The Thrift Store Chase

When he walked in, his wife was nowhere to be seen. The dog was lying out on the deck looking glum, and an elegant table was set for lunch:  good china and crystal, fresh flowers, white linen cloth and napkins. The stereo purred some soft Latin jazz, and he knew she was thinking less about lunch than about making love screwed afterward. This excited him. He called her, but he got no answer.

He started to walk along the hall, checking in each room, each closet. She wasn’t there. As quietly as he could on the squeaky floors, he walked to the stairs and padded down to the first floor. He knew she must be down here, but he also knew she had the element of surprise on her side–she could hear him coming, but he had no idea where she was lurking. He looked in the family room behind the shelves, in the front bedroom, in the hall closet. Last, he went to the garage.

As soon as he opened the door, he was flattened against the doors of the laundry area and she dashed in front of him to the steps. She was moving so quickly she seemed almost desperate, and was just a blur in the short space between the door and the stairs. But he could tell she looked great. She’d evidently been to the SallyAnn just for the occasion, and had bought a very short linen skirt, a diaphanous white blouse, and–wonder of wonders–heels.

He lunged, and reached out to catch her. But she laughed at him and took the first several steps. Unused to heels, however, she stumbled in her haste and he was able to catch her right ankle. She went down on her left knee and began to thrash her right leg, and to save his face from being gashed by a spike heel, he let her go. But while her legs were apart, he got a good look up her skirt and was excited by the glimpse of her bare thighs and, between them, her carefully manicured womanhood. She had shaved again, and the lips of her vagina were soft and pink, surrounded only by smooth skin. The only hair below her waist was the neat, narrow band of black that came to her clitoris. He tried to reach inside her skirt, but she got away from him before he could.

They continued up the stairs, and he slipped on the rug in front of the door, and she gained on him. She made it into their bedroom, but he got his foot in front of the door before she was able to close it. It bounced off the front of his shoe and hit her, knocking her backward and causing her to grunt. As she staggered slightly, he reached for her and caught her blouse. She turned from him, and the first several buttons flew onto the rug. Her bra was tiny, and her breasts, taut and swollen with her exertion, spilled out of its lace cups. He could see the dark edge of an areola, and the hardening nipple just below it. She was enjoying this as much as he was, and wasn’t going to give it up quickly.

Pulling her to him, he cupped her rump in his palms and pressed his pelvis against hers. She tried first to push him away, but then pressed her body against him and kissed him viciously on the lips, digging her nails into his back. He pulled at her snug skirt, and when it slid up high enough she lifted her left leg and wrapped it around his right. He ran his hand along her thigh and under the skirt until he could feel the curve of her buttock. But just before he reached behind her to touch the edge of her vulva, she yanked her leg away from him and pushed him backward with all her strength.

They were both breathing hard now–partly from the physical exertion, and partly from lust. The little game excited them–the roughness, the glimpses of her ripe body (she had seen herself in the mirror) and the proximity of their yearning bodies. As she ran out of the room and down the hall, the feeling of exhilaration was incredible–a mixture of danger, passion, anticipation, and a joy that was heady and almost overpowering. She wanted to make love, but she wanted to continue the game.

The chase led them to the kids’ room, and they lunged and faked around the bedposts until, when he nearly reached her on the window side, she ran across the bed and tried to get out the door. But he made it there before she did, and she ended up in the corner. He grabbed her under her legs and pulled her upward. The only thing she could do to keep from falling was to throw her arms around his neck, and when she did that her mouth instinctively reached for his. They kissed hard as they slid to the beanbag chair below them, and she knew then that the game was up.

She began to undo his belt as he ripped her blouse open and buried his face between her breasts. He slid his hands under her bra, and she deftly undid the claps in front and let it fly open. Her naked breasts were firm and her nipples long and hard. His mouth was on them immediately, and his tongue felt to her like it was on fire. His mouth was wet with his desire, and it made her nipples hot and slippery as he sucked and caressed them.

He pulled her skirt up to her hips, and she opened her legs wide, wrapping them around his waist. He could smell the scent of perfume coming from between her breasts and the smell of her arousal from between her thighs, and it made him wild. She let her head fall backward, and the sight of her throat stretched taut, her swollen breasts, and her splayed legs and glistening vulva were too much for him. She had managed to open his pants and pull them down to his hips, so he teased the engorged lips of her vagina with the throbbing head of his rigid member. She was screaming now, writhing violently, her spike heels digging into his legs, the pretty black bush bobbing up and down against him, her fingers groping wildly at her own body.

He reached to her shoulders and pulled hard on her blouse, and it slipped off her arms and to the floor. He could tell she wanted to be out of her clothes. He gripped the two sides of the slit in her skirt and yanked hard. The seam ripped to the waistband. He yanked again. The seam along the waistband gave way to the button and zipper. After the third tug at the tattered skirt, she was nude except for the shoes, which were digging even harder into his legs now. They were frantic with their desire, and she reached down and slid his manhood into her eager, wet self. That done, she pulled him even closer with her legs, and fell back across the bean bag, letting her arms drop over her head, arching her back and wantonly thrusting her breasts.

He rammed his body repeatedly against hers, and they came together–violently, powerfully, deliciously. They clung together for a long time, he leaning over her nude body, kissing her throat and her breasts, stroking her thighs. Their reverie was broken only when a single black shoe dropped to the floor…

NOTE: Ladies, if you want to make your man crazy, buy a scandalous ensemble for a couple of dollars at a thrift shop and then treat him to a hide-and seek game like this. You might want to titillate him in the morning with a note that says, “Hey, Baby—let’s play a game when you get home. If you can catch me you can tear my clothes off.” Have fun…

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