I smiled slyly as I answered, “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. As a matter of fact, why don’t you take the day off and let me refresh you?”
She grabbed her purse and ran out the door.
She came home, arms heavy with folders. “I’ll be up half the night trying to finish these,” she said for clarification.
I wondered briefly why she couldn’t complete them at the office but held my tongue. Sometimes work did follow you home. She’d said nothing when I’d done it so I stayed silent.
I missed her as she worked in the office. I watched television, tried not to think about sex, but that’s all that was playing in my head—good sex with my wife. I finally went to bed around eleven while she sat there pecking at the computer, files all around her.
The revving of an engine woke me again. I felt across the bed, realized my wife wasn’t there. I heard footsteps and my heart clutched. I wanted to get up, see if our local librarian was putting on another show, but how to explain my forays into voyeurism to my wife?
I lay there as footsteps advanced into the kitchen. Heard the refrigerator door open and close…gulps of soda and light coughs afterward…the terrace curtain being slid aside…the door opening. I sat up then, wanting to stop her; wondering what was happening. Instead, I sat there frozen as a sweat broke out on my forehead.
After fifteen minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore. I crept to the patio door. My wife stood on the terrace staring at the same room I’d been a front-row voyeur to. My eyes glanced at the room window. Ms. Librarian was being reamed out, the man straddling her back, his tongue hanging out.
I walked behind my wife; wrapped my arms around her waist. She leaned into me, whispered, “Have you ever seen anything so fucking delicious?” Her body began rocking, pelvis thrusting slightly. My cock picked up her vibe and reared his big-ass head. I licked and nibbled as she stared.
When Ms. Librarian buckled on a strap-on cock and stood behind the man, my wife lifted her skirt, spread her legs. I slid those panties down her golden legs, pulled her skirt over her ass.
She watched. I kissed those beauteous globes.
She moaned. I alternately sank my tongue into both of her holes.
She rolled. I sucked her clit, feasted on her honey loving.
She raked her nails across my head. I lifted, slung her over the railing, pulled her titties free.
She spread wide. I surged in, pumped for all I was worth.
We made the terrace quake in our passion. A chair tap-danced across the floor as I put my back into it. A potted flower splattered to the floor as she pumped back.
I fucked with everything I had. I yielded no quarter. Give me everything or give me nothing. I wanted her to know what she had, what she was working with.
A light was switched on. Still we fucked.
A surprised “What the hell?” was uttered. Still we fucked.
Ms. Librarian and her man now watched us, clapped, goaded us on. Still we fucked.
The slap! slap! slap! of our bodies made the neighbor’s dog bark like crazy. Still we fucked.
We fucked, fucked, Fucked, FUCKED, FUCKED until we both howled to the moon in ecstasy. Made car alarms go off in response. Collapsed onto the chaise lounge still fused. Dreamed in each other’s arms in the morning dew.
That night, my wife walked into the house, strutted to the bedroom and returned half-naked. She said nothing as she melded her mouth to mine, cupped my balls before stroking my cock through my pants. I held my breath as her fingers slid my zipper down. My dick saluted. She stuck her tongue out, lightly flicked the tip, her eyes trapping my own.
“Your turn,” she whispered.
I do believe we are back on track.
Sugar and Butter Poured over Muscle
Azúcar y mantequilla
derramados sobre un músculo
Anne Elizabeth
Skin like caramel, sugar warmed with butter and poured over muscle. He was the most gorgeous man she had seen in ages, and she ached for him.