Laundry

And I wondered - if one (as in I) could get her into bed, would she be dominatrix? submissive? exhibitionist? voyeur? crazed animal? shrinking violet (doubtful on that one)? The more I thought about it, the more I thought about it, and wasted a good bit of study time trying to craft a strategy that would allow me to proceed but would give me options at every turn, whether to backtrack or sidetrack or press on - all without ever turning her to the "NO!" alternative.

Sunday arrived just as the calendar had predicted, and I arrived just as usual. I was spruced up again, probably obviously so, but recall I was in my early 20s, with lots to learn.

Wine in hand, I knocked, then entered the upstairs lair of who I hoped would be Eve, not Mrs. Gentry. She called over her shoulder for me to come back to the kitchen, and I did, taking a moment to enjoy the rear view as she bent over to retrieve something from the refrigerator. It was still very nice, and on that day, she had on a short skirt and tank top. The skirt was high enough in back that I could see shapely thighs atop those shapely calves, enhanced by some medium-height heels - very dressy indeed compared to the need on a Sunday noontime event. My heart sped up a tad at the sight, and at the hope that greener pastures lay ahead. I couldn't see high enough to identify underthings, but that didn't keep me from imagining the light blue set I'd folded up that day - virtually transparent, with the half-cup bra.

"Hi, Eve, thanks again for a change of pace for me! You go to a lot of trouble, and there's no need, but thanks!"

"Hi, Mac - oh, thanks again for the wine - no need for that trouble either, but thanks," she said, turning and mimicking my awkward intro - was she laughing at me? So much for developing options. I hadn't expected that, and maybe I was imagining - better to just go with the flow.

I walked forward, and sensing no evasion, gave her a hug and air kiss - just being all mature about this greeting thing, right?

As I stepped back, wine still in hand, I took in the front view, and a fine view it was. I was for a moment disappointed that it was obvious no bra straps were there under the tank top spaghetti straps. So much for the light blue set, I thought. Then it occurred that no extra straps meant no bra, and I took a closer gander. Hmm. No nipple outline, but what a nice, rounded presentation - maybe just sleeping nipples under light cotton, but more likely, under a concealing shelf bra (curse the woman who invented that extra layer, probably partners with the one who thought up pantyhose - no way a man would have come up with either practical yet discouraging design). And she didn't correct my calling her "Eve," so things could work out after all!

After small talk about our weeks as she finished cooking, she led with the platter of food, and I followed her with plates, glasses, and the opened wine bottle, to the living room. She tossed some pillows down and we ate Japanese, or Egyptian, or whatever, style, sitting with crossed legs (but hers were hidden by the intruding coffee table), me feeling out of my element but determined to hang in.

We chatted, and on occasion she'd lean forward to select another morsel, giving me a look down her top. It wasn't blatant or anything, but the hint of cleavage would turn into a cavern of generous breasts, no bra in sight, not a full view, but plenty to keep my attention, and I noted that she looked up at me, catching me in the act of viewing, at least once or twice, before she sat back straight. More hmmm, indeed.

My imagination was working overtime, and each time I caught a nice view, I could feel my trousers uncomfortably crowded inside. She seemed to enjoy my discomfort if anything, but I couldn't figure if that was my imagination either, or whether something might be happening.

Dinner over, dishes carried to the kitchen, she told me she needed to do some work, so I'd better go. All my dreams dashed! She no doubt thought I was a young twerp, staring at her chest, hormones raging. I felt she was right, and I was self-mortified. Grasping at straws, I couldn't conceal my disappointment. "So, no modeling, huh?"

"Oh, that! Is that what you've been squirming about all through the meal?" she laughed. Nothing like a laugh to squelch a guy's ego, as well as shrink his equipment, sigh.

"Sorry, I'll let you get to your work," I mumbled, blushing mightily no doubt, as I shrank toward the door to the basement.

"And I'm sorry to let you down. I thought you might have forgotten all about that. Let's leave it as I'm still thinking it over, ok?" she said, no doubt trying to let me down easier than the crash I'd just experienced.

"Nah, no problem, sorry, bye," I managed.

She was still smiling, "matronizing" the kid, I concluded.

The next week was unremarkable, and I'd decided to let it all go, try to forget the whole thing, just get along ok with my landlady, enjoy the weekly dinners, and go about my studies more seriously. On Saturday, I went out for a run, working up a good sweat, and returning to cool down and shower before an unplanned rest of the day.

I did shower, wrapping myself in a towel to shave, and then went out, still toweled, to make a cup of coffee and planning on a couple hours of study, then maybe do some bar hopping with some similarly solo guys from school.

I strolled into the apartment living space, reading a text on my mobile, and was stopped in my tracks when I saw that Eve was standing by the couch, watching me.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "You startled me - sorry, and, er... " I stammered, realizing I was bare chested, barefoot, wrapped in only a towel, and then saw that she was wearing a robe of some sort - one of those bathing suit cover-up things, about mid-thigh-length. I had nothing more to say, as I tried to process the scene.

"You asked. How's this?" she said, and shrugged off the robe, leaving her standing there in the bikini I'd liberated from the dryer those weeks ago.

I was speechless for what seemed a long time as I just drank in the visual - breasts that filled the scant cups and more, bulging out from the insides and outsides of the cups. Cleavage was separated, showing no tan lines!! How'd she do that?? Was she nude sunbathing, or tanning boothing it? Meanwhile, down below, no hint of hair anywhere around the small triangle, so I suspected waxing - oh, to be the waxer! Maybe a change in my grad studies into a whole new career path?

That probably took a good 5 seconds, but when I looked back at her face, I could see she was getting just a bit tired of watching me checking her out.

I was still in the stammering mode, but managed, "That's great - many thanks! You're gorgeous, of course, and that suit is stunning!"

"Thank you, flatterer! I did say I'd think about it, and I figured getting an outside opinion might be ok after all. This, of course, is our secret - no one else in this country even knows I own such bathing attire, and I want to keep it that way, understand!!"

"Yes, got it, absolutely!" I said, my mind racing, and in the process realizing that I was starting to tent the towel that was my only covering. Never one to let a good thing keep from going too far, and regaining my composure, I pressed on, "And, as I recall, I asked for you to model those things, not just that thing. Do I get to see you in the other, er, items?"

"I hardly think so. Those are, compared to this, even, ah, more risqué, and I'd say better left to your imagination, which I suspect is active."

"But, strictly speaking, you did say... "

"Strictly speaking, maybe, but I have something else in mind."

"Do tell."

"I think maybe we need to even up the score a bit on the modeling. You look very much the swimmer you said you were, but it's hard to tell with all that toweling in the way," she said, something of a smirk developing.

Again, off balance, dammit. She was actually coming on to me now - and I was still on the defensive in this whole thing. While that was an enticing idea in itself, I wanted to take charge and have her reacting, not my reacting to her all the time. I realized this was my chance for that, so went for it.

"Are you asking me to lose the towel?"

"Yes."

"Well, that would seriously imbalance that score you mentioned. I'd say that first, we should even up, ok? I'll be back in a minute."

She looked curious, but didn't object. I'm not sure she understood where I was going with it.

I stepped into the closet, tossed the towel, grabbed my old college Speedo, and donned it, stuffing my half-hard cock into it sideways (it wasn't going to fit any other way).

Stepping back out, she laughed when she saw me in the very brief briefs, raising her eyebrow in calculation, then chuckling, "You're right - that does even the score a bit. And I suppose that having that kind of suit does bolster your claim to have been a swimmer. Now, model that thing for me!"

"Quid pro quo, Doctor Lector," I admonished, and made a twirling move with my arm, directing her to pirouette for me.

She understood, and smiling smugly, turned slowly. I got to check out the ass I'd been looking at for weeks, much less covered. A lovely woman's ass - softer than a co-ed, fuller than most co-eds as well, but all the more enticing for that. Again, no tan lines - I would have to figure that part out, but it wasn't an immediate priority. The suit was designed for a somewhat smaller derriere, I figured, as her cheeks were a good half exposed, the material making a wonderful crease to outline the globes. It was no thong, but the material was thin and left almost no details concealed - and those eagerly imagined.

I wanted, oh, I wanted, to cup her ass cheeks, her breasts, to pull her to me and wrap her in my arms - but wasn't quite sure of that level of cooperation yet. Even more, I wanted her to be the one to indicate desire. At this stage, my half-hard was on its way to full, which was a clear signal that my own desire was obvious. So far, she was only teasing - how could I pull her over the tease-to-desire line?

I was still taking in all that desirable skin when she came back to face me, and said, "Your turn."

I turned as well, slowly, and hoped that she would find my backside ok, too. I made it half way around when I felt her slip a digit between the suit and my bare skin. I probably jumped a little, and she said, "Oh, the material needed straightening. Now, that's better, don't you think?" As she said it, she continued to run her finger along the waistband. I liked the feel, and the message I hoped she was sending, and my own digit responded with a bit more of a swell.

I was happy to stay there, but she removed her finger, so I completed the turn, and watched as her gaze lowered to see the result, and a bit more of her smile appeared.

Not to be outdone, I reached over to her neck, slipped my fingers under the tie, and ran it down, the backs of my fingers tracing down from where the strings tied in back, down across her shoulder line and to the top of the white triangle, feeling the beginning of the swell of her breast along the back of my hand. I stared into her eyes as I did that, and said quietly, "Gotta make sure nothing's twisted here."

"Well, I'm glad nothing in the suit is twisted - not sure I can say the same for you," she answered.

"Can't be too careful about these things," I persisted, repeating the motion with my other hand along the other side, then, "turn back around, please."

She did, not objecting at all, and I made a production of straightening the strings in back, then tugged the neck bow loose, then the one along the back of her rib cage. The suit obeyed gravity as I expected, and she quickly cupped the coverings over her breasts, turning around to face me again.

"Now look what you've done," she said, with a look of false admonishment.

"Yes, but it's hard to look at what I was doing, when you're covered like that," I countered. Seeing my opportunity and still with no objection, I reached down and pulled the bows at her hips as I took a step back, and sure enough, physics outnumbered the appendages she had to keep it all covered up. I think that part surprised her, as the suit bottom fell to the floor, revealing a close-trimmed triangle of light brown, doing not much to conceal the treasure beneath. Dropping the top to join the bottoms on the floor, she dropped all pretense as well, doing nothing to hide - anything!

I took it all in - probably C-cups, weighty enough to have left girlish perk behind, a nice crease below each against the rib cage, but still firm enough to be round, no hint of the oblong droop of middle age that some women develop. She was clearly in shape - good muscle tone, and if firmness of nipple indicated exercise, she was a gym junkie - great hard erasers, atop half-dollar areolae. Just enough belly to reaffirm that woman thing - again, no virginal teen here. Firm thighs framing that trimmed wedge of fluff lower down. Sure enough, no tan lines - file that one for future inquiry.

She let me look, her eyes maybe laughing, certainly enjoying.

"My turn," she said after a bit, and I stood still, enjoying the moment, knowing that my erection was about to make plain my predicament, or arousal, or whatever.

Circling around behind me, I felt her finger slip under my waistband and run along it. "Seems straight back here," she said, lingering then following the finger with her whole hand, and cupping one cheek, then the other, then settling between, with what I guessed was a middle finger running down between, eliciting a jerk up onto my tiptoes. I heard her chuckle at that, then she quickly, as in a flash, yanked the suit down and off. "Let's see what else might be straight," she said, coming back around.

I'm not sure how the suit made it past my erection without either getting hung up or causing me serious pain, but it did, and I was standing, my cock proud and at a 45 degree upward tilt.

"Mmm. Yes, definitely," she said as she took a look at it. I twitched in appreciation of her comment, then she stepped back, arms akimbo, and took her own time checking me out.

Finally, she bent, picked up her bikini pieces, rose back up and said, "Well, thanks for the modeling session. I hope you weren't disappointed. See you." Then she turned and started for the stairs.

-------------------------------------

I was flabbergasted. All that, and she was going to just walk away?! Leaving me pointing at the ceiling?!

"Eve!" I called, probably with a distinct whine in my voice, "What? Uh... where are you... ah... wait!"

I closed the distance, as she stopped and turned to face me again. OK, options here. She was just toying with me? She was truly done, and I realized she'd delivered on her promise - it wasn't like I could really expect more, dammit? She was fishing for me to take over? I flashed back on my suspicion that, after her life at work being in charge and having to be in gender combat all the time, she'd welcome a man taking over.

Risking that eviction, and maybe even worse - assault if I weren't careful - I reached one hand behind her head, grabbed a handful of her hair, bent her head back, encircled her waist with my other hand, and kissed her, hard, forcing my tongue into her mouth, pulling her hip against my hardness. I was glad I was a good six inches taller, or that might not have worked, but it did, at least the geometry of it did.

She let the kiss go on for some seconds, maybe out of surprise, then pushed me back. Uh-oh.

"Just what the hell are you doing?!" she hissed, anger flashing.

"I'm taking liberties with a beautiful woman," I growled, and pulled her back to me, holding her close, but my face inches away, my cock pressed back into her belly again.

She looked at me, defiantly. I held her tight, not that she was really resisting, but wanting to make the point of my strength, hoping it was a plus. I watched her mull things over for a moment, then the hand that was against my chest, positioned to push me away again, slipped up to grasp my shoulder, while her face closed to mine and she kissed me, her tongue searching out mine.

Great as that was, I still wanted to make the point, so pulled back myself, or rather pulled her hair firmly back to part our lips. She looked questioningly at me, then I kissed her again, my tongue doing the spearing, making the point that I was in charge, she was to submit to my aggression, as it were.

She almost slumped into me, acquiescing, as I kept my tongue at work while I slid my hand from her back down to her ass and pulled her hips into mine, my middle finger now the one parting her ass cheeks, my strength holding her to me, my hips humping my cock slowly into her belly, well above her cunt, but making the point.

I was channeling Nicholas Cage by then, with the "Moonstruck" Cher. She had no further resistance, as I swept her up and carried her off to my bed. Lowering her to the sheets on the mattress as I swept the covers off, I took her hands and firmly wrapped them each around one of the vertical posts of the headboard. She instinctively knew to grab them and hold on as if, but not really, bound to them.

"You have no right," she said, weakly.

"I have only the rights that you give," I assured her. "And you are giving me what I want, and what you want."

"No, no, I, uh... "

"Oh yes," I pressed on, determined, and being confirmed at every turn now. "You live in a man's world, as a modern woman. You have to be severe and meet them on their masculine turf. But underneath - underneath you wear seductive underwear, if anything at all. You dare them to discover you, but they don't - it's too risky for them in this world, so they just wish, and casually insult you with their snide barely veiled remarks and looks. While you want to be taken, not to lose what you've gained, but to be given the room to be a woman."

I lay on top of her, erection pressed into her stomach to remind her, but making no move to enter her - yet. I wanted her to agree, to agree and submit, and through submitting, to find something of a triumph on her own terms.

"You envy their advantage, and so you carve out your own advantage, and it allows you to battle them on their home ground, and beat them. But you still want to be a woman doing it. I can't win that for you on your professional ground, but I can give you that to come home to - at least for a while. I can let you be whoever you want as a woman here, and threaten no repercussions, no competition."

I watched her mull this over, her hands still gripping the headboard rails, not restrained by me at all.

"Damn you." she said, quietly. "Damn you. But for now, fuck me. Fuck me hard and well."

And so I did. Kneeling up on my haunches, I displayed myself to her, confirming my hardness, my swollen state dedicated to only her. She stared at me, eyes wide, startled by what agreed to, unsure of whether or not she really wanted it.

I leaned over, took my cock in one hand while holding my torso above her, so she could see. She leaned up, arms still immobile above her, and watched as I stroked my erection up and down her slit, confirming its wetness, confirming her willingness. No further foreplay this time, I leaned in, and felt that always wondrous mixture of wet and heat envelop my shaft. I pressed steadily home, allowing no impediment, shoving forward despite the tightness, despite her moan. At that point, I didn't care if it was from desire or from some discomfort - I knew there was enough lubrication not to be harming or causing real pain, but also knew it was a tight fit.

Finally, only seconds later, I was impaling her with my whole length, my balls resting against her outer lips, my pubic bone mashed into hers. I raised up a bit to make sure my shaft was pressing urgently against her clitoris, and finally stopped, still, letting us each adjust to the feeling. I realized I had closed my eyes, being wrapped in the sensory magic of her. I opened them, and saw her looking straight at me. Leaning over, I kissed her again, our eyes locked into each other, my tongue pressing into her mouth, finding her tongue ready to circle around mine, driving me to imagine how she could take me in her mouth - not yet, but likely, I hoped, to come.