Finally. The end of the longest business trip and the longest time that I had ever spent away from my wife was coming to an end. OK, it was three weeks, nothing compared to the six or eight month deployments when I was in the Navy, but I was single then. It didn't seem so long.
As the airliner hurtled its way through the air, I reclined in my overly crowded seat and visualized bouncing my two pre-school daughters on my knees, and I smiled. My mind drifted to bouncing my wife on the bedsprings and the one-eyed snake in my pants stirred.
My wife is a very attractive woman by any objective standard, and a walking wet dream as far as I'm concerned. I'm convinced she could have been a Playboy model if she had wanted to be. She is intelligent, self-confident, and loves being a wife and mother. My income is sufficient to allow her not to work.
She maintaines her body and appearance because she wants to, not as an obsession. She once told me that her body was her ongoing gift to me and she wanted it to be the best gift she could create. After that, I started working out regularly, which has paid us both additional dividends.
The snake was becoming distinctly restless; I dropped one hand into my lap, but I couldn't really do much. Besides, I wanted to save all my energy for tonight.
Sexually, my wife was always there, always the lover. Again, not obsessive or demanding, just willing and even eager. She was open to suggestion and trying new things, and many times didn't wait for me to make the suggestion. For her, sex was always happy and playful. Every night she wanted to at least cuddle and fall asleep in my arms. When we first became lovers, she only had a single "twin" bed and we both liked the physical closeness that forced when I slept over.
For our first anniversary, she had taken a couple nude Polaroid's of herself for me to carry on my trips. I enjoyed them so much, they had became an annual tradition, using a local professional photographer, and I kept the complete collection in a leather bound binder at home. I went through that more often than I did my wedding album,a nd was convinced she was bocoming more beautiful with each year. Right now, I could feel the heat against my thigh from the small copies in my wallet.
When I was on the road we talked on the phone every night. I had become somewhat obsessive about it, in fact. Occasionally, one of us would steer the subject toward how badly we needed the other, and we would have phone sex. I always knew it would be one of those nights when just the sound of her voice would cause "the snake" to start squirming. It was hardly very satisfying, but if we were going to masturbate anyway, I liked sharing even that.
My need was getting demanding now, so I forced my thoughts away from her. I knew she would be picking me up at the airport, as she always insisted on doing when I was gone more than a couple days. The drive home allowed us to catch up before the chaos of home hit us.
A few hours later, the plane was at the gate. I waited impatiently for the front of the plane to empty, then grabbed my carry-ons and headed down the long aisle. As I emerged into the concourse, I looked around eagerly.
There she was; a splash of sunshine in an otherwise dreary afternoon. She wore a short-skirted, yellow, button-all-the-way-down-the-front sun-dress, and spike heels. She smiled as I walked up to her, placed one arm around her waist, and kissed her hard. In those shoes, she was already on tip-toe and she discretely ground her mons Venus into my groin. There was fire in her eyes, and I almost lost myself.
We walked out, hand in hand, chatting. We continued chatting as we went through the familiar routine of ransoming our car and heading for home. Suddenly I realized that she was slowing and turning into the parking lot of a local "B&B" hotel. She parked, smiled at me, and said "Come on!"
I looked at her quizzically and asked "The girls?"
"In good hands, and with no concept of how long it should take mommy to pick up daddy. Come on, time's wasting!"
She walked me directly through the lobby and down the hall. The key was in her free hand and she quickly ushered me into our room. It was nicer than the rooms I got to stay at, with a large bed, an overstuffed chair, and a gas fireplace with a fire already going. I also noticed that the drapes were pulled against the afternoon sun, and there was a bottle of wine on ice with two goblets.
She turned to me, her entire face one happy, delighted, smirk. I did my best to wipe the smirk off her face with a deep, passionate, hard kiss. She gave back as good as she got, and the smirk was replaced with a look of hunger when we broke. "Why don't you pour us some wine?" she suggested, somewhat breathlessly. I would have preferred to rip her dress off, but wanted to see how her scene would play out.
As I fussed with cutting off the foil, pulling the cork, and pouring, she wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, undid my belt and zipper, and quickly slid both slacks and boxers down my legs. She adeptly undid my shoe laces, and helped me step out of it all.
As I finished pouring the second glass, I felt her hands sliding up my sides and barely put down the wine in time to raise my arms as she lifted my Polo shirt off over my head. I picked up the two filled glasses again and turned to face her, chuckling at the fact that she had stripped me naked so quickly, while she was still dressed and un-mussed.
She took her glass. I raised mine and said "Thank you"; we touched glasses and took a sip. She closed her eyes as she tasted the wine, but also puffed out her chest and wiggled it just a little.
When hit over the head hard enough, I can take a hint. I started unbuttoning her dress as quickly as I could with my free hand. She took another sip and leaned forward to kiss me, being careful not to interfere with my hand. It seemed to take forever, but I finally unbuttoned the dress and slid it off one shoulder as she shrugged it off the other. The dress fell to the floor. To my surprise, though, I was not holding warm woman-flesh, but something silky.
I leaned back, keeping my hand on her. She was wearing a transparent "baby doll", a tan color, almost the same as her tanned skin, what women call "taupe". Once again she was smirking. Once again, I kissed the smirk away. In the process I explored a bit and discovered the panties had ribbon ties on the sides, at her hips. I started grabbing for the ends of the ties with both hands, almost spilling my wine, and she pulled away.
"Oh-oh! Someone's in a hurry!" she teased as she swished away from me, watching me over her shoulder. I had already pulled out one slip-knot, and the other pulled out as she moved away. The panties fell away, hanging from my hand with the forgotten glass of wine.
At the overstuffed chair across from the fire, she sat down on the floor and patted the floor next to her for me to join her.
After fetching the wine bottle, I sat leaning on the chair, and she leaned with her back against me. The fire was comfortably warm, and the wine cool. She stroked my leg lightly with her fingernails, leaving a trail of fire everywhere she touched. I cleared my throat, but she pressed a finger to my lips before I could speak.
I wound one arm over her shoulder and cupped a breast with my hand, she slipped a hand between my thighs, and we just cuddled, staring into the fire.
About when I felt he couldn't stand it any longer, she started to move her hand on my legs again. I rolled toward her, slipping a hand under the baby-doll. I explored that familiar and always new territory of her belly and up to her breasts. She tilted her head back, and I kissed her gently, brushing my lips against hers, running my tongue over her lips, teeth and tongue.
