Work. We all know the boredom and drudgery of a workday that seems to drag on and on... and on. Even worse, today was a Friday. Like all men everywhere, I looked forward to Friday night for a beer, relaxing with the wife, a lazy weekend and maybe catching the football game on ESPN with the guys, if I can get out of doing housework. But for me, Friday was exceptionally special. On Friday, my wife pleasures me.
See, my relationship isn't a normal one. It is to me, as normal as it is wonderful, but it isn't normal. On the surface, nothing appears amiss. I'm happily married to my wife of two years, who was my high school sweetheart and girlfriend through university. You could find us doing yard work around the house, shopping at the grocery store or at the movies. But somewhere in our relationship, we changed into something different, something better. My wife Sarah is truly the love of my life. Somewhere while we were living together, I began to give myself completely to her. I try to always give her the complete respect and devotion she deserves. I am not perfect – you will also sometimes see us squabbling over what to do with the yard, what groceries to buy or what movie to see – after all, I am a man still. But in general, I'm always deferential and follow her lead. She is my wife, not my mistress, and I am her husband, not her slave, but I try to devote myself to her entirely.
So it was that in our sex life, I found myself more and more trying to pleasure her, at the expense of my own. Somehow, this made the sex better for me – nothing made me happier than seeing her face after an orgasm I gave her, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. As I began to be more and more deferential, she has taken over the role of the dominant one in the bedroom, which I am more than happy with. Every day I pleasure her, and on Friday, when a week's worth of accumulated tension is making me throb with anticipation, she gives me sweet release.
So here I am at the office, with an hour left on the clock. Looking at me on the surface, I'm just an average worker waiting to hit the bar. But underneath, I am different. Beneath my Moores business suit, I wear a frilly white lace thong and matching bra, in which rests my hard cock, which has been stiff all day with anticipation. At lunch, as I do every Friday, I shuffled to the bathroom (trying to hide my too-obvious erection) and would jerk off wildly in the stall, and as I do every Friday, would stop just before I came, not wishing to disappoint my beloved wife. I pull out the pictures of her I keep in my wallet, of her posing in her panties and nightie, and fantasize about her... this does nothing to help reduce my stiff cock.
Finally the hands of the clock wind their way to 5:30pm, and like a shot I throw on my overcoat and the wool scarf my wife made me, grab my briefcase, run out the door and into my car. It is a brisk April night, but despite the chill I am still hard as I get into my car. The drive home is not long, and with each block I grow stiffer with anticipation. I know Sarah will be home, as her job as a secondary school teacher lets her be home at 4pm almost every day. As I pull into the driveway, I see her face poke through the curtains for a moment – knowing she has been waiting for me makes me even more wild with desire.
I throw open the car door and get out, using my briefcase to cover my erection – it's not easy, as the neighbour's kids are drawing with chalk on the sidewalk. Awkwardly I shuffle to the door. It opens just as I reach for the handle – and she's there.