After her encounter with Eric in the laundry room, Doris wondered whether she was becoming a nymphomaniac. As hard as she had cum from his attention, it only seemed to make her need worse. She was hopeful this might be the night her husband would want his once-a-month missionary-position quickie. Even that would work for her, Doris thought. Not that her husband's efforts got her off, but she enjoyed the residue of those quickies in a way he knew nothing about.
Sure enough, as afternoon became evening and the evening wore on, she got the usual clumsy signals from her old man that tonight would be the night. He gave her a little pat on the tush as she was doing the dishes. He stole a feel of her big tits through her clothes when she was getting his bowl of ice cream. He was feeling his oats, alright. Doris sighed as she thought of how unromantic he was and how little he must care about her, to have not given her an orgasm for years.
She barely even pretended to enjoy it when he mounted her, pumped his cock a few times, tensed up and came, all in a minute or two. He rolled off and was snoring a minute later.
He didn't even rouse when Doris slipped out of bed and tip-toed to her sewing room downstairs. Doris booted up the family computer and logged on to her current favorite website. This one featured fisting. The 'free sample' video clip showed a woman of the same general description as Doris taking the hand of a somewhat younger man all the way up her pussy. As the image flickered on the monitor, Doris toyed with her nipples and snaked a hand down to her barely used pussy, which was leaking her husband's load. Doris ran a finger along her slit and, feeling the wetness on it, raised it to her lips to taste the mixture of her pussy juices and her husband's cum. She studied the face of the woman in the video clip. She grimaced as the hand was pushed inside her cunt. It must have hurt, thought Doris, pinching her clit gently and scooping up more of the gooey mess leaking from her snatch.