Let me introduce myself. My name is Ruthie. Actually, it's Ruth, but everyone calls me Ruthie except for my mother and my husband, Jonathan, when they're angry. I'm average build, almost 5'6" and 120 lbs. We females try not to talk about birthdays once we reach a certain age, so let me just say I'm still in my twenties. You figure it out.
I'm told I have a good body. I work out, so it's in shape, at least. My breasts don't sag, and neither does my ass, and I only have the faintest, tiniest wrinkles beginning at the corners of my eyes. My hair is shoulder-length, medium brown and straight. My husband tells me I'm beautiful, but I'm pretty sure he's biased.
Now that you know what I look like, let me tell you a little about my life. I'm married, obviously. We've been married for six years. I worked for him at a brokerage firm and we fell in love and married within a year. Lucky for me, I've never had to work again, at least at a job where you get a real paycheck. I spend my days doing whatever I want, alone or with my girlfriends. We shop, play tennis, work out at the gym, or just have lunch. It's an easy life, and I don't complain. I have no restrictions during the day. But when Jonathan comes home at night, I belong to him.
Maybe I should tell you a little about Jonathan. He's five years older than me, 6'2" and weighs 195 lbs, or at least he did when we married. I'm guessing he's put on ten pounds or so over the years, but he's never said and I've never asked. His dark brown hair has a few streaks of gray beginning to show, which on him only makes him that much more handsome. But maybe I'm biased, too.
Everyone respects him, and everyone listens when he speaks. He has that air of authority that few people are blessed with, and he knows how to use it. I was scared to death of him on my first day of work those many years ago. As if spilling coffee on his desk wasn't bad enough, I tripped on my way out of his office and almost landed flat on my face. Talk about embarrassing! But I didn't lose my job...in fact, he evidently found it humorous. Within that first week, he started asking me personal questions and we had gone out on our first dinner date before the month was out.
One date led to another, and before you knew it, we were spending all of our free time together. When he asked me to marry him, I happily accepted. Our wedding was a girl's dream. It was huge, it took months to plan and my mother swore she aged twenty years from it.
But you don't want to hear about my wedding, I'm sure...
Let me backtrack a little. While we were dating, I found out fairly early on that Jonathan liked things that some people would consider a little bit over and above. I had wanted him to respect me, so held out until our third date before sleeping with him. He was still interested in me the next morning, so after that, I felt free to have sex with him anytime and anywhere we could. In his office, in his car, in his box seats at the baseball stadium, in an elevator, on an airplane...well, you get the idea. He's a bit of an exhibitionist, at least with my body. He loves it when I'm naked, especially when there's a chance someone might see me.
Let me give you an extreme example.
One night while we were still dating, he made reservations for dinner at a small, quiet Italian restaurant on the other side of town. When he came to pick me up, I wasn't ready quite yet. I had my makeup on and hair done, but was still debating what to wear, and was wrapped only in a towel. Growing impatient at my indecisiveness, he walked into my closet, pulled out a sweater and a long overcoat, tossed them at me and told me to get dressed.
As I reached for a lacy bra to wear with the sweater, he pulled it from my reach and told me I wouldn't need it. Okay, I could live with that, so I didn't argue. Turning back to my clothes, I reached for a pair of pants, only to have him tell me I didn't need those, either. Excuse me? He expected me to wear a sweater and nothing else? Oh, yes, I almost forgot, he had picked out my long overcoat.
Did I argue with him? No. People just don't argue with Jonathan. So I pulled the sweater over my head, pulled on the garter belt and stockings he had found, then slipped my feet into a pair of high heels and buttoned up my coat.
I spread my legs for him in the car, letting him feel how wet I was. Driving across town, he brought me to an orgasm before we ever reached the restaurant, and my legs were still shaking as he led me inside. The cold air blew up under my coat, swirling around my legs and pussy and making me even more aware of how naked I was underneath.
He had reserved a rounded booth in the back, and as I scooted across the seat, Jonathan told me to hand him my coat so he could hang it. That was a trick, let me tell you. I tried to sit while I was taking it off, and since no one around us was watching, I think I pulled it off without being seen. The vinyl seats were cold against my bare ass and he saw me shiver. He was sitting right next to me, his leg pressed against mine. Thank goodness there was a tablecloth so no one could see underneath the table. It was one of those red checkered ones, with the candle flickering in the center of the table. I laid the napkin over my lap.
I don't remember much of the night, other than being acutely aware of sitting in a public restaurant, with tables full all around us, and I was half naked. What I do remember is trying to slide down when the waiter came to take our order. Jonathan reached over and shoved a finger deep inside me and pushed me back up. As the waiter left, none the wiser, Jonathan told me to lean forward on my elbows. As I did what he asked, he inserted his finger into my pussy from behind and began to finger-fuck me. I buried my head in my hands, trying not to moan. Soon he replaced his fingers with his thumb, circling it around inside my pussy and getting it wet. I know I moaned out loud when his thumb pushed against the entrance of my ass, slipping in a little too easily, while two fingers buried themselves back in my drenched cunt.
He squeezed his thumb and fingers together while they were both deep inside me, then he told me to lean back onto his hand. Whispering in my ear, he told me play with myself. Obediently, my hand slipped down and began to rub against my clit. It took all of 30 seconds before I felt myself peaking and then exploding. I know I squeezed his fingers and thumb tightly as I convulsed around them.
When I finally drifted back to normal, he slipped his hand out from under me and ran his wet fingers across my lips. Knowing from past experience what he wanted, I opened my mouth and sucked them clean, hoping no one was watching. I tasted myself on his fingers as my tongue circled around each one. When he put his thumb in my mouth, I tasted my shit on him. It was nasty, but I knew it was what he wanted.
The rest of the night passed in a blur, we ate dinner and left, and I gave him a blowjob in the car on the way home.
And we were only dating.
Once we returned from our honeymoon, Jonathan no longer held back.
We had bought a house before the wedding and he let me furnish and decorate it however I wanted, paying the bills and never questioning any expense. He was definitely a girl's dream man!
As I unpacked our suitcases the night we returned from our 2-week honeymoon in Europe, he walked in and sat on the settee, watching me hustle around the room, sorting through dirty clothes, hanging clean ones, putting our toiletries away. When I had finally finished, he had me come sit down beside him. Snuggling up to him, I rested my head on his shoulder and thought about the wonderful life we were going to lead. I imagined an Ozzy & Harriet life...silly me.
