AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a fantasy story of a wife who has volunteered to have her sexual inhibitions removed for her husband. This section could have been posted to the Anal section, but I felt it really belongs here, due to the process that took them here.
In this chapter they continue to explore her new openness, including porn and anal sex. If this isn't for you, feel free to move on to another story. If you've enjoyed the first two chapters, then welcome back.
Chapter 3
Back on the highway, on the final leg of their trip home, Tom glanced at the dashboard clock, and saw it was past three already. He'd never had a Saturday like this, he grinned, noting for about the hundredth time the cum drying on his wife's blouse. She had wiped the drips off her chin with a finger that she licked clean, after licking what she could reach with her tongue.
"By the time we get home," he commented, "we could start thinking about dinner."
"M-mm, yeah. What time is – whoa, I had no idea it was that late already. Yeah, I'm hungry already," she confessed, "I'll be starving by five."
"I confess I didn't make anything."
"Oh, you're kidding," she teasingly pouted. "You didn't prepare a feast before you came to get me?" She stuck out her bottom lip, but then laughed.
"Oh, yeah, this morning. Like I really had my head on straight!" he laughed with her.
"It was pretty straight in the parking garage!"
"Not that head," he grinned, and chided, "you evil temptress! Is that all you can think of?"
"Sorry, it was on my mind. And chin! And my clothes, since you asked!" She rubbed at one of the spots, but it only spread a little.
"Maybe," he suggested, "we should take a few minutes to clean up when we get home, you know, change and all. Before we go out to eat."
"Hmm, good idea," she agreed. "What do you want to go out for?"
"Cause there's nothing at home, and I'd rather we didn't start cooking ..."
"No, I know, I agree, and thanks. What food, I meant." She touched his arm as they drove, just a nonchalant touch. "What food do you want to have?"
"Keep it simple, I guess. Maybe just pizza. Not fast food."
" 'kay," she confirmed, looking out the window. From the corner of his eye he watched her lean into the seat back, turning a little to relax. He drove on in silence for a time, reflecting. Then, "Hey, Liz?"
"Hmm?"
"What's it going to be like now?"
"What?"
"Us. Regular us. Going out for pizza us. Regular life things."
"I guess it'll be what it always was. We're the same people. You're the same, right?"
"Yeah," he agreed, "I guess".
"And I'm the same." He started to make a noise, and she shushed him with her hand. "No, not that. Clearly, that changed; that was the goal. But that's not our whole life. It's a big, important part, for sure," she smiled. "But that's the only part that changed. The rest of me is the same. We're still in love, and we still both like and dislike the same things we did before. I'll still bug you when I interrupt your stories, and you'll still bug me when you answer questions with a question." She slapped his shoulder playfully.
"Hey, I'm driving," he pretended.
"Tough guy."
"We could've crashed."
"Stop it. But there, you see, that's just us, the same way we always are, no different. Tonight we'll go out, have some pizza, have a few laughs, you'll tell me about work and stuff."
"It sucked last week, work."
"I bet. We'll see some folks who make us laugh, we'll have a couple of chuckles at their expense, like we always do." She touched his arm again, that connected meaningful way. "You'll make fun of the way someone talks, and I'll make you do that all night." She sat back. "Like we do, usual."
He nodded, agreeing silently, driving. Thinking.
When they got home she called the shower first, and he agreed. She always needed more time after the shower, and he didn't think the last fourteen days had changed that. He picked out clothes. He walked the house, looking at the bedroom, the den, the living room. He thought about the evening ahead, and about tomorrow, about going back to work Monday. About going back to normal. When Liz got out, Tom took a slow, hot shower, and considered further. About Monday, about normal life. About the time until then.
Would they be the same? Would the decision she had made for her, for him, really not affect the non-sexual parts of their lives? For the first time, it seemed, he considered the emotional impact of what she'd done. Sure, she would enjoy the sex, and so would he. And she'd be open to just about anything. (He reminded himself that she had already DONE just about everything, without him, and he was instantly afraid of that realization, and buried it.) She would enjoy pleasing him, no matter what he asked of her. "Your wildest dreams are about to come true." Is that what they had said? Something like that. But after sex, in between sex, there was love. Love was why they were married, why they sacrificed for each other. Sexual urges was the reason they had sex, but love was why it was special, with each other. Her love for him was the reason she'd made this decision. Was it still there? Would it still connect them in their everyday lives?
He realized he was standing in the shower motionless, lost in thought. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd heard the story, learned what she had done, for him, for THEM, together. He wondered how long it would take for him to get used to the idea. He finished showering.