We've been looking forward to this evening for a long time, Russell and I. We're all alone, with no prospect of being disturbed for at least twenty-four hours, possibly more. When you're us, living the life we do, alone time, true alone time, is actually pretty rare. If we're not here, at home, there're always the demands Russell's career, and by extension to me, being Russell's wife, entails; and then when we ARE home, we have children and family. But, the family kindly took our children for us and I think we feel almost like a pair of randy teenagers left home alone to their own devices. Heaven help us.

The two of us have enjoyed a nice, quiet candlelit dinner, and when I would make the attempt to at least begin cleaning up, he slips his arms around me from behind. "Let that wait until later, Liss," he murmurs low in my ear.

I feel a shiver of pure, raw excitement run along my spine, because I recognize all too well that tone. "Did you have something else in mind?"

"Mmm. Come upstairs and you'll find out."

There's actually been an idea brewing in my mind for some time and while I don't know if I have the nerve to try it, there's only one way to see. "Wait," I protest. I've actually been waiting for and preparing for this moment.

He looks surprised I'd actually curtail our romantic rendezvous. "Wait, what?"

"Will you let me take charge tonight?"

He studies me for a long moment while I keep my expression carefully neutral. "What exactly do you have in mind, sweetheart?" he wants to know.

"Will you just trust me, and let me call the shots? If you say yes, you have to promise me you'll do what I say." My heart's pounding, but with excitement rather than apprehension.

"Lissy," Russell says in a dry ironic tone, "I never know what to expect when I let you be in charge." 

Well, you know what? Neither do I, with him. That's part of the fun of it all. "You don't want to spoil the surprise, now, do you? Yes or no," I demand.

"My angel's a secret sex kitten," he teases. He has no idea. "All right, what do you want me to do?"

We're already upstairs and at the door to our bedroom. "I'm going into the bathroom to change," I tell him. Earlier, I'd stashed what I needed in there, tucked away where he couldn't see. "And I want you to sit over there." I gesture to the plushy upholstered wing chair in one corner of our room. "I don't want you to take anything off, unless it's your shoes or something...and I just want you to wait for me...and when I come out I just want you to sit there. Whatever I do, I don't want you to move and I don't want you to touch me, unless I ask you to. Think you can do that?"

The heated light in his eyes makes me think he's picturing some sort of kinky dominatrix fantasy. Neither of our sexual tastes particularly runs to that, but I reckon he can only hope I'd change my mind some day. "Bossy," he chides. He looks pretty happy at the prospect, though. "Fine."

"You've got to promise me, Russell," I shoot back over my shoulder, from the bathroom doorway.

He looks at me with this mixture of pseudo innocence and seduction, sort of like a predatory Boy Scout. "I promise."

"If you don't," I scold, feeling like I'm reprimanding one of our children, "you won't be getting any." 

Settling in the chair, he kicks off his shoes and socks, wiggling his bare toes, and when I raise my brow at him, he folds his hands neatly in his lap. "I promise."

Shaking my head, I go into the bathroom and close the door. 

 

I kind of got this idea on a whim some time ago, when the two of us were in Sydney. One of my Aussie girlfriends, whose identity I should protect, on the grounds I might possibly incriminate her...oh, all right, it was Nic Kidman...talked me into going to this workout class with her.

Only it wasn't any ordinary workout class. And, fortunately, she had gotten us a private session with a couple of our other mutual friends, because if word had gotten out in the press, I could only imagine the hoopla. It was some crazy trend going around Hollywood that someone brought over here. They call it the Exotic Dancing Workout or something like that. The idea being, strippers have pretty athletic moves, requiring them to stretch and flex all parts of their bodies...so why not take the usually boring workout and emulate being a bunch of burlesque dancers instead? Complete with poles! We got to become pole dancers for an afternoon! And, after all of us got over our initial dismay and modesty, it was a hell of a lot of fun. Kept our clothes on, of course, but we got to bump and grind like the best of them.

I think we giggled our way through the entire course, but I'd like to think we all came away learning a move or two. We also all came away with the idea to take what we learned into the bedroom, shall we say. But I haven't had an opportunity to try it out on my husband, until now.

I've never seen a strip show...female, that is; I've of course been to bachelorette parties and seen the Chippendale dancers and such, I'm also not by nature a dancer myself...but I'm hoping I can be enough of a tempting seductress to put the moves on Russell without making him laugh. Since it's me, I don't think he will, but I'm hoping I'll be hot enough to stoke the fire, so to speak.

I've read or heard somewhere that men are most stimulated and turned on visually; that is, by things they see, and I intend to put on an eye-popping exhibition for him. Since the idea got put into my brain, I've thought a great deal over what to wear and what kind of music I wanted to dance to. I finally got my act together, as it were, after the kids left today. A short time ago, I downloaded the songs off of our computer, burned them to a CD, and it's ready to go. Now if I can find where I misplaced my nerve...

 

After about ten or fifteen minutes, I open the bathroom door and emerge. To his credit, Russell's still exactly where I bade him be, albeit he looks a trifle bored and impatient. At the sound of my entrance, he good naturedly exaggeratedly glances at his watch, but when he sees my appearance his eyes widen in surprise and intrigue.

My hair's tucked up under the hat he usually wears when out riding or doing work around the farm, my body all but concealed in his long, duster-type coat. It's kind of dirty from being worn outside and smells faintly of horse, but it's what I needed to pull this first part off. Since he's almost a fair foot taller than me, the hem about brushes the floor, hanging in voluminous folds off of me, only the tips of my fingers peeping out at the edges of the sleeves. I'm not going to be keeping it on for long, anyhow.

"What the---?" he begins, but I simply put a warning, quieting finger over my lips...having to hike the jacket sleeve up to do so...reach for the remote control for the CD player that's on the bureau, hit Play, strike what is meant to be a provocative pose, and wait. I haven't choreographed one whit of this but intend for my instincts and my body's reaction to the music to dictate what I do.

The familiar trumpeting sounds of the opening echo throughout our bedroom, and as Russell realizes what he's in store for, he straightens up in his chair and actually leans forward a bit, eyes honed in on me like a laser beam. His line from Gladiator, "I will give them something they have never seen before", jumps into my mind, and I have to fight the urge to giggle and break the mood. "Are you not entertained?" I think, meeting his eyes with a winsome smile (oh, he will be!) as Joe Cocker starts to sing, "You Can Leave Your Hat On" and I literally follow the lyrics:

Baby, take off your coat, real slow... I ease it from my shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I know he was expecting me to be naked underneath, or perhaps at the most (least?) in skimpy lingerie, but there's time for that. I'm wearing a rather sedate granite gray sleeveless sheath over a basic white button down dress shirt, black stockings and pumps. I probably look like a schoolmarm. But I don't FEEL like one...

Baby, take off your shoes...I'll help you take off your shoes... coming over to him, I silently lift my feet one at a time and he draws them off me, his fingers briefly, lingeringly brushing over my ankle. I give him a warning look, reminding him of his promise to only look and not touch; turn away from him, whirl around again to face him, hips swaying back and forth to the music...

Baby, take off your dress...yes...yes...yes... I chose the gray overlay for its ease in getting it on as well as off. I'm able to wriggle it down over my hips and it joins the rapidly growing pile of clothing on the bedroom floor. Now Russell's practically salivating; besides the hat, I'm only wearing the white shirt and I know he can see through it the dusky rosy shadows of my nipples, clearly thrusting against the fabric; lacy tiny black panties, and then thigh high very sheer black stockings.

You can leave your hat on... I run both palms over my breasts, still covered by the shirt, down over my stomach, and just graze between my legs, spreading my feet apart so he can get a good look at where I'm going. You can leave your hat on... I bend at the knees, gyrate; hands braced high on my thighs. Slowly twirl around and do the same thing facing the other way, so he can get a nice look at my back side. He makes a small sound---the panties aren't thongs, but cut high enough he's able to clearly see the curve of my bottom---and I have to fight not to glance back at him. You can leave your hat on...

Turning back around, I step closer to him, so that I'm barely a couple of feet in front of him. Go over there; turn on the lights...all the lights... he can see me clearly, I know, with them already turned all the way on. Speaking of being turned all the way on...his eyes are riveted to mine and I can see the hunger building and building in them. He has the most beautiful eyes...

Come back here, stand on the chair. Ooh, baby, that's right!... Rather than standing on the chair, which he's already sitting quite rigidly in, I brace one foot on the seat in between his legs, which I've noticed he's parted slightly to allow him more room in his pants. He's already nicely aroused, I can see, as am I. But this is fun, so fun, and I want to draw this out for as long as possible. Just to tease him, I circle my fingertips around my nipples, still covered by the shirt, my tongue darting out to moisten my lips. His gaze flickers from my face to my hands, and with great difficulty he looks back up into my eyes.

Raise your arms in the air; now shake 'em... I lift my arms over my head, hands clasped together, making my breasts thrust out even more, and then slowly stretch, twisting from side to side so they sway gently. Hey, if you've got 'em, use 'em, I say.

You give me reason to live... I come even closer, straddling his lap but not sitting down on him, kneeling there on the seat with my hands gripping the back of the chair on either side of his head for support. You give me reason to live... my breasts are now temptingly, dangerously close to his face, and I can see his knuckles turn white as he grips the chair arms to avoid touching me, which is very well what I know he wants. He's strong and powerful and I wonder briefly if he'll actually tear into the upholstery. You give me reason to live... I whisper the words in his ear; gently kiss the curve of it. You can leave your hat on... our eyes meet and a half-smile quirks the corner of his gorgeous mouth. He's on the edge, close to losing self-control, and he absolutely loves every minute of it.

Suspicious minds are talking...that's right, they'll tear us apart. They don't believe in this love of ours... I climb off of the chair and stand before him again, toying with the buttons of my shirt. They don't know what love is... I undo one, then another, with Russell's focus once again torn between looking into my eyes and seeing what my hands are doing. They don't know what love is... this time, I undo one, then another, on the bottom, leaving the shirt held together over my breasts by two buttons in the middle. God, I'm a tease. They don't know what love is... I act like I'm going to undo the last remaining buttons but when I don't his disappointment is almost palpable. I know what love is... this last, once again, whispered to him, as I lean forward and tenderly kiss him on the mouth. Fleeting, soft. You can leave your hat on...

At the end of the song, I take his hat off, toss it aside, letting my hair fall freely down my back and over my shoulders. I strike a pose and look at him. 

"But you..." Russell gestures helplessly to my still-covered form. My poor baby. 

"Did I say I was finished?" I ask, as the all-too familiar opening of the next song I've chosen begins. I have to bite back laughter as he actually groans, realizing he's in for another three to four minutes of sheer complete torture.

 

I can tell you I didn't pick my next number for its subtlety: "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye. My husband's far from a clueless man; in fact, I'd have to say he's highly astute, well thought-out and educated. But, there's nothing like driving my message home, so to speak. Nothing like laying it all out there for him to clearly see. And yes, I plan to lay quite a bit out there for his viewing pleasure.

Now that I've gotten through my first number, I've gained a fair amount of confidence. I'm by no means an exhibitionist, but I'm very secure in my own sensuality where we're concerned and I trust Russell with my whole heart. I can kind of see why women would do this; it gives you a sense of power. Although, to me, if you're not doing it in front of someone you love, it gives it no meaning. He's viewing me as an object of desire, of lust, and while if I was a stripper by trade I might find that demeaning, it's different, with him. Because he loves me, and he sees me with that love, as something beautiful to him to cherish. I want to do this, for him, because I love him, and because of that, it makes it worth something to me, as well. Makes me feel beautiful, for him.

He gets this big grin on his face as I begin, slowly turning and shimmying, gyrating and grinding, and I can't help mouthing the words to him: 

 

Feeling especially bold now, I climb into his lap, facing him, straddling him much like I did before, kneeling on the seat with my thighs framing his. Only this time I let myself sit fully on him, my eyes closing briefly as I can feel how very much he wants me. True to his word, though, he keeps gripping the arms of the chair and won't touch me, although I can see from his expression how very difficult it is not to.

Whereas the first song was a bit more raucous, with its flaring trumpeting fanfare and such, this one is slower, more sensuous, and as Marvin sings, I can feel it emanating throughout my entire being, setting my nerve endings ablaze. I lightly rock to the music, well aware that doing so is pressing me back and forth against him in a very nice way. He closes his eyes, too, for just a moment, as I caress his face, my hands coming up to cup his jaw, tracing every outline, every shape of every feature I know so well and adore so much. "Hold me," I say softly to him. "Just hold me, and don't do anything else." His big hands come down to first bracket my hips, and then slide around until his palms are warm against the small of my back, underneath the shirt. We're all sensitive people; with so much to give... I plant tiny, meltingly sweet kisses all over his face, teasing him each time with just a brief touch of the tip of my tongue. Understand me, sugar... I swear, he's almost purring like a huge cat. I sinuously move against him, breaking him out of his almost trancelike reverie, and his gaze is once again honed in on me, although it's hard for me to concentrate, since he's so close to me this time. Since we got to be, let's live...I love you... I say the last three words aloud to him, before taking his mouth with mine in a brief but deep kiss.

Now that smile's playing on his lips again, because I'm mouthing lyrics at him, but he drops his eyes down to where I'm toying with, and then finally slipping free, the last two buttons on the shirt. There's nothing wrong with me lovin' you, baby, no, no...

I carefully give him just a glimpse but as the next lines come, I oh so slowly draw the two halves of the shirt apart so he can see my breasts. And givin' yourself to me can never be wrong, if the love is true... Now I'm also reaching for the buttons on his shirt, too, although I'm a bit hastier with his than I was with mine. Spreading his wide, I lean forward and bring us into contact with each other. He feels so good against me, his skin warm and vital. Don't you know how sweet and wonderful life can be? I'm askin' you, baby, to get it on with me... yep, not subtle at all. I'm kissing his neck and god bless him, he's still merely holding me as I had asked, although now that we're like this, I can feel the fine, barely restrained tension running through him. This is going to be the most drawn out, sensual, highly charged lap dance of his entire life.

I'm not even paying attention to the words or the music any more, because I'm caught up in the moment. So is he, I think. I hear myself whisper, "Kiss me..."

"Where?" I'm amazed he has the presence of mind to ask.

"Anywhere..." I breathe. "Just keep holding me, though...nothing more...don't stop..." I'm still calling the shots but the line between me bossing and me begging has decidedly blurred, as has the line between him taking orders and him taking charge.

He takes my mouth with his, slow and deep, drinking from me as if he were dying of thirst. I let him in, welcoming him, as my body still undulates against his. Then he buries his face into my neck, and although I can still sense how very close he is to losing control altogether, he's very gentle, always.

Then he lowers his head and I arch for him, throwing my head back, giving him free access to my breasts. He carefully traces the outline of one rosy peak with his tongue and I let out a soft whimper. He does the same to the other one, tenderly laving it and watching it bud even tighter with his attention. He captures my lips again, teasing, playing. Resting his forehead against mine, he just holds me to him.

Finally he says, his voice throaty and deep, "Liss?"

"Mmm?"

"There's not gonna be another song, is there?"

I suddenly realize the CD's stopped. "No," I tell him.

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

I laugh. But it's a breathy sort of laughter and I'm all too aware of the sexually charged atmosphere between us yet. 

"Liss?" he asks again.

I raise my face and stare wordlessly into his eyes. 

"Can I do whatever I want to you now?"

I laugh again. "I'd love you to," I reply.

 

Frankly, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. However, if there's one thing I know about him, it's that he's a man of his word; no matter how it cost him not to touch me, I'd asked him not to, so he wouldn't. Simple as that. But, I noticed it didn't take him long to ask for permission soon thereafter. Not that I would hold out any longer myself. I'm a pushover where either my husband or my kids are concerned, and they all bloody well know it.

He rises from the chair; me still entwined round his middle, and deposits me back on the bed. When I make a move to shrug out of the white shirt, he stops me. "Leave it on," he says.

"Now who's being bossy?" I tease, although I leave it half falling off my shoulders so my breasts are completely uncovered. He smiles and rewards my obedience by gently giving each nipple a kiss. "I think I want you to leave these, too," he tells me, running one hand down my stocking-clad leg, "I like 'em."

"Mmm...Kinky, don't you think?" But I smile back, stretching gracefully as I watch him make short work of his own clothing. Raising my hips, I do let him draw the lace undies off, letting out a startled groan as he settles himself hard and deep inside of me without any warning. I accept him quite easily; with all of the teasing and playing around earlier, my body's already well prepared for his. But it's still always a brief flash of shock, that and a thrill, at his possession. Every single time.

"Did you...did you enjoy my little show?" I pant, matching him thrust for thrust. We're both insatiable and inflamed and I realize I may have to send my best mate at least a thank-you card or something for making me go to that class with her.

"Yeah...hey, Lissy?"

"Oh, god...what?"

"Shut up, will ya? Let me enjoy this. I think I earned it." 

Oh, he did. He definitely did. 

 

Later on, we lie there, basking in the afterglow. He finally let me lose the shirt and stockings, and I'm just reveling in the feel of his hard, warm, strong body against mine.

"This probably isn't the time to be asking this," Russell murmurs in my ear. "But who in the bloody hell taught you all of that? And don't say it was nobody."

"Well..." I tell him all about the class, which he up until this point knew nothing about, and who my cohorts in crime were. He shakes his head. "I would have loved to watch that one," he comments.

"Judging by your obvious lack of self-control," I tease him imperiously, "it was probably best you didn't get to." 

"As long as you limit yourself to private dancing from here on out, I have no objections to any crazy notions you or your mates might have."

"Yeah, as long as it gets you some."

He grins, kissing the tip of my nose. "That's exactly right." Then, belatedly, "You learned to pole dance? Seriously?"

"Yeah...that was fun. Though we didn't really have any way of recreating that one in here," I say, wistfully.

Now there's a wicked gleam in his eye. "I could arrange to have one installed."

I giggle. "And what would you tell the kids? Especially your curious son? Mum's training to become a firefighter?"

"Yep, that's probably not gonna work." He knows Tyler all too well. Lil would think it a bit odd, too. He DOES look quite disappointed at that one. "Any chances I might have, however, of getting an encore performance sometime soon?"

"That," I tell him, "could quite possibly be arranged." And quite possibly sooner rather than later. That was a great deal of fun. 

 

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