Tina felt her life moving into a routine. She didn't understand if she liked it, or hated it. It was simply, routine. There was a numbness that came with routine, a bland series of days strung together and adding up to her life.
She didn't hate it, because there is a comfort in routine. Her life had been anything but comfort, and to have it now, that safety and stability was good for her. She could live like this, she could survive.
But then, she still had that urge. It was an urge she thought every woman felt, the need for anything but safety and comfort.
In truth, she didn't know what she wanted. She had money, not a lot, but enough to live her own way. Her husband worked for a marketing firm, and he did his 9 to 5, bringing home an adequate paycheck. He was a good man, a decent man, and he loved her. He didn't cheat on her.
At least, she didn't think he did.
How could he? He didn't even like sex.
Sex had become, like everything else, routine. On Wednesday she did the laundry, and she knew she would have sex because it was laundry day. The same day the sheets got tossed, she got tossed as well. Whether she was in the mood or not, Wednesday had become their routine.
She thought of that, as she placed the hamper down next to their washer. It was a brand new washer, bright blue. They had got it last March. It barely hummed when it worked. It was very nice. She smiled, throwing in old jeans, worn shirts, panties and towels into it. She measured out the amount of soap, and started up the machine.
Routine.
Some days she just wanted to tear her clothes off, and run outside naked. Today was one of those days. She just thought of what she had to do, start dinner, welcome her husband, change the laundry, make the bed, watch their show for the night, read her book, make love, go to sleep. This entire list of things to do today, and sex was pushed in there like it was nothing else.
What if she did go around the house naked? The shades were drawn, no one would see her. No one would know. How naughty would that be? And if someone came to the door, if they caught a glimpse of her as she tried to put on her robe? A young man with visions of lust in his eye, asking for her signature on some delivery he had for her? An invite in for coffee?
She felt her body react, heat coming from her deepest core, and her simple cotton panties dampen at such thoughts. She would never do it, but what an active imagination. The delivery man; it was enough to drive a bored housewife wild with lust.
Instead of getting naked and hoping for a package, she prepared dinner. At five thirty, almost as if on a timer, her husband Tom arrived home. She kissed him on the cheek, as he took off his shoes and put down his briefcase.
Their conversation was light, fluffy, boring. The office was the same as usual, his assistant got the coffee wrong again, she was one step closer to being fired. Tina nodded her head, as she changed the laundry. Routine as well.
They ate dinner in a modified silence. The television blared from the other room, jokes told to a live studio audience. Tom remarked how good dinner was. Tina nodded, telling him she'd used a new recipe. Of course she hadn't, but it didn't matter. Tom only nodded and ate some more.
She hated him for it.
She didn't hate her husband, but she simply hated his reaction to everything. He seemed happy about routine. He seemed content. He liked his food, his job, his sex every Wednesday with the wife. Normal sex, they didn't even switch positions.
They didn't even have foreplay.
Tina thought about that, when they first fell in love. Weekends together. She remembered the first time he went down on her. Tom had kissed his way passed her breasts, down her stomach. She guided him with her hands, rustling in his hair. Moans escaped her lips whenever he touched something.
His tongue had come out, and just found every spot of pleasure on her body. He would suck her clit into his mouth, make her thrash against his face. He dove deep into her pussy. He held his breath, pushed down deep, his nose purposely bumping into her clit and driving her wild, his tongue pushing in deeper, pressing against her walls, back and forth. She would cry out, scream his name, hoping, wishing, praying the neighbors would hear.
Then he came up for air, gasping against her juices thick on his lips. He would lick them off, slowly, deliberately as she looked down at him. She thought that last part turned her on most of all, his look of absolute pleasure as he licked his lips from her juices.
Tina's panties grew wet for the second time that day. She felt herself blushing, those thoughts running through her. When was the last time she let her imagination run wild like that?
"What is it?" Tom asked, licking the gravy from his lips. She shook her head, nothing was wrong. She couldn't remember the last time he licked his lips with her juice on it. Years?
Perhaps.
He did like the gravy.
She cleaned the dishes as he went to go look for something decent on television. Tina found herself lost in the suds and soap of the night. She didn't want to watch anything on television. She just wanted to break her routine. Something. Anything.
What made her feel this way? Tina felt unsure. She didn't understand. She hadn't felt this way yesterday, certainly her imagination had not run along these naughty lines before. What had happened today that made it so special?
Perhaps it was that dull ache of routine. She felt so numb, she just could not handle it anymore. She desired something more, something different.
Instead of watching television, she went into the bedroom to read. It was not a romance novel, although Tina wished it was. It was one of those thrillers, a serial killer was loose somewhere in America, and only this down on his luck detective could stop him.
She read the passage about the brutal slaying. The girl had been tied up and gagged, raped before she was murdered. Tina began to wonder about that rape. The man came into her house, unsuspecting. He tied her up. What would it be like to be tied up? The thought of restraints on her wrists.
Her thighs shifted slightly at such a thought, and once more she felt those cotton panties catching moisture of her sex. If her hands were tied up? She closed her eyes, setting the book aside, and slowly put her arms up over her head.
He came on rough, his hands thick and calloused. They tore at her clothing. She screamed, eyes tearing up, her flesh being pawed and mauled by this man, this stranger. She cried out as he found her nipples, already hard. He had a low gravelly voice, accusing her, telling her she liked this, she wanted this.
She shook her head no, but her panties grew wet, her thighs parted just so for him, as he slipped his fingers down between her legs. She wanted to move her arms, struggled against the thick rope binding her. It was useless, he could use her body, be as brutal as she wanted.
"Fuck me," She whispered, the words hung deep between soft lips, "Oh God, fuck me."
"What did you say?"
Tina gasped, coming out of her fantasy. Tom stepped into the room, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. She felt her cheeks bruise a deep crimson. She closed her legs, looking down at the deep wet spot on her panties. She would have to wash these tomorrow.
She almost felt happy for that. A break in her routine.
Tom slipped into bed beside her. Tina felt that brush of his arm and fell down comfortably next to him. He turned off the lights. They did not make love with the lights on. She wished they could, once, just so she could see his body and her own. She always wanted to look down at her body, watch it as he fucked her. How would it look? So sexy she imagined, being thrown back and forth as his cock slipped inside of her. Her imagination could not describe that in the detail she wanted.
He kissed her. His kisses were light. She responded, her body melting against his touch. Somehow she ached for this. Something about today had felt so odd, so weird, and sex seemed the only cure. She would be fucked, she would orgasm and then everything would be just fine.
