It Was Father's Day

It was Father's Day and my husband and I were uncharacteristically alone. I had London Broil in the fridge and asked him to fire up the BBQ. He sauntered into the kitchen in his cotton lounge pants and no shirt. I smiled because I suddenly had an idea. I walked outside and stood behind him as he lit the grill.

"What?" he questioned as he turned.

"Nothing." I replied with a smile.

"Whaaaaat!" he asserted.

I looked directly at his flap and pointed. I stepped closer and reached in. He wasn't wearing any underwear, so what I was looking for popped out easily and promptly came to attention. He raised his eyebrows. I twirled around quickly, flaring my short skirt, bent over and dramatically removed my underwear with my bum high in the air while I glanced over my shoulder teasingly to make certain he was watching. Impulsively I flung my tight little white Jockey shorts right onto the lawn. They rested there mischievously, declaring evidence of my naughtiness to anyone who might glance at them.

He actually looked shocked, or perhaps he was a bit nervous, as our friends and family normally streamed in and out of our home at all times. Underwear on the lawn wasn't the sort of welcome symbol one would expect, which is exactly why I so enjoyed seeing them right where they were. We were off the main street quite a bit, but if anyone came to the top of the driveway, white Jockeys would be hard to miss on the freshly mowed lawn.

His glance was still fixed on them. I assumed he wondered when I'd retrieve them, but instead I decided they needed company, so I continued my strip tease, quickly removing my tank top and aiming to fling them in the directions of my undies. Impressed with my aim, I watched my ribbed black tank top fall directly on top of my whities, camouflaging them a bit.

My breasts felt wonderful in the open air and I enjoyed the feel of my hair falling over my nipples, shoulder, and back. I hadn't cut my hair for a very long time and was finding that all the care long hair required was definitely worth it. It looked and felt sexy. I began to debate taking off my skirt but I was enjoying playing with casual twirls, and the slight breeze it produced between my legs excited me.

"Let's go inside." He blurted quickly as he stepped toward the door.

"No, let's BBQ the meat," I said in as loaded a fashion as I could.

Now he was utterly shocked. Recently I had been a bit more experimental, but it seemed this was blowing his mind based on his slack-jawed expression.

"Close your mouth," I teased.

"I just . . . " he stammered.

"You just need to take your balls out too." I replied. Now I was having fun and beginning to feel moist. It wasn't that I was enjoying being dominant, but rather that I was enjoying being able to so utterly shock my husband. It was really turning me on and the updraft of my skirt was making me blissfully aware of my exposed pussy on top of it. I considered simply losing control. I was longing to touch myself, to rub my clit.

I flipped my skirt up and sat in a nearby lawn chair. My lips spread onto the hard plastic of the chair, and I wiggled around, smashing them from side to side and rocking. My husband was just standing there staring as I moved around in my own wetness.

"Pull your balls out too." I reminded him. He was still staring.

"Oh, I'll just do it myself!" I declared and went over to him, trying to catch his eye, which was still, oddly enough, focused on the chair. A quick glance told me he was probably contemplating the obviously shiny smear I had left on the dark green seat top.

"Geez! What has gotten into you?" He questioned as he broke his focus.

"A Father's Day present?" I tried as I finally did reach into his gaping boxer flap to retrieve what I had been asking for. He let me pull them out and seemed to relax. I assumed he decided to stop questioning and just go along with me. I looked directly up and into his eyes in a seductive a manner as I could possibly project. I was trying to employ "hungry eyes."

"Whaaaaat?" He again asked with a playful whine, and this time I laughed.

"I'm hungry, and I'm saying it with my eyes." I confessed.

"I'll get the meat then," he stated almost relieved, and into the house he went to the refrigerator while the meat I had really wanted dangled threw the flap of his fly. I felt like waving to it as it passed me by.

I was a bit confused. There was no way he could have missed that reference; I was sure of it.

Minutes later he came out with two bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade and his now-very-erect dick bobbing happily on his balls.

"I thought you were getting the meat." I pointed out.

"Oh, you mean MY meat," he teased and handed me my drink.

I laughed. That man really knew how to keep a straight face when he ended up playing me.

"Guzzle it." He ordered as he downed his.

I took a few gulps, but as I was never much of a guzzler, I wound up sitting down, and remembering that I had decided to lose control, I immediately began to mash deliciously on my plastic chair.

"That's okay. Just use mine." He offered as he handed me his bottle and took mine.

I immediately smiled, because I had played with a bottle for him before on cam once. I threaded my legs through the armed sides of the chair and placed the balls of my feet flat on the ground, my heels raised. My wet spot had grown, especially since I knew how wonderful the cool bottle would feel sliding inside me. I rose up, straight-legged and tippy-toed and placed the bottle under me, on the chair. I immediately squatted and wiggled onto the neck, wetting it while I slid onto it. It felt so hard against my lips and I enjoyed the feeling of it pushing me open with its rigidness. The bottom of my skirt brushed the top of the chair, flaring and covering my point of interest until my husband lifted it with interest.

It was a bit big for me, and I had been sore the last time I had played, but the soreness had reminded me of my delicious adventure for days afterward and the slight ache around my core had been titillating when the day was dull. I continued to slowly lower myself onto it, wanting to fully sit on it, but discovering that it was physically too long for me to continue rubbing on the plastic of my chair, I sat on my fists instead, thumbs up, rubbing my clit the best I could as I savored the sensation of having my pussy pushed open so wide.

"Raise yourself up again," my husband requested.

I was relieved because my thighs were burning from squatting, so I immediately pressed my fists against the bottle to hold it in place and pushed with my already-sore thighs until I was completely straight-legged again. My husband retrieved his bottle and slid his hands over its slickness while giving me an impressed look. He nodded his approval. I smiled at his dick and balls exactly as I had requested them and began to pull my left leg out of the chair arm.

"Stay there." He smiled in return as he placed himself directly in front of me and inserted the neck of the bottle back into my pussy. I put my hand on his as I was afraid he would shove it too fast, but he pushed my hand away and looked straight into my eyes firmly while he pushed the bottle into me, parting me, and then letting it fall back out before again pushing it in. He looked deeply into me, trying to set a pace I would enjoy. He knew me very well, so it wasn't long before I was tightening my muscles against the bottle, trying to heighten the sensation of its sliding when I heard a motorcycle engine.

A recently single friend of ours had a Harley and a large appetite which caused him to show up at mealtimes, so my first thought was that it was him; but my husband didn't stop, and I certainly didn't want to stop either. I was already very close to cumming, and I decided I wasn't going to give it up, so I held my breath, put my hands on my husband's shoulders, and moved my hips with his pace. I let myself gasp and spasm, riding it as long as my body felt the pleasure.

I was looking over my husband's shoulder in the direction of the driveway when I realized he was squirting me with his cum. It was dripping onto my legs and landing on my feet. He was stroking with his freehand and he too was gasping. I giggled as I noted his cum, and he slapped my bum with finality.

"Didn't mean to blow it yet," he confessed as he helped my out of the chair.

"I love it when you lose control," I threw over my shoulder as I ran into the house by the back door while he put his meat away and walked down the drive where the Harley was parked, halfway up.

A few minutes later he came into our room with my undies and tee.

"Rob was on the cell phone when I walked down there, so I don't think he realized what we were up to or what these were. He's finishing his call."

"Thanks." I grinned.

"Hey, Jane," I heard Bob call as he came in the front door.

Having reassembled to my normal persona, I ventured into the living room and returned his greeting.

"I'm glad you guys haven't eaten yet," he commented, "I'm starving!"

With that my husband and I exchanged knowing glances.

"Oh," he observed, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No," we both agreed. After all, we had just warmed up the barbeque and our appetites. I had only to wipe the chair.