Let’s play a game. We take our clothes off with every meal we eat tonight and the outcome of the game is no one is allowed to touch the other, we’ll watch tv – Mr and Mrs Smith tonight.
I have cooked. A three course meal. The rule is we wear very simple. And we don’t over lay. If one fails to comply they won’t get to do the most naughtiest thing they like.
Those are the terms, are you ready?
We have a starter. Some mini tacos and glasses of sparkling Rosé. The first piece of clothing we take off is our top. You watch me, grinning almost like you don’t think we’ll do this. Your eyes stick on my black lace bra revealing my hard pierced beads. Can’t deny that I am already a bit turned on, I mean look at you. You look fucking hot tonight.
You take your shirt off. I breathe in sharply watching the tattoos all over your chest crawling onto your shoulders, gliding down your arms.
“I like the starter” you say but I know that’s a metaphor. I don’t say anything instead I divert the conversation. How was work. It was shit, you say. ‘I kept thinking about you’ you say. ‘Then you fucking punish me like this’ you smile almost teasingly. I tell you it’s not punishment. Your eyes twinkle almost like you get the point.
I divert the subject we talk about something different. Less turning on – about cars. You know how much I love cars. We get technical and start talking about the engine of the cars like we are not half naked.
The main course is served. My skirt is off. Your jeans are off. Are you seriously that turned on, I can literally see your dick screaming to be rescued. We both laugh about it. “Like I said, you were all in my mind especially after that poem you sent me” I have been teasing you all day, sending you small stanzas of my new poem. We sit back at the table. I cross my legs tight just to sustain myself. I don’t think we will watch tv and I think it’s the both of us who will lose but I am not good at losing and I want to win so that I can get to do what I want with you. I have plans.
You tells me about your heart broken mate. You are planing to take him out for a night just to make him forget a bit. You tell me you like the meal. We dig in while laughing about sweet nothings. I kind of forget how wet I am because you always crack me up and I know you are also trying to win this. The perks of being competitive.
The dessert is served, all the underwear is stripped off. We are naked and it’s almost uncomfortable. Not because we are insecure but we have never had to stripped down and not fuck. You are turgid I am wet but we have to win this.
We eat – this time in silence. The small talk is not working and I am debating that what is the point of winning this; even after the movie we will fuck anyway. I know it. This game is tougher than I thought.
While I am in my mind debating, you push the table off, “Fuck it” you say hastily grabbing me and kissing me hard. I think fuck it. I give in you lay me onto the table and waste no seconds. You enter hard and fast and once you are in you let out your breath moaning almost like you haven’t been breathing for a day.
We Fuck. Watch mr and Mrs Smith naked, laugh about how much we are losers. “I just can’t resist you, I am sorry” you kiss me. I can’t resist you either. And you have turned me on again. Captivating