Wife Deals with a Growing Problem

I woke up, cold and shivering. I was drenched in sweat. It was all I could do to fumble my way to the other end of the room and switch the fan off. The cotton of the gown mopped my body and I huddled to get myself together enough to walk to the dresser. As usual, I couldn't recall what the dream was about, save some images.

Five of them, one above, two at my chest, one in front of me, one behind.

The pouring, oh the pouring. Endless waves.

Why wouldn't the shaking stop?

The digital calendar on my desk read 4. An aftershock struck. This is getting intolerable. This number gets smaller every time.

No small mercy that my husband was away, and I didn't have to spin a yarn. I let the gown fall to the floor and stared at myself in the mirror. What on earth is going on, I asked the reflection, my sense of self fading. I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the water would help me compose myself, but the shaking only intensified. At some point, I heard my son yell about leaving for school. Dear God, how long had I been here?

This wasn't the first time I'd been unable to get downstairs in time to see him off. There was only one fix that I knew of -- if only temporarily. I had to hold myself together somehow, so I picked up my to-do list. Emails to respond to, reports to read and a presentation to put together. I raced through it, then called my 3pm appointment to ask if he could come in earlier. He said he'd be by in twenty minutes.

The appointment was a fresh hire for a client. I'd met the boy at a conference and there were formalities I needed to complete before recommending him. He came in casually dressed -- khaki slacks, polo t-shirt, brown snakeskin belt and matching loafers. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm caught my eye. It had been hidden by his suit at the conference. My eye ran up his arm to his broad shoulders and chest. He was in athletic shape but not too built -- just the type of body on a man that gets my engine running. Run it did, because he had barely walked in and I was already undressing him mentally.

I wanted to remark on his clothes. Instead, I launched into simple screening questions and half-heard stories of his childhood, family, education and career goals. The professional in me kept running the process, while the devil in my head kept creating images of what could come ...

"I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you that week," he said.

"Oh, I had my eye on you as soon as I first saw you," I blurted out. Why would I say that? "I mean, I'd already seen your resume," I tried to cover up. The professional tried to keep the process running, getting further and further from the driving seat.

"Okay, that wraps up all the questions I had to ask," I said, putting away my notebook. I couldn't believe what came out of my mouth next. "Last thing -- I need to put you through a test of your ability to follow orders and keep things to yourself. Follow me."

I led him upstairs to my bedroom, the professional hollering in disbelief but unable to do anything.

I watched my hands fling off my dress and heard myself order him to take off his clothes. His eagerness to comply dissolved all conflict in my head. I reeled him in by the ass and kissed him. The feel of his skin on my nipples through the lace of my bra sent currents down to my instantly wet cunt. I kneeled and went to work on his cock like I hadn't eaten in months. Nothing stopping me now, not even his impending orgasm. He spurted in my mouth, rope after rope of cum. When he subsided, I let go, expecting to see him go flaccid. Not quite. I threw him on the bed and climbed atop, riding him to a climax of my own. Afterwards, I told him to see himself out.

Later, my pussy still dripping, I felt relieved as I set the counter on the digital calendar back to 0 and looked forward to getting some sleep tonight. Hopefully I wouldn't have another dream about five cocks emptying themselves on me.