Away from home alone for the first time since my wife found out that I had gone to a strip club during my last business trip, I settle into my hotel room. I had thought of it as only a minor indiscretion, but my wife felt betrayed. She remains great looking in her early forties, but frets that she is losing her youthful beauty every time she finds a gray hair or imagines a wrinkle on her pretty face. I do not enjoy seeing my wife unhappy when there's no reason for her to be. So I promised never to go to a strip club again, at least without her, but I didn't like seeing the worry on her face when I left today.
I am tired after the flight across the country and wouldn't have gone to a club to ogle young women flexing their lithesome bodies and perhaps doing a bit more for the right price. I have just taken off my clothes and lay down on the bed when someone tries to connect with me on FaceTime.
Who could it be? I have never chatted with anyone on video. And my wife, with her aversion to technology, I think would never attempt such a thing.
But when I find my phone, there she is. Instead of the mousy robe she wears in the evening to get comfortable before bedtime, I see that she's wearing a black bra that displays her ample cleavage. Her brown hair is draped over her shoulders. Her lips are coated with pink lipstick and on her cheeks is a dusting of light blush. I can tell she is wearing a coat of foundation to hide her few blemishes. Her lashes are laden with mascara. Around her eyes she has traced a thin black line that ends with delicate wings on the outside. Dark blue shadow fades away toward her brows which she has as usual made to look perfect. The gold chain with the diamond pendant that I had bought her for our twentieth anniversary hangs from her neck.
She stands up and points the phone to the full length mirror in the bedroom, revealing that she is wearing see through black bikini panties, her pudenda hidden by an elaborate design. My rod stiffens as I take in the sight of her slim midriff with diamond adorning navel, her trim legs, and the black pumps on her feet.
She places her phone on the end table and lays on our bed, her torso supported by her left elbow. "I thought you might be lonely and need some company on your first night away from home," I hear her say. I then watch as her index finger slowly moves to her lips and it along with its pink lacquered nail that perfectly matches her lipstick disappears into her mouth. The corners of her mouth turn up into a naughty smile and her eyes twinkle.
She slowly removes her finger from her mouth. "I just got back from working out at the gym and I'm really thirsty-for you," she says.
"Becky, I never dreamed...," I begin.
But before I can express my astonishment at this treat, she tells me, "I wish that your erect cock was in my mouth and my tongue was circling the corona and about to land on the tiny piece of flesh right beneath the opening that you like so much for me to touch."
She giggles and lasciviously licks her lips.
