That four-letter word has my cock thickening in my pants. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” She nods solemnly, then guides me through the busy ball room by the tie to a back room. It’s medium-sized, potentially a room used to store coats during a party. But right now, it’s empty, except for a yoga mat and a leather reclining chair.
“You knew I was coming,” I say, letting her push me down into the seat, sweat already beginning to dapple my forehead and top lip.
She closes the door and locks it. “I might have had a feeling.” Circling me, she drags her index along my shoulder, removing my jacket and hanging it on the door knob. “You’re always extra hard on our anniversary.”
Jesus, I’m panting just knowing what’s coming. “I’m remembering the first night I had you in my bed. In our home. How it felt to know you were really mine. Completely mine.”
“I love that,” she whispers in my ear.
And when she comes to stand in front of me again, she’s completely naked.
Except for a little pink, sparkly G-string.
“Oh Jesus,” I groan, widening the V of my thighs and unzipping my pants, my erection growing at a rate that makes me light-headed. “You’re so fucking good to me.”
“It’s just a little yoga,” she says flirtatiously, turning to face away from me and dropping into downward facing dog, that pink string stretching over her asshole, the material already damp, no doubt from teasing me. Tongue wetting my lips, I start to beat off, no way to control myself. Especially when she extends one of her legs, lifting it, spreading the lips of her pussy, giving me a view of her tits in the process.
I came home one day to find her practicing yoga in our bedroom and came in my pants. The next time I found her doing it she was naked and I barely managed to get my cock inside of her before blowing. There is something about the stretching of her limber body, the almost raunchy exposing of the heaven between her legs, between those cheeks, that makes me so hard it hurts. “Do the goddamn thing, Josie,” I beg her now. “Please.”
I hold my breath as she walks backward, still bent over. One leg extends back and settles onto the chair beside my thigh, her ankle sliding back to meet my hip. She performs the same action with her other leg, then perches her knees on the edge of the recliner. The position is what dreams are made of. Her butt is just above my jerking hand and she drops down, giving me a few circles of her hips, stopping right when I begin to moan—and then she falls forward through the V of my thighs, flattening her hands on the ground.
No matter what age Josie is, I would have fallen in love with her.
She’s my soul mate—end of story.
But I would be lying if I said there weren’t certain perks that come with being married to a girl fresh out of college. For instance, her generation has a thing called twerking. And she does it for me now, popping her hips and shaking that tight, juicy ass right in front of me, arching her back so I can watch her pussy move, too, watch the juices roll down her flesh and drip into my lap. I have to clamp my teeth together to keep from bellowing my male satisfaction at what she’s doing, the erotic tempo of her jiggling cheeks almost too much to bear. My seed starts to grow sharp in my balls, seeking an outlet.
“Papa?”
I grunt, unable to form words, my gaze riveted on the rosebud of her asshole, my fist rifling up and down my erection.
“Left you something in your pocket,” she purrs in that little girl voice.
Sweating, my breath sawing in and out, I pat my dress shirt once and find a small object in the pocket. When I reach inside and pull it out with my left hand, I have to twist my balls in my right to stop myself from climaxing. It’s a bottle of lubrication—and Christ, I know what that means. I know this is an invitation she always extends when I least expect it.
“Ah fuck, little girl. Fuck. You’re going to let me in there, aren’t you?” In a surge of lust and adrenaline, I lunge out of the chair and flatten her on the yoga mat, ripping the cap off the bottle of lube with my teeth and pouring the entire contents on her tight, pink asshole. I wedge a middle finger in, making her whimper, her whines growing louder when I add my ring finger, adorned with the gold band of a man who couldn’t be more married. More committed to the girl currently giving him everything. Every part of herself.
She lifts slightly beneath me to push a hand down between her legs, moaning as she starts rubbing her clit, a ripple of pleasure going through her back. “Oh. Papa,” she whines, her hips starting to roll, my beautiful goddess of a wife humping her own hand.