I'm home alone after a long day.
The wind is cold and the house is empty and dark... but I'm too exhausted to be depressed. Boots kick down the hallway, jacket in a heap by the door. All I want is a hot shower and no demands. Stumbling down the stairs, I peel off layers as I go... when at the bottom of the steps I stop cold. There, at the foot of the stairs is a heap of clothing. My husband is home. And from the pile I can see, he's not wearing much!
The room is unlit but the glow of the computer monitor cuts a square of light on the carpet. A photo of a naked woman, stretched out on a bed, her round bottom pushing out towards the lens, fuzzy from the cell phone camera it was taken with, fills the screen. Standing, curious and a little hesitant in my bra and unbuttoned jeans, I flip through the pictures.
Image after image of her ass, lips, neck, and I can feel myself warming with arousal. She is petit, slim, a heart-shaped bottom and smooth legs. Full mouth and long lashes, hairless slit peaking through her thighs. Whoever took the photos obviously adored the woman. Something familiar about her pulls me through the collection until I see the mole on her left breast. My hand flutters to my own, as I realize the naked photographs are of me. Taken in the vulnerability of sleep. It's then that I hear the thrum of the shower. Overcome with sentiment and desire both, my jeans hit the floor. A slippery, wet sensation fills my panties and makes my pulse quicken.
Down the hall to the bathroom, the door isn't quite closed. I can hear him now, the slick clicking of what I assume is lube rubbed vigorously on his cock... I push the door open slowly. I don't want to interrupt... not yet at least. Something about this moment, the illicit utterly private moment of my lover touching himself, fucking himself tightens my stomach, swells my parts... Through the fog of the shower door I can see him - his back pressed hard against the shower wall, one hand cupping his balls with the other works furiously on his hard, red erection. His tummy is sucked in tight, a chestnut dusting of hair across his strong chest, thickening into a trim patch at the base of his cock. His face is masked by the steam, but I can see that his head is tipped back, mouth slack, eyes closed... He groans quietly, and my body responds to the sound of pleasure that it knows so well. Wetness creams from my other mouth, as my breath becomes shallow. Want is the word.
Want. Want, of touch, taste, pressure, grab, hold, need... I slide a finger into the lose elastic of my panties - wet enough now to be slightly transparent - into the slippery folds of my own secret places, into the hot, dark well of my cunt. God I want him inside me. I pull the juices from inside over the hardening tip of my clit as I watch my husband's thumb sliding over the crest of his head, watch as he lets his balls fall and swing with the movement of jerking off, reaching behind into the crevice of his ass... Oh, god, I didn't know he liked that... liked the feel of a finger tip pressing on the star of his asshole, pressing like he does to me when I ride him. I reach back, too, sliding my glistening finger along the string of my panties, into the centre of my own ass.
My pussy aches with need. A second moan escapes his lips and pulls me across the room, out of my bra -- small, pale breasts swinging as I peel off my panties... I haul open the shower door, and Rob startles in alarm!! Lost in his own pleasure he is struck dumb by my sudden appearance, but I don't allow him a moment for embarrassment. I drop to my knees, starving for the smooth-hard head on my tongue, and greedily suck at him. Noisy, desperate slurping, the sound alone turns me on all over again, hearing the hunger inside me, knowing the pleasure I'm causing. I feel his muscled legs give out just a little as his surprise instantly hardens into to passion. His fingers wind themselves in my hair, still a little dry, and he pulls my head faster and harder on his shaft. The length of him pressing on the soft spot at the back of my throat threatens to be too much. Still feeling like not quite enough...
My own hands crawl up his thighs, cradling his balls as they sway beneath him. Fingers reaching, groping, behind the sack to the wrinkles in his crack. A deep baritone growl escapes his lips, sending a shiver straight through me. He pulls me off his cock by the hair, my face turned up into the spray of the shower, which now beats down on my breasts. My nipples hard with fierce desire are sensitive to the prickling water, and as I close my eyes to the spray, I feel one rough hand free itself from my head and reach down to clutch at my breast... fingers pinching its pink crest, tugging, rolling it between finger & thumb.
I moan, and blindly reach for his centre, fumbling to find his penis, hard, hard like it might burst. Find his hips and turn him roughly, pulling his hands from me. In his surprise, Rob catches his balance, his back to me, still standing while I am still crouched at his knees. His ass curves out above me, a thatch of black hair curling into the recess of his crack. I trace the line from his waist until my fingertip is buried inside. Kissing his cheeks, I'm venturing into uncharted territory, but am answering a hunger I have craved a long time.
My free hand reaches up, caressing the delicate folds of his balls, stroking so lightly along the length of his shaft that I can feel him shiver. I kiss him more deeply now, my tongue reaching, straining into the nest of soft hair to find my finger. I spread open his cheeks and press my tongue on that perfect spot... I imagine him licking my cunt while I lick his ass, slow fat strokes, followed by anxious, quick tickling. He pushes himself against my face as I grip his cock and start tugging on the foreskin. I feel his fingers on mine, his hand still slick with lubricant and we stroke him together as I lick and suck at his most private place. I am dizzy and tingling. Lust beats like a second pulse in my veins. I feel almost animal.
Suddenly, Rob stops me, turns from my mouth pushes away my hands, and hauls me to my feet by my shoulders. In the steam of the shower, we finally look into one another's face. His lips look swollen, his pupils dilated, and I am startled by how beautiful his face is. With tentative fingers, he cups my jaw in his hands, tilting my face just so, everything so still that I'm not sure I'm breathing. Such a contrast to the dizzying frenzy a moment before that I feel a new wash of wetness let down in a surge of anticipation. His lips are an inch from my own, his breath mingling with mine, his eyes boring into my gaze with intent.
