Marci stepped out of the hot shower and immediately grabbed her heavy terry cloth robe. Before she slipped the robe over her shoulders, she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror; her long dark hair was slicked back and dripping down her back. She was in a hurry, she was supposed to meet her husband, Timothy, at their investment broker's office in an hour. However, after catching her gaze in the mirror, seeing her tightly knit brow, her worried eyes, her pursed lips, she could easily see why Timothy no longer felt an attraction to her. It had been months since he had touched her, or even kissed her.
It seemed their life was always hectic, chaotic even. She had long ago abandoned the idea of trying to balance Timothy's work schedule with the twin's schedule, he was always too busy to be bothered. However, lately, she felt she was always on the go, especially now with the twins conducting their college tours, in preparation for leaving next year. She sighed, cinched the belt of her robe, and wondered,
do I always look this frazzled
? Shaking her head slowly, she murmured, "When exactly did I cross over from being a woman to being carrion...my only purpose to provide nourishment and the occasional ride to the mall." She halfway laughed to herself as she shook her head in disappointment.
As she stood in front of the mirror, the hum of the overhead fan continued to vibrate. The house was empty. Timothy had left early, taking the twins to the airport to visit their grandparents for spring break. Her furrowed brow eased as she loosened the belt of her robe. She closed her eyes as she shrugged her shoulders, allowing the robe to fall into a heap at her feet. The droplets from her wet hair ran down her back, causing a chill and an eruption of goose bumps to race along her flesh.
She stared at her reflection and focused on her hips. They were round, curvy. Sure, they had widened over their eighteen-year marriage, but that was to be expected after two children and a couple of decades. Tenderly, she ran her cool fingers over her supple skin, caressing her way around her thighs, then up to her middle, a round, feminine, belly. For the first time in many years, she was able to see herself through kind eyes, forgiving of the fast food dinners, the missed aerobic sessions... the passage of time combined with gravity.
With nurturing hands she lingered over her breasts, pinching her silky pink nipples into stiffened peaks, enjoying the surge of desire that plunged through her core. As she continued to stoke and twist her nipples, she imagined it was Timothy, ravaging her, pulling and sucking on her rock hard nipples. "You used to love me... love my body, my breasts...you used to beg me," she mumbled, as she slid one hand down toward her dark brown mound.
She had never really touched herself before, but it had been so long, months since he had shown her any attention or affection. As of late, she felt she had become more of an afterthought, maybe even a regret. "Not even worth a peck on the cheek," she whispered. As she slid her fingers through her dark curls, she entered her warm slit. As she began to rub and massage her puffy, slick lips, she continued to pinch and pull her nipples, making them ball up, to the point of resembling tart Bing cherries.
She closed her eyes, imagining Timothy kneeling before her, licking her, his tongue lapping, devouring her sweet juices. Marci's body began contracting, her knees buckled, and she crumbled to the floor. She lay on top of her robe, smiling and chuckling to herself.
"I guess this is an early birthday present to myself. Besides, turning 40 is a big deal, it should be celebrated well!" She laughed as she stood up at the counter and peered into her reflection. "Happy early birthday... maybe I will meet you in here on Sunday, for the real thing."
"Oh crap, the appointment!"
Hurriedly, she smeared vanilla lotion over her body and in her rush, caught a glimpse in the mirror of her rosy ass. For just a moment the beauty, the eroticism of her reddened buttocks, mesmerized her. The sight sent a twinge of electricity straight to her wet pussy, she wanted more than anything else to pleasure herself again, to feel her warm, soft, engorged lips surround her fingers... "No, no... later," she said, shaking her head, reminding herself of the appointment she was already in danger of missing.
Quickly, she grabbed a skirt, a lacey bra, and a cream colored silk blouse. She hastily braided her hair and put on some mascara and eye shadow. She added a pale pink shade of lipstick and within minutes, was in her car heading south, begging the traffic gods to part the highway in two. It was not until she was pulling into the parking lot that she realized she had forgotten to put on some panties. With every movement, her slippery thighs rubbed together, serving as a constant reminder to her growing, impending need.
"I am so sorry I am late," she announced, as she walked through the slightly ajar office door.
"It's no worry," Michael Sparks replied, as he approached her.
His cobalt blue eyes took her breath away as his strong grip embraced her delicate fingers.
"Please, call me Michael," he said, while his perfectly white dimpled smile enveloped her.
She found herself inhaling deeply as he held her hand tenderly. His musky cologne filled her nose and flooded her throat, so all she could taste was his fragrance.
"Please come in and sit," he directed.
Marci could feel his eyes on her, watching her, as she crossed in front of him. She knew he was a good ten to fifteen years younger, but he seemed attracted to her sashaying hips and shapely legs. It was not until after she sat down that she realized Timothy was already there, sitting rigidly in his chair, his jaw clenched, his green eyes fixed on a watercolor of a sunset behind Michael's desk.
Marci glanced at Timothy nervously and offered a timid, courteous smile. Timothy refused to acknowledge her. He simply cleared his throat and said loudly, "Where were we, Michael?"
"Ah, yes," Michel replied, "the different options you have for your IRAs... as I was saying, there are different ways of sheltering your income. Some accounts will offer you more fluid options, if you need to have access to the funds, others will require the funds be non-accessible. I am sorry, Mrs. Horner, is there something I could get for you, coffee, some water?"
As Michael spoke, he moved away from behind his computer to lean against his dark oak desk, directly in front of Marci.
"Oh, no, no thank you, but thank you for offering," she replied, with a shy smile and flushed cheeks.
"Okay then," Michael said, returning a smile.
When she crossed her legs, she followed his gaze as he traced the lines of her shapely legs to her incredibly luscious thighs, to her generously, uplifted breasts, against her low cut silk blouse.
While Michael continued talking about interest rates and tax breaks, Marci was entranced by his deep voice, the way it washed over her, making her feel warm and comforted, like sunbathing on the hot sand of a faraway beach... The taste of Michael's lips, the touch of his tongue, the strength of his hands tearing off her blouse and lifting her skirt, forcing her to lean over his desk while he took her from behind...
She had not realized she had drifted away until she found herself locked in an intense and seductive stare with him. She felt her own cool fingertips against her jawbone, trailing down towards her cleavage. A warm flush flooded her body with the thought of crawling to him. Her tongue moistened her lips, envisioning Michael's cock gracing her mouth like communion. The idea of Michael caressing her nipples, gently biting them, sent a tremor through her legs and groin, making her grow increasingly more damp.
Timothy cleared his throat, snapping Marci back to the meeting at hand. Immediately, she sat up and adjusted her skirt.
"Excuse me, Michael, I am sorry to interrupt, where is your bathroom?"
"Down the hall, on the right, are you feeling okay, Mrs. Horner?"
"Yes, I am fine. I just need to use your lavatory. Please continue, I don't mean to be a bother."
In the bathroom, Marci splashed cold water on her face and washed her hands. She thought about Michael, the way his gaze seemed to devour her. He seemed to feel some type of attraction, the way his eyes raked over her body and beamed approval. It had been years since someone, since Timothy, had paid her this type of attention, it not only aroused her physically, but mentally too, to be objectified for pleasure. As she stared into the mirror, she considered Timothy and his reaction; he just sat there, silent, unaware, just like always. "Just once I would like to see him get angry, jealous, something," she said in disgust. "Just once..."
Angrily, she walked down the hallway and saw Timothy outside Michael's office, waiting for her. "I assume we are done here. Are you going to work?" she asked curtly, as she strode briskly past him to the parking lot.
He followed closely behind her without answering.
As she opened the car door, he suddenly slammed it and stood directly behind her, placing his mouth near her ear and his hands against the roof of her silver Volvo, boxing her in against the vehicle. Her body stiffened, bracing against this unfamiliar force, this unpredicted reaction.
Timothy inhaled deeply. "I will meet you at home," he whispered fiercely. "Go straight there." Then he opened her car door and waited for her to slide in before closing it securely.
His Range Rover was parked just a few feet away. Marci watched him as he drove away. Her cheeks grew to a dark scarlet, her breaths quickened, and her hands shook as she took hold of the wheel. Timothy had never spoken so harshly to her before, never with such condescension, he had certainly never ordered her to do anything. His caustic tone made her flush in shame,
