The Chair

Every time she moved from the laundry room to the bedroom, she'd run her hand along the smooth leather of the armchair that sat between the two rooms. And every time, she'd shutter. Not only shutter, she'd tremble; shake like a leaf. In fact, the sensation of the leather against her skin would make her gasp and moan like she was coming in her panties. Every time. She'd pass that rich red leather chair and she'd remember. It was her go-to when he was away on business. It was her safe haven after a bad day. It was where she went when she missed him. And most importantly, it was where she went to feel close to him.

She would always go to the chair after midnight when he was gone, creeping around in the dark like a cat burglar. She'd stare at the shadows and imagine they were watching her like voyeurs. They were perverts, those shadows. But how could she blame them? Her dark olive skin was like an offering, bare to the moonlight that shone through the windows. Yet all she wanted was to feel the hard leather against her skin. The roughness always reminded her of his callused palms as they smoothed down the curve of her ass. And every time she felt this, she'd close her eyes to remember, to feel closer to him, to feel him in her. Honestly, there was nothing better.

Lord knows he'd fucked her enough times in that chair. He'd take her when she was polishing the wood floors in the hallway. Or when she was dusting the small end table that sidled up against the chair like a jealous girlfriend. Or when he'd stumble upon her draped across the chair, naked, swinging her leg from the arm as though she were waiting for a bus. The sweet, oaky smell, the deep rich red that looked like rose petals, the shape of the plush seat in contrast to the more narrow back. All of it became their throne; their marriage bed; a secret place where they were able to let go.

So as she hesitated, her hand dancing sensuously along the chair's curvy leather back, her pussy wept in agony. She actually cursed out loud when she felt her juices coat her lips and her nipples grow into hard, painful peaks. But it was the memory of the last time she sat in the chair that ultimately overcame her.

He'd been home for a few days and was searching through their bedroom closet for the purple tie that went perfectly with the shirt he was going to wear to the presentation on Wednesday morning. She watched from the hallway as he rifled around the closet floor, ass in the air, muttering obscenities the entire time. He was so damn sexy. Not traditionally handsome but so rugged, so commanding, so manly. Before she could think, she'd begun removing her clothes and flinging them in the direction of their bedroom door. Immediately, he stopped moving and slowly backed out of the closet. He reached back and grabbed a pair of pink lace panties that hung idly on the heel of his boot.

When he peaked his head out from behind the closet door, he was met with the sight of her lying on her back across the seat of the chair with her legs resting open and her hands clasped above her head. Her breathing was erratic and even from his vantage point he could see the goose bumps forming on her flesh.

Almost in a daze, he brought the panties to his nose, dropped them and began crawling toward her on his hands and knees. His movements were controlled but his heavy breathing gave him away. When he reached her, she turned her head at the exact instant that he seized her mouth in a kiss that could only be described as hungry. So much so that she felt him nick her lower lip and lap greedily at the pearl of blood that collected there. His right hand sought out her pussy and he pushed in three fingers, then all five, feverishly sliding in and out. When he let go of her mouth, she cried out and moved her hand toward his cock. But he stopped her. And her jaw dropped open at what she witnessed from the corner of her eye. His groin was rubbing along the edge of the seat cushion. He was actually humping it like he was moving inside of her, a look of perfect and painful ecstasy on his face.

She started to pull away but he clamped his fingers down inside of her and opened his eyes. And then she realized that she'd caught him in the throes of orgasm, his face contorted into a pained expression. And she understood from his expression that it wasn't just the chair. It was her in the chair. Her head hanging over the side. Her hair strewn wildly against the red leather. Her naked body framed in a canvas of soft angles and stiff textures. And as if she could read his mind, she began to rock her hips. She wanted to come, to give in to the perfection of this moment while his fingers were buried deep inside of her. He was panting hard, as if he was trying to catch his breath but couldn't stop. And then she was coming. The climax built from the bottom of her toes to the tip of her clit. All it took was the circling of his thumb around her hard nub and the world came crashing down around her. She came so hard she thought she'd break the chair with her thrashing. It took a good five minutes before she stopped shaking but when she did, he slipped his fingers out of her and moved them to his mouth. It was the most erotic moment of her life and yet there was so much love there that she felt her eyes well up. Then he kissed her tenderly. The man she loved and the chair she loved. And she had them both.

The sound of the phone ringing jolting her out of her memory and she stumbled awkwardly to the bedroom.

"Yes. Hello?"

"Hey baby. You sound like you ran for the phone. Are you ok? I'm at the airport waiting for a cab. Can't wait to see you. I miss you so much."

She unbuttoned her blouse and began working at the zipper of her jeans.

"I'm ok, honey. Just miss you. Come home soon. I'll be waiting in the usual place."

There was a short pause on the other end of the line and then she thought she heard a low chuckle.

"I'm on my way, baby. I'm on my way."