It’s Wednesday, Hump Day, that midweek slump. Today I’m adding some heat to your week by sharing an excerpt from my short story Marital Bonds.
A hot, emotional read about a husband and wife who find their way back to one another.
After three years of struggling, I’m tired. I miss my husband. I miss our intimacy.
Three years ago tragedy struck and destroyed our sex life. It nearly ruined our marriage.
Thanks to help from a sensuality coach, I’ve got three assignments to act out with my husband, each designed to help us find our way back to each other and reignite the flame on our once searing sex life.
I walk onto the brightly lit stage and peer into the blackness where an audience should be. My heightened nerves are frazzled, but the first strain of the sultry song comes across the sound system. As if it’s automatic, my body sways in response.
My high-heeled shoes glide across the lacquered floor. I toss a sultry look at the audience, knowing my husband is out there, watching me. Adrenaline rushes through me as I realize he could be one of many watching—or he could be the only other person in this room—not knowing is part of the challenge. It’s part of the thrill.
I shimmy my shoulders and let the sequins on the low-cut bodice of my dress sparkle in the light. Swaying my hips, I strut to one side of the stage and then to the other. I treat the faceless, hypothetical audience on each side of the stage to jovial gyrations.
Taking center stage again, I slowly reach behind me and unhook the straps of my halter dress. I let the straps fall forward, but clutch the garment at my chest. I don’t want to show too much just yet. This dance is about the tease, it’s about suspense.
I swivel my hips in an exaggerated move to turn around. With my back to the audience, I let my dress fall to my waist. My bare back is exposed and I steal a glance over my shoulder, giving whoever may be watching me an impish grin as I push the dress down the curve of my hips until it slides past my legs and pools at my feet. I’m clad only in a bejeweled G-string, and I give a little wiggle of my ass to the audience.
Moving to the beat, I slowly turn. The champagne colored sequined pasties covering my nipples gleam in the light. Although no tassels are attached to the pasties, I shimmy, causing my breasts to move in a circular motion. Getting into the music and the atmosphere, I roll my body and drop to my knees.
The song is nearing its crescendo and I really want to let go, to get into this. And not just for the benefit of whoever may be watching me. The truth is there could be one hundred people out in the audience, and there could be just one person, my husband Eric. Or, there could be no one. The idea that I might be dancing alone in a darkened room doesn’t bother me.
I could and should do this for myself. For no one else. I needed to let go. So I did.
Under the bright white spotlight, on my knees on the stage, I rock my hips and run my hands up the length of my body. Leaning back until my shoulders touch the floor, I gyrate my core, making my tits bounce in a circular motion. I let the shimmy infuse my whole body with erotic energy.
My arms rise above my head and as the song comes to an end, I stop. I hold the position, on my knees with my arms extended above my head, my body perfectly still, save for the rapid rise and fall of my chest as I try to regain my breath.
The spotlight turns off and the room is plunged into total darkness. I raise my torso, but remain kneeling on the stage. Is he here? Does Eric want me to stay on my knees? Will he come to me or am I supposed to leave the stage and find him somewhere in this dark, unfamiliar room?
Suddenly another spotlight comes on. It’s smaller than the one that had illuminated the stage, the lighting softer. It shines on a single man, sitting at a table. A tumbler of scotch sits in front of him.
The handsome dark-haired man dressed in all black makes my heartbeat accelerate.
I rise to my feet and slowly, seductively make my way toward my husband.