Astrid lay beside her husband, polishing off the last few pages of her Jackie Robinson biography.
"Done," Keith triumphantly declared, slamming his copy shut.
"I don’t think that’s ever happened before…" Astrid teased.
"What?"
"We’ve never finished at the same time." she giggled.
Keith remained stone-faced at the joke until he caught sight of the rippling cleavage nearly spilling from his wife’s pink chiffon babydoll as she laughed. His eyes glazed like kiln night at the potter’s guild.
"Oh, lighten up!" Astrid ribbed, tugging on the top of her thigh high stockings. "I’m not tired yet. Why don’t you tell me a bedtime story?"
>>>"Alright. There once was a lady called Astrid…"
"Please don’t finish that." she interrupted the meagre beginnings of his limerick.
"Fine. I’ll tell you a story."
"Go for it." Keith responded, pummelling his pillow to soften it.
"Did you know Liz and Gareth just had their kitchen remodelled?"
"I can’t stand those pretentious morons." Keith mumbled.
"There’s such a luxurious feel to their house. That whole neighbourhood’s pretty charming, don’t you think?"
"We’re not moving." Keith replied sternly, always a grump in the evenings.
"Of course not. It’s just that… it’s silly but I have a bit of a fantasy about that house."
"Does it involve a kitchen remodel?" inquired the dubious husband.
"No," Astrid laughed, "it involves you."
If Keith were more like their chocolate lab Buster, his ears would have piqued and his tail would have wagged. "Ok, so tell me this fantasy." he said with an eager grin.
"Alright. We’re at a cocktail party, a formal affair at Liz and Gareth’s gorgeous house."
"Yeah right! Like we’d ever be invited to one of their fancy-shmancy get-togethers." Keith objected.
"That’s why it’s called a fantasy! My imagination’s just trying to dress us up and take us out. The way I picture it, I’m wearing that low-cut black gown and my black patent pumps…"
"You look babe-a-licious in that dress! I get jealous, the way it hugs your curves."
"Aw, shucks! You’re such a charmer. Anyway, I envision you handsomely attired in your navy blue suit. So, I’m chatting with a few people –a few guy people- and they’re telling me how marvellous I look. I can tell you’re jealous because you come over and put your arm around my waist, your hand stroking my side. You say to my admirers, ‘Yes, doesn’t my wife look lovely? Doesn’t this dress perfectly highlight every corpulent curve of her luscious body?’"
"Oooh, I talk purty." Keith interjected in his fake cowboy voice.
“Stop interrupting. Anyway, I lean in to kiss you, and you give my booty a little squeeze. Our stodgy entourage is so embarrassed they leave us to our own devices. Maybe it’s the champagne that has me feeling so amorous, but I whisper in your ear, ‘I’m not wearing any underwear.’ When your eyes glaze over, I set down our champagne glasses and lead you upstairs. No one will notice we’re gone. And so what if they do?
“The first room in the upstairs corridor is where the guests’ coats have been stashed, so not a great idea. We might be interrupted. The next door leads into an elegant guest bedroom, so I pull you in before you change your mind. I turn to secure the door, but it has no lock. ‘Just a quickie,’ I say. As soon as I turn to face you, you’re kissing me furiously. Hiking up the skirts of my dress to prove I wasn’t lying, I reveal my black sheer thigh high stockings topped with lace. But wait – there’s more! They’re held in place by garters.”
“Garters?!?”
“Yeah, baby! But not just any garters. This is a waist cincher that rides half way up my juicy core. It’s black as night, just like my stockings, except for a strip down the front. Wanna know what colour that is?”
“Yes!”
“It’s pink, and on top of the pink there’s black lace. I’m naughty and nice, like a poor village girl dancing at the Moulin Rouge. As promised, I’m wearing nothing else under my dress and you couldn’t resist me if you tried! You kiss me again in a mad frenzy, spinning me around until you’ve got my back pressed up against the bedroom door. I feel like a teenager again! We’re wild and impassioned and we can’t wait even a minute longer to play in the garden of earthly delights. And, baby, do we play! We play so hard I wonder if anybody’s listening to us from the other side of the door. We’re not quiet, as you know. Soon we’re gasping for air in a pool of expired passion.
“I take in a deep breath scented of you before getting up to arrange my hair and pull my dress back down around my big booty. Rising to your knees, you launch your arms around my hips, pressing your face against the pillow of my stomach. You won’t let go. But imagine how hot it’ll be when we return to the party bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and all those stuck-up snobs can smell sex on our breath.”
“Wow.” was all Keith could say. The smile on his face was huge beyond huge.
Astrid kissed her husband’s lips. “On a totally unrelated topic, Liz and Gareth invited us to a catered affair at their house. I know you don’t like them, but I hope you’ll come along without kicking and screaming.”
Tossing his wife a suspicious grin, Keith replied, “You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?”
“Will you come to the party without a fuss?” Astrid asked with a devious smile.
“After a temptation like that fantasy of yours? Of course!”
“Then I wouldn’t say I’m clever,” Astrid replied, kissing her man as she stretched across his body to switch off the bedside lamp. “I’d say I’m absolutely brilliant.”
By: Giselle Renarde
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