Ellen stood at the butcher's block–that also served as an island–peeling and quartering potatoes for dinner. She nervously glanced at the clock. 4:15. Her husband would be home in an hour. The thought made her smile and feel giddy. Nearly ten years of marriage and she still trembled at the mere thought of him.
After the potatoes were quartered and washed, she added them to the pan of boiling water, generously sprinkled in a few seasonings, and checked on the roast. When she cut into the chunk of meat, Ellen was pleased to see that it was slightly more pink than it should be. Smiling with satisfaction, she ladled some of the juices over the top, turned the slow cooker to the Keep Warm setting knowing that it would cook more by the time her husband returned home, then turned the oven on for the garlic bread. They both loved garlic bread, especially with pasta or roast. And the fact that it was garlic, never stopped her husband from kissing her.
At five o'clock, Ellen took the potatoes from the heat and drained the water out. She then dumped the pot of potatoes into a large bowl, added a small amount of milk and lots of butter, then took out her hand masher and got to work. As she began mashing potatoes, she noticed that only five minutes had passed. Forcing herself to slow down, Ellen slowly cleared the kitchen of every dirty dish, pot, or pan that wasn't currently in use, and put them all in the dishwasher, then wiped down the butcher's block.
Checking the time again, she then pulled the garlic bread from the oven, shut it off, and placed the bread slices into her bread basket. The smell of garlic immediately filled the house, and Ellen's stomach growled it's approval.
When she heard her husband's truck pull into the driveway, Ellen threw the dish rag into the sink and ran to the butcher's block, making sure her back was to the entrance into the kitchen. She picked up the potato masher and resumed her former task.
The front door opened.
"Mmm, something smells good, Baby," she heard from the living room. She heard the familiar sounds of Rich emptying his pockets, taking off his work boots, and shedding his coat. The floor boards creaked slightly beneath his feet, and Ellen held her breath and mashed the potatoes as quietly as she could.
When he got to the kitchen, she heard his sharp intake of breath. She knew he'd like her surprise. She had on only an apron, frilly around the edges, a non-adjustable strap around the neck, and a big bow in the back, resting just above the curve of her rear. The ribbons hung down each cheek, stopping just where her legs met her buttocks.
Even after they'd married (she'd been 24, he, 27), Ellen had had a difficult time showing her body to Rich. She wasn't a "perfect" size six, and her stomach wasn't flat, but every single day Rich had told her how much he loved her and her body.
She knew for sure that he wasn't lying the night she'd emerged from the shower and walked into their bedroom–completely naked. Her dry hair was pulled up haphazardly, and her body had been completely dried, so there were no droplets of water to catch any lighting, causing a surreal effect. Yet, she watched the sheet rise once he caught a glimpse of her. That's when she'd been certain that she could turn him on, and since that night many years ago, Ellen had grown more comfortable being naked in his presence.
When she felt the heat from his body as he neared, Ellen finally released her breath. Within seconds, his warm, calloused hands slid inside the apron, coming around her front. One hand stayed on her stomach, the other slid down to her abdomen, pulling her back against his erection. She loved the feel of him hard on her rear. It turned her on to no end.
She continued mashing the now-overly-mashed potatoes, until she felt his lips on the crook of her neck. Then it was her turn to quickly inhale. He kissed that spot–the one where her neck met her shoulder–languidly, lavishing it with his tongue, gently with his teeth, and repeatedly with his lips.
Oh, how he turned her on! She could feel the moisture pooling between her thighs already.
He knew just where to touch, where to nibble, what to do. Then again, she thought, he could touch her anywhere, kiss her anywhere, and still have the same effect.
With her husband's hands holding her tightly, Ellen gave in to the weakness in her knees. She slumped back against his chest even more, driving his hardness closer to her naked rear. When Rich's lips moved to the back of her neck, Ellen let out a cry and felt gooseflesh racing up and down her arms, across her chest, and painfully hardening her nipples.
Taking note of his wife's reaction, Rich slid one hand upward til he was cupping Ellen's breast. He loved the fact that after nearly ten years, he still had this effect on her, and hoped, by God, that it'd last for ten times ten. While her nipple pierced his palm, he simply massaged her breast, his lips never leaving her neck. It drove her crazy, he knew, especially pinned between him–and his hard on–and the block.
The next moan elicited from her came when his lips traveled down between her shoulder blades. He smiled as her head went forward, held her out in front of him, bent over, and slowly licked the entire length of her spine, from the top curve of her beautifully aged ass, to the nape of her neck. His nose nuzzled her hair as he once again pulled her back against him, holding her tightly.
When Ellen's strength returned back to her legs, she turned around and slid her hands up around her husband's neck, at the same time that his slid around her waist. One hand rested on the small of her back, the other slid lower to cup a cheek. She stood on her tiptoes and was once again pulled tightly up and to him.
Her head slanted back and his mouth captured hers in a rapturous kiss. When her knees went weak, Rich pulled his wife up his body, lifting her from the ground. He held on tightly, though more out of love and need, than fear of dropping her.
His tongue pressed against her lips until she let it in. Their tongues slid together frantically, passionately, wantonly. His hand alternately squeezed her rear as they kissed, each time eliciting a small moan from her. He loved that she got turned on when her ass was played with. He could spend hours kissing, nibbling, licking the half globes. And if his hands spread them apart and cool air was blown onto her hole, or his tongue happened to dip inside, he was greatly rewarded with a tremble and loud cry. And if her legs happen to be spread wider than normal, her smell wafted up to his nose and drove him crazy.
The thoughts of his wife had him excruciatingly hard, and he knew she knew it. Her hand slid down his chest and cupped him through his jeans, gently squeezing as they kissed. He growled deeply, picking her up further and setting her on the butcher's block. Then he parted from the kiss. Her lips were red and swollen, and his heart thudded with the male pride.
A small whimper of protest escaped Ellen's lips as Rich pulled away so quickly. When she saw the familiar lust in his eyes, she knew he wanted her thirty different ways. The thought alone brought a flutter to her stomach. Yet when he stood there, breathing heavily and not doing anything, Ellen began to wonder if something were wrong.
"Rich..?" she asked, her voice thick with desire. She gently cupped the side of his face, loving the way his stubble tickled her palm. His eyes, green as ever, penetrated hers. She knew that look well.
