The haunting screech of an owl woke me up; it's beautiful cry flitting through the open bedroom window along with an early morning breeze that bore the sweet scent of our garden with it. I smiled contentedly and stretched out my arm, seeking to feel the reassuring comfort of your warm skin beneath my touch; but instead I found only cool, dry cloth. Through bleary eyes I saw your side of the bed, slept in but empty, and a close look at the bedside clock told me it was 1am.
With a yawn and a stretch I clambered out of bed and made my way to the window, looking out at the dark vista that is the Gorge. Below our window the silver moonlight lay over our garden, the rose bushes, trees and shrubs that we had so lovingly cultivated. I looked for you within the silvery confines of our private piece of paradise, knowing your penchant for late night walks; but you were nowhere to be found between the rose bushes and trees.
With another yawn and a scratch I don my glasses and head out the door onto the landing. All is quite up here and the only light comes from the bottom of the stairs. You've probably gone down for some tea or maybe to do some work; you always were a late night worker. I slowly pad down the stairs to the bottom floor of the house, intent on checking that you are ok and finding out when you are coming back up to bed.
The stairs open out onto our lounge and the large double doors that lead to the garden are open, a warm breeze making the curtains billow in luxuriously. The lights are off and the lounge is lit only by the soft silver light of the full moon. While not bright, it's enough to let me see that you aren't here. The jarring sound of heavy wood on tile makes me turn my head to the kitchen and I can see that the door is half-closed but that the light is on inside.
Tea then. Perhaps I could make you your cup if you haven't already made it. I smile to myself as I head down the corridor, the carpeting padding my footfalls. As I get nearer to the kitchen I hear muted sounds, barely comprehensible; it sounds like you but I can't make out what you are saying and I approach the door with a quizzical look on my face.
Twenty-five years of marriage and three kids have barely touched you except to make you look even more radiant than ever. You've put on a little weight, but then so have I, and unlike me you've put it on in all the right places. Motherhood and a healthy life have left your breasts slightly bigger than what they were; still firm and delicious and sagging only slightly more than what they did in your twenties. The weight you've gained around your ass and thighs has just made you seem riper, thicker in an erotic way. A few crows' feet at the corner of your eyes and mouth and one or two lines on your forehead give away your age; that and the single streak of gray in your hair that you refuse to dye, and which in truth I'd hate if you did. All in all you look like what some people would call motherly; at least you would if you didn't currently have your legs wrapped around some guys waist as he fucked you on our kitchen table.
He's just over six foot tall, with broad-ish shoulders and a shock of thick dark hair. He's muscled, but not unduly so, more thickset with muscles rippling beneath the skin rather than somebody who goes to the gym regularly. A pair of boxers lie in a heap around his ankles, and his arms are wrapped around you, his hands undoubtedly grabbing handfuls of your delicious ass for stability. Your arms are wrapped around him tightly, fingernails raking across his back to leave deep red welts or digging into his soft, tender flesh. Your legs are locked together around his waist, crossed at the ankles, as his hips slam in and out of you wetly. Your dark cocoa coloured skin a delicious foil to his pale white one. You have your mouth at his ear, moaning and gasping into it, muttering to him breathlessly in between kissing and biting at his neck. You seem to know when I reach the door because you look up at me, directly into my eyes and smile as you gasp and moan lustily in his ear.
A small smile comes to my lips. We'd tried so hard to go on the straight and narrow when we'd got married. To give up the swinging life we'd enjoyed before. We'd even managed for a couple of years before we had given in and gone back to it with a vengeance. The years away had done nothing but dam our desires and when we finally succumbed that dam burst with the fury of the mightiest rivers.
The debauchery that had followed the birth of our first child would have made even a sailor blush. The partner swapping where we'd stayed out for days at a time, having to lie to friends and family for one another, telling them that we were away on business. Or the threesomes or foursomes we'd had; the orgies and gangbangs we had attended and hosted. The sex in public places; offices, cars, weddings and boats. Hell, we'd even had a gangbang at our house when you were four months pregnant with our second child and showing. You and five men, a weekend of animal-like rutting, nobody bothering with protection, just enjoying the sensation of cumming in a well-fucked, cum-filled cunt. We are many things but normal isn't one of them so I am sure it came as no surprise to you when you saw me slip my hand into my sleeping shorts to grab my rapidly hardening cock.
I seemed to have hit the right button because you smiled wickedly before letting out a bestial moan.
"Oh fuck yes! Fuck me good baby! You've got such a big cock! My pussy wants it so bad! Fuck, you're so much better than my husband! Oh fuck yes!" you cried out lustily in his ear, loud enough for it to echo through the kitchen. My cock jumped in my hand, completely hard and leaking messily. I wasn't the only one who seemed to like the commentary though.
"Shhh! He'll hear us!" he gasped out breathlessly; but his hips started pounding into you with greater speed and urgency...fuck you know how to play to the crowd.
