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It’s a gloriously sunny, lazy Sunday morning, and light is pouring through the windows, warming the room. I finish clearing our dishes, looking over to where the sun casts a springtime glow on the soft wood of the table where Stanley is reading the paper, absentmindedly sipping his cappuccino. He looks so handsome, his brow furrowed as he reads, and I smile, a small shiver of anticipation running through me. I have a plan for Stanley this morning, although he is not aware of it yet.

He’s been up for a while, longer than me by some time, his usual morning run already under his belt, and now he’s casually dressed in a white shirt, half open to expose his chest, and jeans. The sun behind him makes him look angelic, but I know better, and I intend to rouse the devil in him so that I can enjoy his dark side. I revelled in a little extra time in bed this morning and still have my pyjamas on. I don’t like to rush around at the weekends; it’s a time for slow, sensual living and, hopefully today, some delicious fucking. The bed had still been warm and cosy when Stanley had got up for his run earlier, and I had snuggled further under the covers, not wanting to expose my flesh to the slight chill of the spring breeze where we had left the window open overnight. I breathed in deeply as I wrapped the duvet around me and I could smell his aftershave on the pillows and on my skin where we had been entwined only a short time ago. I had let my fingers slowly wander over my body, imagining it was him, and I had closed my eyes, teasing myself, pinching my nipples, letting my fingers drift between my legs, imagining what I wanted to do to him later. I had been breathless and tingling all over by the time he had returned for a quick shower.

Now, we’ve had breakfast, sticky, flaky pastries and orange juice, and he is engrossed in either the politics or the sport section of the Sunday papers, so I need to entertain myself and distract him so that he finishes quickly. I’m hungry for him, a deep-seated lust making me almost drowsy in the sunshine. I wander over to the piano that sits in the space between the kitchen and the breakfast room, aware of every move of my body, and settle onto the stool, running my fingertips over the dark wood, wriggling on the hard seat as I imagine being bent over it and spanked. Stanley loves to pull my panties down, baring my behind so that he can pink my flesh. But today I’m feeling sultry, I want intensity, lust, a duet where both of us play our parts.

The piano has always been a passion of mine, and Stanley loves to hear me play. Since we first met, he has told me that he loves to watch the ecstasy on my face as I let myself be moved by the music. He says it is like watching me fuck, caught on a wave as the music moves from pianissimo to crescendo and back.