"Sweetheart.." she cooed, prancing out of the bathroom in a see through lace robe, visibly beneath it was a matching black lace bra and thong, clinging to her breasts barely and showing off every curve of her pale, supple body. She crept over to the bed where her husband was adjusting his tie around the collar his starch white dress shirt. She climbed across the flowered covers, running her delicate fingers through her husband's dark, gelled hair. She leaned forward, the smell of his musky aftershave filling her nostrils, she kissed his freshly shaved neck. She moved to his ears and nibbled on them, her hands moving to his pressed pants. Yet when she reached for his cock it was not filled with desire as she had expected. Her heart sank as she heard the words that had become ritual in her marriage.. "not right now, dear."
She again played the obedient wife, kissing him goodbye as he left to a job that earned money, yet took away his livelihood. She than would go upstairs, run a bath and release her lust with thoughts of the way they used to make love; hard and passionately. Yet after she had reached the point of utmost passion, she remembered the amount of disdain and anger she felt toward her husband. Weeks had gone by with this same script, the rejection stabbed her in her tender heart and each day rose and fell.
One day, after her husband had left the house and puttered away in his expensive sports car, after giving her a kiss and ignoring the silk, see through robe once again, there was a knock on the door. She suddenly remembered that her husband had reminded her that a tv repairman was coming that morning and, still irked by her husbands behavior, she roughly opened the door. There she saw a tall, muscular man with his long hair tied back in a ponytail. She felt her heart flutter at this primal man, with rough hands and a rougher spirit. She suddenly stuck her hip out, placing her hand on it.
"Oh hello there," She drawled, "come this way." as the man followed her to the living room, she sashayed; hoping his eyes were on her curvy figure clad in the clingy silk robe. She pointed to the telivision, and watched as he knelt on the ground, her breasts and clit throbbing with passion. As he worked, she watched him, his strong rough hands working and his toned arms strained. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked, tugging on her hair, and batting her eyes.
"If it's not too much trouble." he said in a deep baritone that made her wet with just six words. She went into the kitchen, trying to calm the primal sexual urges that overcame her. She poured a glass of lemonade, the cool glass pressed against her chest, fevered with lust. She brought the glass out, handing it to him.
