A longer story that is building to more adventure. Payton makes wild love to her husband and receives a gift that will lead her on an exciting path in future chapters.
*
I closed the door to the bathroom and took a deep breath. My legs were still a little weak from the powerful orgasm I had experienced just a few minutes ago in my bath. As my senses returned, I turned on my make-up mirror to softly augment the light of the still-glowing candles. The room was slightly steamy and damp, with the sweet fragrances of lilac bath oil and vanilla candles mixing delightfully in my nose. I used my towel to pat my skin dry. No towel could adequately dry the area between my legs. My juices continued to flow in the aftermath of my finger-play and in anticipation of the rest of the night.
Our bath has large mirrors on two walls, above the tub and above the vanity. As I finished drying my body, wherever I could, I carefully squeezed the wetness from my hair and let the natural honey-brown curls fall down again to frame my face. I carefully examined myself in the mirrors, front, side and back. I was pleased with what I saw. My complexion was fair skinned, but not pale. My creamy shoulders had a light sprinkling of freckles that most men, especially my husband, found very sexy, or so I have been told on many occasions.
Long ago I stopped hating my body because it did not resemble the "sticks with boobs" look of those models and actresses that stare at you from every magazine cover at the newsstand. My hands delicately traced the outline of my full, heavy breasts, then cupped them as each thumb and forefinger encircled and teased a dark pink nipple. I have loved having a large chest ever since I had suddenly blossomed at age thirteen. By the time I was fourteen, my boobs were the envy of all of the girls at school, and the center of attention whenever the boys were around. Not much has really changed since then, except that the boys are now men. If I have wanted a man's attention, a carefully opened button on my blouse, or a simple arching stretch of my back, has always allowed my breasts to work their magic on the men I seek.
Sliding my hands down my side and over the curves of my hips, I look in the mirror to examine the apple-bottom shape of my derriere. Although I have a bit of an hourglass figure, I don't have a tiny waist, as it would be impossible with my wide, rounded hips and full backside. I used to try everything to shrink my hips and bottom, despite the fact that every man I had ever been with went nuts for my full set of dangerous curves. Once I started watching older movies with my husband, I realized that my body was very similar to the full-figured screen goddesses of the past, very sensual and desirable women who simply seemed to be built for sex. Now, while I may work hard to stay in firm physical shape, I truly love my Rubenesque body, and the sexual power it gives me. I would not trade it for the bony body of any little size 0 model in the world.
Finishing my inspection, I check out my legs, running my hands up and down each in turn. My legs are long and well turned. In fact, although he is nearly eight inches taller than I, my hips sit perched up at the same height as my husband's hips. As my index fingers trace the inside curve of my thighs and slowly tickle their way past my damp sex, they outline my neat and carefully trimmed bush. Yes, this body was built to attract men and take everything they can give me, and more.
I brushed my teeth, then sat at my vanity and applied a light, strawberry flavored lip-gloss. Many people have said that I bear a passing resemblance to Minnie Driver, but with better cheekbones. There is some resemblance in my mind I suppose, but I think it is just in our face shape and curly brown locks that we look alike. My eyes are large and nicely shaped, and are a unique mixture of hazel green and gold. My lips are full, but not puffy and end in mischievous and sexy (or so my husband constantly tells me), curls on each side. My petite nose has a light sprinkling of freckles, while my cheeks and eyelids have a naturally medium pink hue that negates the need for blush or eye shadow, unless I am in a bit of a slutty mood and really want to draw attention to myself.
My husband best described my looks once when I complained to him that I did not have the porcelain complexion, slim figure and aquiline features of the queens and princesses that filled the medieval novels I favored reading. He explained that in reality most of those kings and princes married through arranged marriages for political purposes, and that they were rarely happy or sexually satisfied by their handpicked brides. Rather, he said, that I had the earthy beauty and pleasing figure of the sensuous peasant girl in whose arms these men found happiness and true satisfaction for their lusty natures. I have often tested his sweet theory by dressing as a sexy peasant wench at the local renaissance faire several times each year, and have found that I indeed attract far more male attention than any of the prissy women pretending to act like ladies of the court.
My husband's well-spoken words and the thought of him waiting erect and naked in my bed, mixed in with a passing thought of my earlier play and banter with Dr. Tyson, had my pussy leaking obscenely. Fortunately, I had the foresight to lay my towel beneath me before I sat down, or I would have a real slippery mess. My husband loved me for reasons beyond our strong physical chemistry, partially because we are a good intellectual match, something my brilliant lawyer hubby rarely encountered before me, and partly because we both have extremely strong sex drives. Luke knows I am completely devoted to him, as he is to me; hence he never gets overtly jealous when I develop sexual crushes on men like Greg Tyson. He understands that trying to rein in my sexual appetite would be counter-productive to his own interests. Plus, he trusts me to never cheat on him, a trust I would never betray.
