I had been away for six months and our reunion was meant to be a memorable one for my wife and I. We had no idea just how memorable it would turn out to be.
My flight was ten hours long, plus a two-hour wait for a transfer in Singapore. Usually I'd sleep, but one thing had kept me awake for more or less the whole journey - the fantasy of what Julia and I would get up to once we were both safely home.
Julia is 34 years old but is still as beautiful and youthful as the day we met at university, not to mention funny, sweet and smart. She has sleek black hair, sparkling blue eyes, gorgeous, full, pink lips and a winning smile. She exercises when she can and never seems satisfied with her figure, but she's slim by the standards of most women in their mid-30s. While she can't stand the couple of excess inches on her belly and butt, it's perfect for my tastes. I like to grab onto something, and she's just the right amount of woman. After six months of sleeping alone in the unremarkable hotel accommodation my work had set up for me, the thought of sharing my bed with this woman was, understandably, stopping me from sleeping.
The time away had probably been good for us. Like most couples who have been together for over ten years, our sex life was waning. We still made love once or twice a week, but it was often perfunctory. We knew each other so well, we'd just do what we knew would work, rolled over and fell asleep. After half a year of not even touching one another, though, I had a newfound appreciation for how stunning she is, and couldn't wait to get her undressed again.
I knew she was going to meet me at the airport, but I was taken aback by what was waiting for me when I finally made it through customs. I was sweaty, groggy and tired after a gruelling journey, and Julia was waiting for me in a black cocktail dress, black high heels and the expensive pearl necklace I'd bought for her birthday a couple of years ago. She looked glamorous, sexy and ready for a night out. As we wrapped our arms around each other, I said "you didn't have to get dressed up." "I hope you slept plenty on the plane," she replied, "we're going for dinner and drinks." I was exhausted, of course, but she'd gone to the effort of surprising me and I didn't want to spoil it. "And when we get home," she breathed into my ear, "I'm going to fuck your brains out." No arguments.
I dumped my luggage in the boot of the car, got inside and we headed for town, with Julia in the driving seat. "You look fantastic," I said, and she turned and smiled at me. After a pause, she reached out for my hand and pulled it onto her thigh. It felt smooth and warm. "I've not even touched myself since you left," she said softly. "I wanted to save myself for you." That's why she's so affectionate and forthright then, I thought. She's horny as hell.
I pushed my hand slowly up her dress and located her underwear. I could tell from the feel that she was wearing my favourite - an insubstantial, lacy black thong she didn't much like, but wore for my sake if I'd done something to deserve it. She let out a little gasp and her thighs parted a little, so I pushed my luck and found the middle ground. Hot, damp. She gasped again and then clamped her thighs shut. "I'm driving!" she smiled, "behave yourself." I said I could be patient a couple of hours longer, and we pulled into the restaurant car park.
Dinner was fine - a fairly posh restaurant, good food and a nice glass or two of white wine - but I was glad when it was over, because I thought it was a step closer to bed. I was secretly dismayed, then, when Julia announced we were going for a cocktail at a new bar she'd heard about round the corner. I quietly protested, nibbling at her ear and saying I wanted to get her to bed, but, smiling impishly, she pushed me away and told me to have a little patience.
By the time we arrived at the bar, I'd resigned myself to staying out for as long as Julia wanted, as she'd clearly planned us a special night out and I didn't want to disappoint her. We talked about how much we'd missed one another, and as we spoke I was struck again by how beautiful she was. Her big blue eyes beamed at me, and she kissed me and whispered slowly, teasingly in my ear, "as soon as we get in the door tonight, I'm going to drop to my knees and suck your cock." I maintained my poker face but I was doing somersaults inside. She'd never talked dirty like this to me before. "Oh, really?" was all I could manage. "Really. And when you're done fucking me, I'm going to swallow your cum. Like a good wife." I'm not going to lie, I was the luckiest person in the world at that point.
My voice must have cracked when I suggested we get going, because Julia burst out laughing. She said she wanted a drink, so I left her alone and went to order.
I'd volunteered to drive home so she could drink, so I waited patiently for her Caipirinha and surveyed the bar. It was reasonably busy, with pockets of well dressed friends drinking and dancing, and some good dance music to accompany the night.
I noticed I was standing next to a soldier, leaning on the bar, playing with his phone and drinking a mineral water. He was a good height, maybe 6'2", and in his late 20s at a guess. He looked like a caricature of a soldier - muscular, chiseled jaw line, handsome, and a serious, controlled expression. He nodded at me. I smiled, he stared. He held his gaze for long enough for me to feel uncomfortable. "Do we know each other?" I said. He ignored the question. "Is that your wife?" he motioned towards Julia, sitting on her own at the far side of the room. I confirmed that she was. "She looks like a fucking slut," said the soldier. It was a pretty strong opening gambit, and I was thrown a little off course. "She's not, and we're happy together. Thank you." I turned away. "Don't turn your fucking back on me," he snapped.
