She couldn't help it -- everything she did, everywhere she went she thought about sex. A hard fast fuck in a restaurant toilet. A drunken evening at home together with all manner of hardcore pornographic filth. In the middle of making dinner he would lift her onto the kitchen counter and lick her pussy until it pulsated. She'd join him in the shower and suck him hard and fast until he came all over her face. She'd even masturbated to the thought of doing it in the spare room, underneath all his masks -- not unlike having an audience she thought. As he drank his Corona in that long necked bottle, she'd catch herself wondering what she would do if he turned to her, kissed her, got her hot and wet and then fucked her with the bottle. With each new mirror they hung, she couldn't help but size them up and fantasize watching his cock plunge deep into her hole, her tits swinging as he slapped her arse cheeks and manhandled her soft flesh.
It was bad enough that he walked around their new home partially naked, playing with himself -- had he no idea how badly she wanted to fondle his cock til bursting point and then suck him off? In a perfect fantasy she would be in a different physical state and ride him hard, rubbing her clit on him, he'd be moaning as she gyrated, gyrated and then with growing power and passion, intensity rising and writhing, they'd explode on each other. Mind you, in a different physical state she wouldn't be so desperate and sexually frustrated as she was now! But good things come to those who wait and while she masturbated more than she cared to admit, she couldn't wait to orgasm with her husband.