It was one of those nights. I was at home, watching television, feeling a little randy. Hubby hadn't got back from a golf day with his mates. I knew he'd probably be slightly the worse for wear and of no damn use to me. My mind wandered a little, thinking of sex. My hand wandered a little, too.
I was shocked back to reality when I heard the taxi door slam shut and heard him fumbling with his keys in the front door. Sure enough, he was a little drunk. He came into the lounge and staggered about saying he wasn't drunk, just very tired. I think I'll get to bed, he mumbled. Me too and I followed him into the bedroom. It was comical watching him strip off. I started to undress somewhat provocatively, trying to get his attention. Standing there, in my knickers and bra, walking about, picking up his clothes. All to no avail. I took my bra off and still couldn't hold his attention. He got in bed and just lay there grunting.
In a last ditch bid to get him interested, I slipped out of my knickers and slipped into some silky French Knickers. I put on a matching top, nicely low-cut and strappy. I stood at his side of the bed, hands on my hips and asked if he wanted an aspirin. No, just sleep.
I climbed into bed. Our bedside lamps were on, so I reached over him, my tits brushing against his chest, and turned his off. I lay down and, reaching round his front, my nipples against his back, I slipped my hand down his pants and asked if there was anything else I could do for him. Maybe in the morning was the only thing he offered.
So that was that, or was it. I had to have some relief, so I lay there, my hand down my knickers, just gently touching my pussy. I'd spent some time, that morning, trimming my hairs. Such a neat triangle, very close cut, the perfect geometrical shape. Then, venturing between my legs, perfectly smooth, not a hair to be felt. My pussy lips, already slightly moistened from my thoughts alone. A finger ventured inside. Still so nice and tight from not having c***dren. My lips moving as the finger ventured inside and then out, flicking my clit on its adventurous journey. Wetter and wetter, another finger joined in. I parted my legs further as a third finger joined in. I'm usually a stickler for detail, when I write, but I can't recall what I was thinking about. Was it a cock, a girl licking me, I honestly can't remember. Suffice to say, both hands were down my knickers now, all ten digits working in perfect unison, inside and out, expertly making me cream.
One of my husband's favourite things is to watch me touching myself. I know, as well, that, after a skinful of beer, he doesn't sleep soundly. He's continually twitching as he snores.
