A Surprise For Mr Pickle 750 Words

"Well, that was shit," said Jim as the referee's whistle echoed around the half-empty stadium, "Beer?"

"Can't, train in ten minutes."

"Under the thumb already?"

"Fuck me," said Mitch, "I'd be rushing home too if I had a nineteen-year-old wife."

I grinned and said, "See you at the Wolves game."

As I emerged from the station the heavens opened. Fuck, I hadn't taken a coat. "Crockstead Avenue?" I said to the driver of the first taxi.

"A quarter of a mile? Not a chance mate."

"It's pissing down."

"I ain't using up my place in the queue for a bleeding ten quid fare."

"Cunt," I muttered as I headed into the rain.

Soaked, I entered through the kitchen door where Emma was loading the dishwasher. "Fall in the river?" she laughed.

"Ha ha," I grumbled, stripping off.

"There's a lasagne just gone in the oven, about thirty minutes. Oh, and your mother called, her bicycle chain has come off again. Leave your clothes in a pile by the door, I'll put them straight in the washer. Did you win?"

"Lost two nil."

"Seems to happen a lot, go and grab a shower."

Emma was as beautiful as ever, despite being makeup free. I was still getting used to her pixie style haircut. Her new two year contract with a teenage fashion company required it short. Actually, it made her look even younger, which I guess was the aim.

"Amazing," she chuckled as I slid my boxers down, "Cold and drenched yet you still manage a boner."

"Fancy scrubbing my back?" I grinned.

She looked up at me, back down and bit her lip, "Maybe. Go at get warm first."

Under the dinner plate sized shower head, I relished the deluge of hot water. Emma had been a model since she was twelve-years-old so was well established in the industry by the time she left school. We'd bought his place six months ago. Well, she did. Her income was at least four times mine. Yeah, life was good.

After five minutes, through the steamy wet glass I watched her undress. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Stepping around the screen she smiled and said, "So, Mister Pickle is still pleased to see me?"

No, I've no idea either. She'd called my cock Mister Pickle since our first date. "Very," I said, pulling her towards me. Emma's a great kisser and didn't disappoint as her tongue sought out mine and her fingers wrapped around my shaft. I grabbed her ass and ground myself against her. "Fuck, I love you," I moaned, breaking the kiss and nibbling her ear. It's one of her most sensitive areas and never fails to make her squirm.

She gasped before sinking to her knees. Kissing isn't her only oral skill. As I'd discovered early in our relationship, she loves to suck my cock. Sometimes she'd just get the urge. Kitchen, car, walking in the woods, her father's greenhouse, red-eye flight back to Heathrow from our wedding in Vegas.

Watching her kiss down my torso, I sucked in air. I was still unable to decide on her sexiest look - her orgasm face or her mouth stretched by my cock. As her lips slid over my swollen head I was definitely leaning towards the latter.

I've had blowjobs from four women in my life and can say with confidence that those who enjoy it are the best. Emma was proof as she bobbed her head and stroked me in her hand. As well as my cock, she loves sucking my balls, individually then together which is a squeeze but she manages.

I knew that with dinner nearly ready, we wouldn't fuck. That was fine by me. A blowie then a fuck at bedtime would be heaven. Ten minutes later, I leaned my head back and waited. Any second. There it was. "Nnnnnn...!" I moaned as I felt her throat engulf my cock. She worked my head, nudging her nose on my abdomen. "Fuuuuuck...," I cried as my legs vibrated and spurts of warm cum shot down her throat.

Standing, she licked her lips and said, "Thanks Jack, there's a salad in the fridge and a bottle of Chardonnay. I'd better be off or the lasagne that Emma's prepared at my place will burn. She'll be here in ten minutes."

"What?" I said, confused.

She brushed my cheek and said, "I'm Sophie."

Sophie? I'd just throat fucked Emma's twin?

"Oh shit I..."

"Don't worry, it's no biggie. This is our fifth swop."