultry and full of need, but I anticipate there is more to her plead. “Help me take the laundry upstairs?”
Her vixen smile and sassy request make me chuckle. Of course I oblige, who could resist?
I think I’ll watch her fold laundry more often.
MelDouleur.com 