A Day’s End — as told from His Point of View

An erotic story where a woman comes home where playful teasing turns into after work intimacy. It builds into a passionate encounter with them wanting more. The events are based on those from A Day’s End – as told from Her Point of View.

Dinner made. Time to chill until she arrives home.

I think I’m going to continue reading that great book. Pulling it off the table, I decide her chair looks the most inviting to quickly get through a few chapters.

I hear the door before I see her. The way it shuts tells me everything I need to know. Not slammed in anger, just dropped into place with the full weight of the day behind it.

I look up just in time to hear it slam shut with her leaning against it. Her eyes are closed, and she looks like she’s had a heck of a day. She doesn’t know how much I enjoy looking at her, even with her hair ruffled by the weather and her coat slightly askew.

My thoughts get interrupted when I see her eyes open, finding mine. I can’t control the smile that my face instantly forms. Her look? Tired but softening.

“You ok?” I ask her.

“Ugh. Tired.” she replies. Her words not quite matching the smile that creeps onto her face as she looks over at me. “I’m glad you’re here. How are things with you?”

“Hmmm…” – my thoughts are momentarily distracted as I look down at my book again, trying to find the paragraph where I left off. “All right.” I say as I wonder if she’s going to kick me out of her favorite chair.

I can hear the grin in her response: “Good.”

Found it. The spot. Make a mental note. Bookmark. Where’s my bookmark?

As I look over to the side-table to see if it’s there, I see her going through her usual remove-her-heels-after-work motions. She drops her purse, shrugs off her coat, and starts kicking off her heels, one foot at a time, wobbling slightly.

Ah! There’s my bookmark, but she’s already made the journey over to me.

“Careful,” I say. “I’d hate to lose you to footwear-related injuries.”

“Tragic headline,” she mutters. “Local woman defeated by her own fashion choices.”

I smile and go back to my book—well, I pretend to. I’m watching her over the top of it.

She stretches, slow, deliberate, like she’s shedding the day piece by piece. I can practically see the tension leaving her.

Then she walks over.

Leans in close. Close enough that I forget what page I was on.

“Yes?” I ask her non-chalantly, wondering if the couch is my next destination. Her eyes are beautiful, but they seem to be especially bright this evening.

“I miss you when I’m gone.”

Not quite what I was expecting. She doesn’t say that often, but I love it when she does. The book might as well not exist anymore.

I put the book down because I want a clear shot. “I miss you too.” I lean forward and give her a quick kiss before telling her, “I made spaghetti sauce. Want some now? I just need to cook up some noodles.”

She leans in and starts kissing me on my temples, lightly around my eyes, and concludes with one on my cheek.

I thought she was casually ignoring my question before she responds with a “Nah.”

Not that it was necessary as I’m pretty sure I know what’s on her mind.

But “Mmm…” is all I can manage. I love when she kisses me like that. Light like a feather, but firm. Her lips have just enough pressure that it feels like an eye massage.

I then feel movement. In a split second, she’s raised her skirt, and is kneeling on top, her legs on either side so as to hold me in.

“Yes?” I ask as my hands find my way to her legs. They want to give the impression of offering her support, but they really just want to touch her. The look on my face probably gives my intentions away, but I don’t care.

“Do you mind?”

I can’t help but laugh to myself. What man would mind his woman getting playful with him? Her hand moves to cup my cheek for a moment. “No.”

“Okay” she says as she kisses me quickly, then suddenly pulls back giggling. I can’t help but giggle at her sitting there so adorably, yet also so sexy, on top of me.

She leans forward again and kisses me slowly this time. I love how her kisses feel new and exciting; always different.

There’s no rush. That’s the dangerous part. When there’s no rush, you notice everything—the way she moves, the way she reacts, the way she looks at you like she already knows how this ends.

Our hands start exploring lightly, then hugging tight. I slowly move my hands from her back to under her sweater, then around to the front, feeling her breasts through her bra. Her bare skin is warm and slightly damp from sweat. While I was distracted, she has somehow unbuttoned my shirt and is kissing my chest.

As I move my hands towards her long legs, she starts to play with my chest. She’s driving me wild. An “mmm” escapes me as I pull her tighter. Her hair smells so good and I kiss it lightly while her hands slowly moving towards my buttocks.

“Hey,” I murmur after a while. “My turn.”

“Bold of you to assume it wasn’t already.”

I laugh against her skin and take over anyway.

She finishes for me by playfully lifting it up over her head and throwing it onto the couch. I go to kiss her breasts above her bra, and then through the lace. I know she loves that sensation, and fully responds by moving closer to stroke my back and kiss me on the mouth.

I reach towards her skirt, slipping my hand under and moving it up slowly along the outside of her thigh. I find the top of her stocking, slip a finger under and move to the – “Garter belt?” I’m surprised, she has never worn one before.

She smiles cheekily back at me. I catch a glimpse of that “Gotcha!” look before she starts leaning forward to kiss me on my forehead.

She smiles like she’s been waiting all day for that exact reaction. “Mmm-hmm” is her suave reply.

“Planning this all day?”

“Maybe.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Only if you had other plans.”

“I did,” I say. “Spaghetti.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Life is full of difficult choices.”

I’m not complaining.

Not even a little.

I move my hands up further, exploring her amazingly long and smooth legs as I find her breast with my mouth. I seem to be distracting her now and she stays still, only her hands stroking my back and shoulders firmly.

My hands move again, slower now, more deliberate. There’s something about the way she’s watching me, like she’s enjoying the anticipation as much as anything else.

Another surprise! I look up at her. “No underwear?” I ask, not needing an answer.

She opens her eyes and looks down at me with a smile like she just won something.

“You mind?” she replies as she leans down to kiss me lightly, a devilish grin flashing across her face. I’m lost for words as I gaze up into those sparkling eyes, her face so innocent.

“No, I don’t mind” I finally mumble as if there would be any other response for such a question.

She kisses me quickly, leaning back to look into my eyes… “Good”… before another kiss, longer this time.

That’s when the last bit of distance disappears.

The teasing, the pauses that give way to something more certain, more immediate. She moves against me, and whatever illusion I had about finishing that book, or cooking dinner, is gone.

I move my hips forward, my hands on her hips pulling her down against me.

“Here?” I ask her.

She answers with action. She pulls her skirt aside, the fabric rustling softly, and begins to rub herself against where I’m hard and protruding through my jeans. The friction is maddening, a tease that promises everything I want. She presses her mound against the denim, grinding down with a slow, deliberate pressure.

“Mm-hmm” she sighs, the sound vibrating against my chest.

I try to sound surprised with an “oh,” letting the syllable hang in the air. I don’t know why I bother with the charade.

I don’t know why because honestly, we both know I had no intentions of moving.

Honestly, we both know I had no intentions of moving. I’m exactly where I want to be. The surprise is for the benefit of the ghosts of propriety hovering in the corners of the room I suppose.

We continue to hold each other, kissing and hugging, moving in rhythm. Her mouth finds mine, and it’s not the tentative kiss of a girl unsure of herself; it’s the hungry kiss of a woman claiming a prize. Her tongue slides against mine, wet and insistent. Her legs are rubbing against my jeans, the smooth skin of her thighs creating a delicious friction against the rough denim. The contrast is intoxicating—the softness of her and the hardness of the situation.

Eventually, her fingers leave my waist and travel to the front of my pants. She unzips them. The sound of the teeth separating is loud in the quiet room, a tearing sound that signifies the point of no return. The cool air hits my skin for a split second before her hand is there, warm and demanding.

I pull my jeans and shorts out of the way, clearing the path. I am exposed to her, hard and aching, the evidence of my excitement throbbing in the air between us.

She doesn’t wait. She adjusts her stance, widening her legs, and allows herself to relax down onto me. I feel the wet heat of her pussy lips kiss the head of my dick, and then she is drawing me up within her. The slide is tight, impossibly tight, a velvet grip that sheathes me completely. A groan tears itself from my throat, raw and unfiltered.

I’m inside. I’m deep inside her. We continue the rhythm we had begun earlier, feeling it build. It’s a slow, grinding pace, a circular friction that hits every nerve ending. She feels incredible, her inner walls clenching around me, milking me as if she’s been waiting for this moment for a year.

From there, it’s just momentum. Heat, movement, the kind of closeness that makes everything else feel irrelevant. The room narrows down to just the two of us, the chair under me, and the rhythm we somehow fall into without thinking.

She pushes herself further down onto me, the intensity becoming unbearable. I arch back, pushing further into her as she starts clenching and unclenching around me, gripping me tighter, then relaxing. She is wet, soaking wet, and the sounds of our fucking fill the room—the wet slap of skin on skin, the heavy breathing, the occasional gasp when I hit a particularly deep spot.

“God…” I groan in absolute pleasure, pulling her closer, my breath heavy in her ear, moving frantically inside her now.

She answers in a way that makes it very clear I’m not the only one affected.

An “Ohh…” escapes her uncontrollably as she is pushing herself further down, taking me to the hilt. She is riding me now with abandon, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, lost in the moment we’re living out. I watch her face, contorted in pleasure, and I know I am giving her exactly what she came for.

The intensity becomes unbearable, a tight coil of pressure winding in my gut. Seeing her enjoy herself as much as she is on me sends those electric signal racing down my spine, commanding my uncontrollable release.

“Orgasm” is such a pale word for what we experience.

There’s something about after work intimacy with him that resets everything.

I feel the hot pulses of my cum shooting into her insides, triggering her own release. My body convulses with hers as our orgasm tears through each other. I let a deep groans out as she clamps down on me and my throbbing cock. She then collapses on me enjoying the aftermath of our shared climax.

I move over a little, giving her room to sit beside me in a chair not designed for two people to be there at once.

We’re both panting as we hold each other, bodies warm, embracing in the chair.

I glance at her; she glances back.

She is still.

I don’t want to move either.

Unless, of course, it’s to start over…

If you enjoyed this story, I invite you to read my other erotic tales.