So with a shit-eating smirk on my face, I crept forward. I mean it’d been some time since we’d… you know. Made it. She’d always been a bit of a prude so I loved finding her masturbating. “Loved it” was perhaps an understatement. Maybe I’m just strange like that. I was instantly, painfully erect. As hard as I had been in living memory, maybe even since the honeymoon. I’d never seen her masturbate, she’d always been too shy to show me. I would be reliving this moment for years. I just didn’t realize how true that thought was at the time.
She was really going to town on herself, oblivious to anything but whatever she was looking at on my phone. Her nipples looked like they were hard enough to cut glass. Her breath came in gasps. The room was filled with her scent. I paused to breathe it in, deeply, quietly. I’d always loved the smell of her excitement. She moaned wantonly around the fabric in her mouth, her voice muffled. Was she biting it? Whoa!
The sheets beneath her were stained with her wetness. She was obviously climbing up to a big one if I’d ever seen one. I admired her boobs shaking and her tight, clenched virgin ass. Then her toes curled, and I knew she was in the final stretch. Her long toned legs began to quiver in that way they did when she was about to lose control, and her breaths, reliable as clockwork, played that telltale pattern (huff, huff, moan, huff, huff, moan).
Her breath stopped, she pulled her legs tightly together, and then she…
What was she looking at anyway? My joy turned to horror as I came close enough to see the picture on my phone she was er, “using”. She was right on the verge of that huge orgasm, but rather than watch the only thought in my mind was retreat. My veins were filled with ice despite the incredible view, my heart seized with terror. I forgot what she was doing, I only knew that I was caught. Why? Why’d I keep that picture? Why had Dawn sent it to me? As I ran away I crashed against the dresser and fell to the floor. I created such a noise the entire neighborhood must have heard it.
Dogs started barking outside and the shadows on the wall shifted as the neighbors turned their lights on. A bottle or two from Aimee’s chemistry set of beauty products fell to the floor and smashed open against the wood. I stared at her, a deer in headlights, and she stared at me, the same. She sat up, her eyes wide, pulling the blanket to her chest. I sat, my back against the dresser, barely breathing. I think I was bleeding somewhere, but there was no way in hell I was going to check that right now.
Some impossible calculus went on behind her eyes as we stared at one another. Then the screaming started, and increased in volume when she found out that yes, I was bleeding, and no, there was definitely a gaping hole in the drywall behind the dresser and, oh yeah, why the fuck was her BFF sending topless photos to me? And when she saw her $250 night serum, wasted on the wood? She had no words. (To be fair you won’t find a patch of wood anywhere in the state more soft and youthful than that scrap of floor.)
She was absolutely, monumentally pissed. Once-in-a-lifetime levels of anger.
And the worst thing? The next day her anger was gone, without trace. She refused to discuss it, shutting me up with a kiss every time. That was a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been walking on eggshells ever since. She’d been acting completely normally, kissing me when we go to work, being affectionate – even more so than usual in fact. But sometimes she turned to grin at me. It was terrifying. We’ve been married for eight years and I’d never seen her grin like that, ever. It was like she’d been possessed by a demon. Maybe a succubus, because every chance she got she’d tease me mercilessly. I had no defense. I was so confused; shouting would’ve been easier – maybe that’s why she was doing it this way.
She’d put on a crop top she hadn’t worn since we met and tiny daisy dukes, reaching for things on her tiptoes.
She’d been checking I was watching, then bending right over at the waist, wearing nothing but a garter belt beneath her skirt.
She stretched like a cat, fanning her clothes with no bra underneath, and pretending to get caught in the rain with just a white blouse on. No, apparently there’s never a bra.
Somehow there’s always a bra on when she comes home and when she leaves, but when we’re alone together or our daughter is asleep? Her underwear mysteriously disappears.
And yet she hadn’t let me anywhere near her for two weeks.
I was boiling over. I’m fit to burst.
That brings us to today. Our daughter is with her great-grandparents – they do a big trip to Japan every few years, though recently Aimee hasn’t been able to go with them due to work.
After dinner, Aimee took my hand and led me upstairs. You might have guessed I thought this was it. Finally. She stripped me, and oiled me up. You can only imagine what I expected, the release of the steam that’d built in my… well, you know. Then she dashed my hopes. Told me she had a plan, to wait here.
Now I hear my wife, and that other woman’s voice again. Whose voice is that? Dammit, come on, I know this one. If only I went to the bedroom door, I could…
~~~~
Aimee
When I was small I used to love those super sentai shows. You know the ones? Hell, I know the localized version sucked but I loved it anyway. It was lame-cute, or something. No, listen, this is absolutely 100% super relevant. Those cheesy shows were tailor-made for my crazy life. I loved those tight outfits, the teamwork, the transformation from being normal to something special. The shared secret. I used to imagine I had superpowers just like the rangers. Only my powers weren’t fully developed yet, but soon… So I waited, and waited, and grew up, and gave up.
It wasn’t until I was married I realized I did have superpowers after all. I could tell when someone was being naughty. Useless, you might say, but it meant that knew right when Dean got up the guts to lift that gorgeous tight ass of his off the bed and approach our bedroom door. How do I know? Because as soon as my spidey senses tingled, I excused myself from our guest, raced upstairs, ran like hell down the hall, opened our bedroom door and caught him right in the process of reaching for the doorknob. He froze.
Red-handed you might say. Red-knobbed. Or maybe blue-balled would be more appropriate. Teasing him for the last fortnight was a bit cruel, but he was ready to blow and would do just about anything I said. He was so stubborn most of the time, but though I let him think he was in charge in this house, just this one time I needed to be the one calling the ‘shots’.
Hehehe. No, look strict!
I put my hand on his bicep, and was immediately distracted. You would be too, it was solid, so masculine. I almost started to drool. No, bad girl! Get it together, Aimee!
“Sit your ass back down!” I hissed, very quietly. “You’ll ruin everything!”
Okay, I was staring at his six-pack when I said it (I know he doesn’t think he has one. He does). I’d spent the first part of the evening rubbing baby oil on him, the feeling of his tight muscles beneath my hand. Making me all juicy down there. To be honest I’d been squirming all night as my plan finally – finally! – came to fruition. I’d been dreaming of this ever since I was a teenager. This evening I’d been through six pairs of panties before I’d accepted tonight I was just too excited and gone commando. In exchange I had a permanent blush on my cheeks, a draft up my skirt and a hand held over my privates to stop the fabric billowing as I moved and exposing myself to everyone.