Overwhelmed, Part One

There was this moment, in the middle of eating lunch with Sir and the Southern Gentleman, that I actually acknowledged what we were going to do when we got back to Sir’s place. It was odd, we were at this point of sort of actual comfort and contrived conversation. Like, yes, let’s discuss how good American Hustle was. No, let’s not talk about how I’m getting spit-roasted in roughly an hour.

When we got back to Sir’s place, he told me to go get changed and I disappeared into his bedroom. As I slipped out of my clothing, I could hear them talking and laughing in the living room. I was wearing something that I can’t really describe as much beyond a lacey, bowed, mesh, thonged leotard (photo for reference), a pair of fishnet thigh-highs and a pair of black pumps. The heels were just a little too big for me, and so when I walked out into the living room, I stumbled a bit.

Sir’s living room has these tall windows and I told him that morning that I was feeling a little brave and I wanted them open for this. I figured not too many people would be able to really tell what was going on, especially with the futon being so low to the ground.

The corners of Sir’s lips turned up in a smirk, but he tried to stay nonchalant. He gestured to the futon, which was already folded down. “Go sit.” He and SG were drinking whiskey. An effort, perhaps, to continue to carry off the whole casual thing. 

I moved over to the futon and sat down. At first, I really couldn’t look at them, I was too nervous. But when I got up the nerve, I saw that while Sir had managed to look unconcerned, SG’s eyes were darting over to me every few seconds. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Sweetheart,” Sir said, “spread your legs, would you?”

I blushed and looked away once more as I moved my knees apart, and they continued to talk.