Early on, it was a lot of what you would expect. I bought her some sex toys, some of which we used regularly and some of which were impractical but fun to explore. Lingerie made a regular appearance in the rotation. She gave me “sex coupons” for various acts, an erotic massage, a day of naked cooking…
As the years went on, it seemed like I struggled to get more creative while she thrived on the sexual challenge. A few years back, she tied me up and gave me the best (and longest) striptease I’ve ever had, with a pole and everything. Last year my birthday fell on a Sunday, and she invited a few of my friends over and then served as a topless waitress for the full day of football games (albeit with a strict “look but don’t touch” rule). My buddies haven’t stopped talking about it since, and trust me when I say that both Mary and I went to sleep EXTREMELY satisfied that night. The foreplay of teasing all day made for a great night, with many orgasms for both of us.
Suffice it to say, I was excited as I raced to get home from work on my birthday. I had enough self-control that my dick wasn’t exactly hard on the freeway… but it also wasn’t exactly soft. I pulled off and into our cul-de-sac to see a familiar car parked in front of our house. I had seen the little red sedan in our neighbor’s driveway for years, and although the Millers had moved away, Francesca had continued to babysit for us throughout the years whenever she came home from college. A night without kids was a good start, and I looked forward to what Mary had planned for us.
I pulled into the driveway and entered the house trying to appear calm and collected. I could see my wife and Francesca talking at the kitchen island as I entered the room, and the open bottle of red wine promised good things for me tonight. My wife always gets very horny when she drinks red wine. I took a moment to take in the sight before the girls noticed me.
My wife was tall and curvy, and her body never failed to turn me on. Tonight she was wearing a very sexy red dress, showing off some very sexy legs and more than a bit of cleavage. At 36D, her breasts were one of my favorite features, and although she’d say that her body was changed by childbirth, in my opinion it had changed for the better. She was sexy before kids, and now in her late 30s, the curves that had been a hint before were now a pronounced hourglass. She was wearing a pearl necklace I’d given her long ago, the dress, some black heels, and I thought I could make out the outline of a very sexy black bra underneath her neckline.
Francesca, by contrast, was trim and athletic. I hadn’t really seen her in years- typically when she babysat for us, my wife made the arrangements and I waved from the car. I had seen her grow up of course; after all, life in a modern cul-de-sac means that fences are more for show than for privacy. But when she went away to college, she seemed to grow up at twice the speed of other girls. Now at 21 (I learned later), she was cute as hell. Her blond hair, cut just above the shoulders, framed her perky little face beautifully, and the hint of freckles about her nose and cheeks just added to the beauty. Her body was tight and petite, tonight wrapped in yoga pants (an eternal thank you to whomever made yoga pants acceptable daily wear) and a skin-tight white top. She must have taken her workouts seriously after college too, because her ass looked fantastic perched on that barstool in front of me. Her breasts were perhaps as perky as her cute little butt, and I guessed them to be a nice B cup, although I sure didn’t see the outline of a bra tonight.
“Enough ogling,” I muttered, as I walked far enough into the room for my wife to notice me.
“Sweetheart, you’re home!” My wife greeted me the same way every day, just one of those endearing rituals that develop in a comfortable marriage.
“Hey, honey! Hi Francesca. Good to see you,” I responded, eager to get out the door to whatever sexy adventure my wife had planned tonight. “I’m just gonna head upstairs and say bye to the kiddos.”
“Oh, they’re at my mom’s tonight, sweetie,” my wife responded.
My confusion must have been visible, because Francesca giggled into her wine just a bit.
“Umm, okay…” I trailed off trying to think of a way to ask why Francesca was here that didn’t make me sound like an asshole. Luckily, my wife jumped in and saved me before I put my foot in my mouth.
“Why don’t you go change into jeans and a nice shirt, and then come down and we’ll talk.”
Confused, I followed her directions, and freshened up as I changed out of my work clothes and into an outfit appropriate for… maybe a nice dinner out? It certainly didn’t match her level, but then again, she tended to take the spotlight whenever we went out, which was just the way I liked it.
I bounced down the stairs to the sounds of both girls giggling again, and noticed that the bottle of wine was mostly empty. My dick stirred within my pants, as I remembered how sweet my wife’s pussy tasted when she drank red wine. To this day I don’t know if that’s psychosomatic, or if she actually tastes like fine wine down there, but the result for me is the same.
Francesca stood up as my wife came around the kitchen counter, and we sat on the sofa together. My wife took pity on my confused expression, and broke the ice. “So dear, you remember Francesca?”
Of course I did. I nodded, and she turned to me with a wink and said “I mostly go by Frannie now, but you can call me whatever’s comfortable for you Mr. Davison.”
I probably should have said something along the lines of “please call me Tim”, but I was still having trouble understanding why she was here if my kids were not.
My wife spoke up for me, “Frannie and I have just been talking about college and what a fine young woman it made her. Frannie went to a small Christian college, didn’t you, honey?” Now that she mentioned it, I do remember the Millers being slightly religious, but nothing more than nice clothes on Easter and a few Sundays at church.