Thunder shook the sky as he drove home. The headlights barely illuminated the road in front of the truck, making visibility almost zero. It had been a long night, and this drive was becoming tumultuous. The wind was gusting across the road, nearly forcing the vehicle into the other lane.
White-knuckling the steering wheel, he kept control of the vehicle. He smirked, as he thought of control. He always kept control. Always. In all things. From his employees, who tested his patience, to his children, who pushed the boundaries from time to time, he maintained control. Except...
She was at home. Perhaps still asleep. Maybe up waiting for him. She was the exception to the rule. He lost his smirk & replaced it with a smile. She had no idea that she, in fact, had control over him, not he over her. His love for her knew no bounds; he would do anything for her.
As he pulled into the long driveway, he noticed something odd. Her Mustang, a '67 Shelby GT500, was not in the garage. The car was her baby. She kept it spotless & in the garage anytime she wasn't driving it. She would never just let it sit out in the weather, especially the torrential downpour that was coming down. He frowned & wondered if something was wrong.
As he shifted the truck into park, he started to worry. Maybe she was ill. Maybe she had to get into the house in a hurry for some reason. Maybe one of the kids was ill. He should find out.
As soon as he opened the truck door & stepped out, he was soaked, causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Before he had gone three steps, she was there. Right in front of him, wearing a thin, oversized t-shirt, one of his, he was certain. And nothing else, plainly, as the rain soaked the garment in seconds. Her breasts, enveloped by the thin cotton, displayed perfect pointed nipples, even though the spring night was not cold.