The Naughty Schoolgirl Skirt
by Joey W. Hill
Laura Ann pressed her hand down on the stack of brochures on the golf cart seat so they wouldn’t blow away and quelled the urge to forget all about her crazy plan and return to the safe sanctuary of her office.
An office that was a sanctuary in more ways than one. She’d been part-time secretary for the small Morris Island church for a long time. It was an unadorned clapboard structure overlooking the South Carolina marsh, its traditional chapel architecture so simple that the parishioners had debated over a year whether or not a stained glass window was too “busy” for the simple beauty of the gray façade and clean diamond-paned windows with hurricane shutters.
The youth group had made up planters of potted pink, white and red flowers, to mesh with the minister’s sermon this week on “God’s Valentines to Us All”. They spilled down the front steps.
Except for noticing the trappings of the holiday, she’d given little thought to its romantic overtones for years. Lately, however, ripples of change had been disturbing the tranquil waters within. Deep pools of her soul which had treasured being a mother, the person who could cook the best cookies, the best anything. Organize any committee or neighborhood event, a person who enjoyed watching Oprah and fussing at Dr. Phil’s more recalcitrant guests, or planning wonderful dinners for a rotating group of special friends.
She had begun to need something. A reassurance. Perhaps because her sons were now grown and pursuing their own lives. One had just had a baby with his new wife. Or maybe it was those hormonal shifts, caused by menopause and weight loss. She’d dropped thirty-six pounds over the past two years, and her fitness club had allowed her to reclaim somewhat of the firm body she’d enjoyed in her twenties.
In her mind, Laura Ann Tyler was who she’d always been. As the years passed, she’d willingly shuffled certain dreams and possibilities to the background as other priorities took hold. Despite that, she couldn’t help remembering her own mother had once told her that most people’s perception of themselves stopped at a certain “permanent” age. No matter how your body aged after that point, you always felt that age inside. That age was most often teens, early twenties. Often she did feel that, the sense that she peered out of her body through the eyes of a young girl. The hopes and dreams still there, wondering if there was a man who found her beautiful in all ways.
Well, she was going to find out.
She’d been planning this for weeks. Reminding herself of that helped bolster her resolve. She couldn’t chicken out now.
Hudson Cole ran a bed and breakfast within golf cart distance. He also worked out with her at the gym, encouraged her. He’d helped her with new weights, new ways to do exercises. She wondered what he’d think if he knew some of the fantasies she’d started to have, watching him lift weights near her, those muscular thighs spread and braced as he did upper body reps from the bench. He always wore a ragged pair of loose sweats, but when a man was flat on his back…the fabric tended to cling. And when he left, he pulled on a pair of tattered blue jeans that hugged his ass in all the right places. Like her, he was a parent of grown children and he wore wire-rimmed spectacles for vision. But his eyes were the swirling brown of rich earth. When he was up a ladder doing outside work at the inn, she’d seen more than one woman give that tight backside and the smooth muscles displayed in his T-shirt a lingering glance.
As she’d lost the weight, gotten more confident, Hudson had teased her sometimes when she did her daily lunch walk past the inn. He’d be up on the balcony sweeping and startle her with a piercing wolf whistle. She’d laugh. Once she gave him a saucy little sashay, a playful hip twitch that made him holler “yeah, baby” in encouragement. It made her laugh harder, cover her face and shake her head at herself as much as at him. That same day, two construction workers working on the roof of one of the nearby homes called out to her, “Looking good, sweetheart!”
She’d smiled and kept walking, a little flustered by the attention of strangers. When she dared a glance back she saw Hudson scowling at them looking…jealous? He was never jealous. Never…
Passion had heated those deep, domestic waters within her, a passion that had been curiously absent for the past few years as she went through the change that all women had to face. But now, every day she was feeling different. Alive. Sexy. There was certainly no denying it that day, so she’d tucked the curiously warm reaction to his possessive reaction into her mind.
She thought she’d just pull it out and remember it sometime like a young girl’s secret diary. Instead, the recollection had jumped out like a secret weapon and spurred all those strange feelings in a dangerous direction the day she saw the “naughty schoolgirl skirt”.
* * *
She wouldn’t have ever seen it at all, except for her son losing patience with her on his latest visit home.
“Mom,” he said, eyeing her. “Did you lose a third of your body weight so you could dress frumpy forever?”
“John, I’m—”
“Yes, I know how old you are. I know ‘you’re old enough to be my mother’.” He mimicked her frequent use of the phrase. “Hey, come to think of it - that must be WHY you’re my mother.” When she glared at him and swatted in his direction, he danced away, snatched another cookie she’d spatula’d off the pan. He flipped it back and forth in his hands, getting his fingers blotted with melted chocolate in the process. She knew he’d lick it off just as he had as a little boy, making her forgive him anything. It was an odd contrast with the confident and self-sufficient man he’d become, a product manager at a top NYC clothing store and living happily with a man twice his age but who seemed to make him very happy, another major adjustment to her upbringing.
“You remind us of it all the time, despite the fact my straight friends now piss me off by checking out your ass when you come to visit. When they can see it in those frumpy things you wear.”
“I dress conservatively.”
“Frumpy. Like you think you’re not allowed to be anything but a mother.” He gestured with the cookie. “Like this plaid skirt you’re wearing. It looks like what a kindergarten teacher would wear. Shorten it, tighten it up some, it could put off some serious naughty schoolgirl vibes.”
“John Tyler.” He laughed, dodging her more serious effort at a smack. “You can be sexy, Mom. It doesn’t break any rules. You’re a woman, aren’t you? I mean I typically think of you as Mom, but you’ve got a great figure now. Show it off a little. That liberal freak Susan Sarandon wouldn’t hesitate to don a naughty schoolgirl skirt, and your ass looks twice as good as hers does.”
She sent him home with three dozen chocolate chip cookies for that remark and did a marinara sauce for her other son Steven since he was more into salt than sweets. She doubted her straight and totally fashion oblivious son would have had such a direct conversation with his mother about her degree of sexiness, or the status of her ass among his friends. But even that made her think.
Having two such different sons had helped her learn that love had ever-shifting boundaries. It also underscored there were more layers to her than she herself originally thought.
When she waved John off and returned to the house, he’d left out a clothing catalog with a teenager in a Catholic school uniform. Next to it he’d drawn a big smiley face…with horns and a tail.
She’d been raised conservatively, sheltered, protected. Because of that, she knew what was starting to percolate in her mind was quite possibly a part of herself she’d never really examined before, never fully realized she even possessed. She walked over to the calendar, drew a heart on February 14 and studied it awhile, her mind whirling, until the clock chiming reminded her that it was time to get the dog a walk before she headed out for her bookclub meeting.
Saturday, she was going clothing shopping.
* * * * *
It was the first time in her life she stepped into a Victoria’s Secret and considered buying something other than the waist high granny panties she’d worn since she was a teenager.
Her friends all told her that Victoria’s Secret had very good quality cotton underwear. She thought herself pretty daring, looking at the bikini styles in white cotton, and it was then she’d seen it.
Above the modest section of the store to which she’d slunk, studiously avoiding much scarier areas, was a large poster of a model dressed in an outfit that ranked right up there with the temptation of a shiny red apple in the Garden of Eden.
This model wore what Laura Ann was sure John would call without reservation a naughty schoolgirl skirt. The model’s long fingers were hooked into the waistband of the blue plaid, pulling it down so her bare hip bone was revealed. She wore a thin white button down shirt tied up in a knot under her breasts so the long expanse of stomach and the delicate indentation of her navel were visible. Because the buttons of the shirt were otherwise open, the poster also displayed her bra, a black lace demi-cup number that picked up the back stripes in the skirt and showed off the generous upper swells of her breasts. The cock of her hip revealed that she wore black garters with sheer black hose. White bobby socks and shiny black patten shoes with a bow and a diamond tassel finished her off. The naughty schoolgirl from head to toe.
Looking into the model’s face, Laura Ann knew on one level she and that young girl had nothing in common. Barely twenty, this VS “angel” had probably traveled Europe, seen it all. So beautiful she’d probably never suffered any doubt about her own appeal to men. Donning a naughty schoolgirl skirt was probably just part of a fun night out.
For Laura Ann, it was a paradigm shift, a new way of looking at herself. And what would make her dream come true is if Hudson could look at her that way, too. They had it in the store. In her size. Set up on a display at the corner of the dresser holding her plain cotton undies.
What would Hudson think of her in such an outfit? Would he laugh? Be puzzled? She wasn’t sure which was worse to contemplate. Dwelling on either option elicited a panic attack, so she imagined the type of reaction she wanted, getting so lost in the heat of it that she blushed, starting when the sales girl spoke to her. The woman, in league with the Devil she was sure, smoothly took the items out of her hands and told her she’d take them up front so she could buy them when she was done shopping.
* * *
Somehow, the cart had driven itself over to the inn. It was closed today, as it wouldn’t have guests until the weekend, but Hudson was doing maintenance. She had Part One laid out in her mind, but actually that was as far as she got. Part One was the only part. After that it was going to be like perching on the top of steepest hill at the ski slope. Once she pushed off, momentum and guts were supposed to carry her. Carry both of them.
She parked in back. It was a secluded area, but she still felt self-conscious as she shrugged out of the light jacket. He’d hear her coming. He always did and would meet her with a cheerful hello. She had about a minute to prepare and she didn’t let herself hesitate. She’d worn her white shirt loose over the skirt. It looked modest to the casual observer, but now she quickly unbuttoned it, knotted the tails beneath her breasts. Though it still showed a good deal of her cleavage, she left one button hooked. She wasn’t quite that brave or brazen. In fact, brave was not working at all. Her teeth were about to chatter, and her knees were trembling already.
Think about the way your knees go weak when he smiles at you in that special way. That’s something to tremble about. He’d always made her feel that way, but she’d buried her appreciation for it, for the side of him that made her juices stir, under dinner recipes, embroidery and trips to Wal-Mart for lightbulbs.
He wouldn’t laugh at her. If nothing else, he was her friend. Her friend.
Oh God, that could make it worse if he just tried to be nice, cover embarrassment for them both.
Then the moment of decision was over. He opened the French doors, the rear entrance to the inn’s foyer. He was casually but neatly clad in a pair of jeans and clean black T-shirt tucked in.
She’d been fortunate that today had been warm. The island really didn’t experience harsh winters, but today could have been far colder.
She’d set all sorts of tests for herself when she’d been planning this. If I get up and it’s cold, it’s a sign. I won’t do it. It had started at sixty-five, sunny with a promise to climb to seventy-two. If things get busy at the office, I won’t do it. She’d had one visitor, and that was someone asking directions to city hall. Their part of the island was quiet, peaceful.
He was doing maintenance work, for he wore a tool belt and had some sawdust on that dark T-shirt. He had his eyes squinted against the sun, but when she was up close she knew she’d see a dark brown iris that had a lighter ring on the outside, not quite an amber.
It seemed like she knew everything about him. The shape of his hands. Strong, masculine, nails short but clean. His smiles…slow, when he was thinking, or quick, mischievous, a pull at the corner of his mouth when he was sharing a joke with her or planning to tease her, or play a trick on someone. So much like her sons. He liked his pranks, and he’d never spared her.
It seemed like the only thing she didn’t know was how he was going to react to this. Earlier, in the flush of excitement, she’d wondered why she’d waited so long to try this. Now she wondered if she’d lost her mind.
Too late.
With a deep breath, and not allowing herself much time to think, she gathered up the brochures she’d brought in one hand.
He’d started down the stairs. As she turned toward him, scooting forward to put her feet on the ground so the skirt shifted up a bit, he came to a stop.
Just a teasing glance at first. She rose before he could see too much, the skirt falling into place. What there was of it. She gave him a bright smile.
“Laura Ann, what—”
“I’m Laura Ann Tyler, the church secretary.” She put a hand on her hip. “I understand you’re going to be managing the Inn and realized you didn’t have our latest brochures.” She fluttered the stack at him, held just below the knot of her shirt, above which her breasts were pushed up front and center in the black bra, the lacy edges of the cups visible in tempting portions.
She got the words out in a rush. This was the crucial moment. Would he go along with her game of total strangers to play out her fantasy? To make it reality? To make all sorts of things she wanted but couldn’t imagine, a reality?
As his gaze dropped, lingered, an unexpected wantonness stole over her, a compulsion that made her let the brochures drift upward, brush the swell of her right breast. “Brought them myself, since I haven’t taken time to come by and give you a proper welcome to the island.”
Those brown eyes snapped to her face at the blatantly suggestive tone. She waited, thought about doing the hip cocking move like that model and discarded it. The ball was in his court. Would he join in her game, or would the next move be perilously awkward?
No, she wasn’t going to let it all rest on that. “I can tell you’re the shy type.” She let a provocative smile grow on her face as she moved across the ground to him. Not her usual brisk walk, but a saunter that made her hips sway in that naughty schoolgirl skirt that reached mid-thigh. Barely. He was still focused on her breasts, particularly now that they were quivering with each step she made in her shiny school girl shoes. She’d used black lace ribbon ties on them, dressing them up against the delicate white lace bobby socks. Because he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off her breasts, she was sure he might be missing the flirty ripples of the skirt that would give him a hint of what was beneath. But that was okay. They had all afternoon. The joy of the thought surged through her. The hungry way he was looking at her galvanized her to further boldness.
Hudson, make my dream come true. Play with me, join my fantasy. You are my fantasy.
When she reached him, she held out her hand. “Hudson, isn’t it? Mr. Cole?”
He blinked and that slow smile crossed his face, the one she knew so well, the one that made her feel safe and appreciated. Now it had an additional, different component. Intensely noticed.
“Hudson is fine.” He enclosed her hand in his own, more of a hold than a shake, and his thumb passed over her pulse, making her want to shiver as she saw male awareness in his eyes of how it was racing. “I’m sorry, I was a bit distracted. What did you say your name was?”
“Laura Ann.” She hid her smile. “The church secretary.”
“I never realized there was such an inspiring reason to come to church.”
She chuckled, but when his grip started to tighten, to draw her forward, she slipped free, turned and started up the steps. “The last innkeeper had a place for our brochures. I’ll just go change them out. And then maybe you could give me a tour of the rooms you’ve just had renovated. If you have the time.” She looked over her shoulder at him, one foot on the top step, the other on the one just below. Now that she was above ground level, the breeze was having far more play with the pleated hem, and his attention moved down. He should be getting a glimpse of the top of the thigh high stocking, the clip of the garter holding it. If the wind cooperated, even a tantalizing view of her bottom and what very little scrap of cloth was covering it.
“If you’re busy, I’ll just go in and get these situated. I don’t want to be a bother.”
She turned with a coy look and stepped up to the porch. By the time she put her hand on the doorknob, he was there beside her, his hand covering it, opening it for her. Since she’d only heard two strides, she suspected he’d vaulted up the stairs.
“Why thank you, Mr. Cole. A gentleman.”
He grinned, those brown eyes flashing at her as he laid a hand on the small of her back, where there was a strip of skin bare between the waistband and the tail of the tied shirt. His fingers were confident, communicating that he’d have that same confidence moving over any part of her body. He knew what women liked, how to touch them. The weatherman had said it would be in the sixties today, but she was sure it was climbing into the sultry 90s of a Tennessee Williams play.
“I think I told you to call me Hudson.”
The foyer had a horseshoe-shaped check in desk, bouquets of fresh flowers, sprays of white roses with pink baby’s breath clustered at their base. Tasteful and elegant, supporting the inn’s high quality reputation. She put the brochures in the wall display, plucking the old ones out, and then cast her eye on the tea tray they’d placed near the entrance. It had cups for water, a carafe for guests. There was a bowl of chocolate dipped mint creams, gleaming dark chocolate orbs whose richness she could smell.
“May I?” She passed her fingers over the smooth textures and raised a brow. Hudson had gone to the desk and was leaning against it, just watching her, his well-defined arms crossed.
“You don’t look like a woman who indulges in chocolate much.”
“No.” That was true. She gave him a glance beneath her lashes. “But some things are just too tempting to pass up. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Honey, I’ll agree with anything you say as long as you’re going to tell me what’s under that skirt.”
She made a shocked expression. “Why, I think I better go back to calling you Mr. Cole. We’ve just met. That’s a highly improper thing to say to the church secretary. You’re a bad man.”
He nodded, his eyes glinting. “You’ve no idea what kind of bad thoughts I’m having.” He glanced down at himself. “Or maybe you’re starting to.”
A flush flowed over her skin like oil from a scented bath. She lifted the mint to her lips, put the chocolate between her lips and bit down, the cool cream inside touching the tip of her tongue. When she’d melted enough of the outside coating with the heat of her mouth, she leaned against the wall next to the tray, mirroring his pose, and propped one leg up against it.
She strolled her fingers up her body, along her bare midriff, to the knot in the shirt, and unbuttoned that one last button of the shirt. Tucking that hand behind her back then, she used the other to remove the melted chocolate and slowly draw it down her throat. He swallowed, his eyes following the descent as she got lower, resting the chocolate in the snug crevice between her breasts, leaving it there to take her now empty fingers to her lips, suck on each one, before she slipped that hand behind her back as well, which raised her breasts even higher.
She remembered her son wasn’t the only one with a sweet tooth. Who would abandon decorum to make sure every trace of chocolate was consumed. “Do you like candy, Mr. Cole?”
“More than life itself at the moment.”
She smiled, but trembled a little at his expression as he crossed the floor to her. Not with quick strides and the pounce she expected. Deliberate steps, until he stood just in front of her. She kept her hands behind her back with an effort and tilted her head to look at him. She’d worn a wet strawberry lip gloss in honor of the holiday, and she knew the aromas would be twining together, the chocolate with the strawberry. As she met his gaze he reached out, cupping her jaw, lifting her chin with just a nudge of his thumb. Just that precursor of what was to come had her nipples hardening, aching against the restrictive bra. Then he bent his head to her throat and began to suckle the line of chocolate off of her.
Laura Ann expelled a breath, her fingers digging into the wall, hips lifting, body lifting to that mouth, as if begging for his attention everywhere. As if he thought she was getting ready to move, his hand slid down behind her, down the wall over her ass, and where she had her hands gripped together, he gripped her wrists together in one hand. Sending a jolt of electricity through her at the light restraint, the command he’d taken of the moment.
“Tell me,” he murmured against her skin as he worked his way down her throat. She could feel the compressed heat on her breasts held between their two bodies. His tongue touched the tender pocket inside her collarbone and she gasped. “Does the church know what a naughty girl their secretary is?”
“That’s why I got a job. Since I have to spend a lot of time there anyway, I thought I could make myself useful.”
He stopped, and his chuckle vibrated against her. But when he licked the top of her breast, she moaned, and the smile against her skin became something else. He nipped her and she tilted up, wanting him to…oh, yes. That. His nose and mouth nuzzled down into the demi cup, the round chocolate a sensual weight in the cleft between her aching curves of flesh. Her nipple, close to the edge in the half cup, was easy for his tongue to reach and tease with a slow, caressing lick. God, she was getting soaked. She wanted him to touch her there. She wanted. She tried to free one arm and he just moved his weight against her, holding her against the wall, her wrists still pinioned by his big hand.
“Be still, naughty girl,” he said, low and rough. “Or you’ll earn yourself a spanking.”
Shock flooded her, not just from the fact Hudson had said such a thing, but her reaction to it. The visual image was immediately just there, him turning her, maybe seizing her waist and dragging her over to one of the pretty wing-backed chairs, putting her over his thighs and then…
She broke away, her lips parted, body actually throbbing with want, and tried to balance herself. The fantasy she’d worried she couldn’t pull off at all was becoming something far more real than she’d expected.
“I understand you’ve renovated some of the rooms,” she said, a little breathlessly. She swept her lashes down so she could check out if he was as affected as she was. The jeans he was wearing were constricted deliciously across his groin area. She’d always liked the look of him in that area on a normal day. Aroused…
She turned toward the stairs to the second level, forced herself not to sprint. “Will you show me, Mr. Cole? Many of the island guests ask me about the inn when they visit the chapel. It helps if I can tell them first hand what they’re like.”
“It would be my pleasure to do that.” His brown eyes met hers, held her gaze and she saw simmering fires there. It made the ball of need in her stomach into a clenched fist. If she’d ever thought of herself as the hunter and him as the hunted, that look was making her doubt whether the situation was under her control anymore. And she loved the switch.
Stepping up beside her, he put a light hand back to the small of her back again, his palm feeling like the sensual heat of the sun when one dozed on a picnic blanket in a meadow. “Right this way.”
They went up the stairs that way, her just ahead, him one pace behind, that hand there on her. As she moved, it slid from its gentlemanly place on the low part of her back to the curve of her buttock, her bare thigh. Inadvertent brushes possibly under different circumstances, but nothing was inadvertent about the situation now.
She’d been so protected in her own upbringing that she’d extrapolated that to her own boys. She’d been terrified the first time they rode a roller coaster, hadn’t wanted them to leave the driveway on their bikes. But here she was, suddenly feeling reckless and wild, like she could do anything, risk the highest jump for a moment of passion.
“This is the captain’s quarters, our nicest suite.” He opened the double doors for her with a key and pushed it open, gesturing to her to precede him. The room had a wide vista of windows looking out over the green and blue expanse of the marsh that was fed by the confluence of the waterway and the ocean. She saw two herons, one black and one white, standing in silent majestic grace at a distance in the grasses. There was a sitting area in the room, a Persian carpet, and a high tester bed with tall wooden carved posts and a white pinpoint spread. Layers of pillows. Fresh vases of pink and white flowers by the bed, and blood red roses, rich and carnal, in a vase by the window.
“Why do you set out fresh flowers if you have no guests today?”
It was something she’d never noticed, never thought to ask. Something new about him she didn’t know, and being able to ask something she didn’t know about him made the day that much more compatible with her fantasy.
The sun bathed the pale yellow walls and sheer panels in golden light, gleaming on the grain of the mahogany wood of the bed’s headboard. There was a blue wing-backed chair next to the expanse of windows.
With the room washed in gold there was a feeling of magic to it. The roses were the centerpiece, the petals soft and satiny in appearance, erotically perfect in the way only roses knew how to be, out of all God’s flowers.
“I think you were getting this room ready for a tryst with your girlfriend,” she said, moving into the room, stopping to finger the roses. She turned her head, looked at him. His gaze was sliding up the back of her legs. One was straightened out just behind her, giving her hips a lift on one side that tilted her bottom up slightly in that oh-so-short skirt.
“I might have been,” he agreed, his brown eyes rising to hers. “She might be here soon.”
“Let’s see.” Letting her hand whisper away from the roses, she moved to the bank of windows, making sure her hips swung with each step. Placing her knee on the wingback chair arm and her hands on the opposite arm, she leaned forward, her other foot arching and almost leaving the ground, allowing her to look out.
She heard his breath draw in, a muttered expletive, something to the effect of taking the Lord’s name in vain, something Hudson never did. It made her lips curve again in a foolish, soft smile that quivered on the edges, like the feeling in her stomach. God, she was so hot and yet so…quiet, at the same time. Everything in her waiting, ready.
In this position, fully leaned over, she was giving him an unencumbered view of the black garters attached to the lace top hose, the very brief Brazilian cut black panties which generously revealed the curves of her buttocks, the slim line of satiny fabric outlining the plump curve of what was between her legs, soaking wet. Her pussy. She liked that word, even if she could only dare to say it in her mind, and only now, when this outfit and his blazing reaction were giving her the courage to do so.
“I don’t see anyone coming up the walkway.” She looked over her shoulder at him, holding the provocative smile in place as she tilted her hips up further with the motion. “So I guess I could keep you company until she gets here. After all, a man looking like you could easily get preyed on by girls looking for nothing but trouble.”
“Is that so?” He started across the room. She began to straighten.
“No. Stay like that.”
It wasn’t a request. She blinked, surprised and aroused by the male demand in his tone. This was a Hudson she didn’t know as well, but then, she was being who he’d never expected her to be. She’d perhaps roused a sleeping tiger in him, a part of him she’d wanted but had never dared to coax out, let alone taunting it forth as she was now.
She remained still as a deer as he approached, his attention coursing over her, his mouth firm, unsmiling. When he reached her, his hand was decisive, deliberate. His palm ran down the slope of a buttock, his thumb making a pass over the wet silk between her legs, a gesture that made her gasp and lift her hips higher.
“Be still, I said.”
She pouted, actually pouted, and wiggled her hips, just a little.
His lips curved, the brown in his eyes going gold, toward conflagration. “You are a bad thing, aren’t you? Well, we know just what to do about that.”
Whap!
She started, another breath leaving her as his hand smacked her bottom. And no light, glancing blow, either. She felt the sting, the recoil sending a ripple through her pussy all the way deep into her belly where all the romantic and erotic yearnings of her life seemed to have gathered.
He met her gaze, his curious, burning. She wet her lips. Wiggled her ass again.
Whap! Whap! Whap!
She pressed her face into her shoulder, trying to absorb the amazing rocket of sensation and then mewled like a kitten as he rubbed the reddened area, his clever fingers stroking between her legs.
“Spread them out further for me.”
She obliged, obeyed, feeling the color in her cheeks climbing as her breath became more labored.
“Tell me what you want, Annie.” His nickname for her, the one no one else used. “Tell me the way a dirty girl who comes to my door wearing a fuck-me-blind outfit like this would say it.”
Oh, God. She could barely speak past what he was doing to her. His fingers hooked the crotch of the panties and tugged, increasing the pressure on her clit as he played his fingertips beneath the fabric among the wet silk of her.
“Can’t. Hudson…I can’t…”
“You’re not such a dirty girl, are you, sweetheart? Not at all. But you are for me. You say it, just for me. I won’t tell anyone.” His tender murmur, laced with lust, undid her. She’d do anything for him.
“F-fuck me. Fuck my…pussy. With your cock.”
“My big cock in your tight little pussy?”
She almost purred at the harsh sound of sex in his voice, but she was enjoying her role too much to give in completely. She was enjoying not only what it was doing to her, but to him as well.
Lifting her head, she found as he had spanked her, she had dropped lower against the arm, bringing her hips higher into the air. Now she blinked up at him, once, twice, moistening her lips while he watched the tip of her tongue.
“Well, I haven’t seen it yet. I can’t say that, can I? Not and know for sure it’s true. And I never lie. I am the church secretary, you know.”
He grinned, pure and sexy, feral, and his hand went to his jeans. He slipped the button and took down the zipper, showing her a generous bulge behind the dark cotton underwear. Then he paused, the jeans open, and pulled his shirt over his head, showing her the fine lines of his upper body, sculpted by the outdoor work he did, the weight training.
He surprised her by going to the table and removing two of the roses, bringing them back to her. He drifted the heavy bulbs over the flesh of her buttocks, letting her feel their smooth silken texture, so like her own skin, even to the moistness of the light mist he’d put on them. He dragged them across both buttocks, even allowing the thorns on the stems to lightly scrape her, giving her a shiver.
“Take the skirt off, Annie. Let me see you wiggle out of it. Then maybe I’ll show you how long and hard my cock is.”
She straightened, acutely aware of his eyes on her every movement, and unfastened the back of the skirt, slid the zipper down. After a moment of contemplation, she kept her back to him and shimmied it off her hips, bending over to pull it free and then kick it aside. Turning to face him, she untied the knot of the shirt, let it slide from her shoulders so she was just standing before him in the black scraps of underwear, garters and hose.
“Oh, Annie.” He said it in an almost reverent tone. “You’ll make me explode like a teenager. You’re a gift from God in truth.”
She swallowed. “I’ve been trembling like a teenager inside, ever since I drove up.”
He met her gaze. Everything she’d been worrying about lately, all her self doubt, it all just melted away with that look. This room, the warm lazy golden heat of it, the not-so-lazy warmth in his eyes, her body basked in all of it. She didn’t need want to move, except her body was throbbing with need.
“Please…Hudson.”
He came to her. Took her hand, started moving backwards toward the chair, his gaze never leaving hers. “I like that,” he whispered huskily. “Beg some more. It makes me harder.”
She closed her eyes, shuddered. “Please. Take me. I need to be taken. By you. Only by you.”
“Damn right only by me.”
He shoved his jeans down to his thighs and pushed his underwear down to follow, revealing in fact a long, hard cock with a broad head she could just imagine drenched in her juices, the shaft glistening as it plunged in and out of her.
He sat down on the chair and then pulled her forward, his hands going around her to grip her ass, her thighs. In a moment of strength that took her breath away, he lifted her, steadying and guiding her as he made her straddle him, her legs spread open and draped over the chair arms.
“Watch me.” He held her with one hand braced on her buttock and guided his cock toward her open pussy, weeping for him. At the first touch of the broad head, she convulsed, arching toward him, and managed to drive him half way home. He growled, caught her hips in both hands and lifted her, bringing her closer into his body and driving his hips upward so on her downward stroke he impaled her deep, filling her, causing her to moan again, harder, more guttural.
He drove the pace, because with her legs spread open by the chair she was limited in mobility and vulnerable to his clever hands, which reached in to play with her clit. Those flexible fingers made her to shriek and bounce on him, trying to rock and get a rhythm he wouldn’t allow, taunting her further. Pressing his other hand to her back as he manipulated her clit, played against the stretched opening where his cock penetrated her, he focused on her breasts, nipping, sucking at her flesh, burrowing his face and the rough line of his jaw in the lace, rooting until he found a nipple and latched on, suckling with ruthless intent.
Laura Ann cried out again and again from the sensations rocketing beneath his mouth and fingers, from the stroke of his cock. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, dug into his slick skin and lifted herself up high enough to free her legs, tuck them inside the chair on either side of his hips and sink full down on him, moaning her pleasure at feeling him to the root, held snug and tight within her. His hands moved, grasping her ass firmly, and she began to ride.
She wanted to ride him hard, rough and fast, as only a girl in a naughty girl skirt with a desire to seduce and fuck and love a man with every part of her could.
“Oh God…” His hands bruised now, his breath rasping against her nipple, his tongue wonderfully wet and hot. “You feel, so damn good…I love your cunt…the way it sucks on my cock…I love you…”
And the words were all it took. She shattered, free falling, soaring, soaring as the pleasure took her. He goaded it to further heights, pumping strong into her as his tongue lashed her nipple, again and again and then his mouth latched on again and bit as his own release came, making her cling to him. Male power surged up and over. He pounded into her, calling out her name, just calling out, the sound of a man who’d been pushed far beyond civilized constraints of control, political and gender niceties to claim the woman he wanted in a rite as old as time itself.
As they both slowed, feeling the heat of the sun within and without, Laura Ann thought it was like spiraling down from a roller coaster, the trundle back to the beginning with nothing but quivering limbs, a hoarse throat and silly smiles. She’d never ridden the roller coaster before of course…but that’s just the way her boys had looked when they came back to her. All three of them.
Hudson pressed his lips to her throat and she held him there, her arms around him, hands pressed to his skull, curling into his hair.
At length, he rose, still holding her against him, hitching up her legs around his waist so he could carry her to the bed and lay her down there. He stood above her, staring at her, his mind filled with thoughts she couldn’t know but didn’t fear, for the love she’d always known was there in his eyes. She wondered she’d ever doubted it when she took the risk of doing this, of going into an area neither of them had ever explored.
He’d kicked away the jeans and underwear, so now he stretched out next to her completely naked and began to take off her remaining clothes. Unflicking the bra with capable fingers, sliding the wet panties down her legs, lifting up a little to bend her legs and take off each stocking. Together they watched them float to the floor, her palm finding the line of his back and stroking the line of rib and muscle as he propped himself up beside her. He ran a finger under her full breast and up over the nipple, then down over her stomach, finding her wetness, smoothing his fingers there and making her shudder.
His eyes darkened at her response and she noticed the twitch of his cock. It made her lick her lips.
“I think my naughty girl is going to be ready for another ride soon,” he observed in a husky whisper, moving his fingers to her lips, letting her taste herself. “Mrs. Laura Ann Tyler Cole, I think you made a new year’s resolution that you didn’t tell me about.”
She smiled, traced his firm lips with her own hand, watched him kiss her fingers, nip them.
“Not a new resolution. It’s the same one I’ve made, every day, every year, since the day we got married. To love you forever, with my whole heart, body and soul. I’d just gotten a little behind on the body part. And I discovered,” her voice softened, “That there’s more of my heart and soul to give you than I knew. Thank you, Hudson.”
“Now that is something a naughty girl never needs to say.” He moved onto her, nudging her legs further apart. He was indeed ready again, and her body was more than ready to take him.
“What about your girlfriend?” She arched a brow.
“Oh, my wife got here first. But now that I know she’s got this whole new side, maybe I can talk her into a threesome.”
“Hudson Cole.” She slapped at him. He caught her hand, shooting her that prankster’s grin he’d given both of their sons. Then he kissed her palm, flicked a tongue over her wrist pulse, an amazingly erotic sensation he knew would distract her. “You know you’re always enough for me, now and forever, Annie. Naughty or nice. It’s all the same to me. I love you.”
Happy Valentine’s Day…
Subject: The Naughty Schoolgirl Skirt (A Valentine's Gift to her Fans) 
Sat Mar 27, 2010 11:15 pm
