When my law practice had finally started to pay off well, my wife, Ann, and I bought a large old Victorian house. It was situated on two acres of land and had beautiful gardens and a pool.
This being in my hometown, I was aware of lots of stories about the old place. The original owner had built it for his wife and six children. The man had the reputation of being a brilliant businessman, but rather eccentric. It had remained in their family until the last child passed. Through property records, I found that it changed ownership every few years since.
Over the years, several owners had updated and refurbished the house. One added the pool, another redid the kitchen and baths, etc. So when I learned about it through one of our firm's divorce attorneys, it was in wonderful condition. My wife fell in love with it immediately. Being part of a property settlement, the owner was anxious to sell and I got a great price.
It was really too much house for just the two of us, but we had decided that we wanted a large family. We weren't practicing any birth control, and so far had been unsuccessful at getting pregnant.
My wife bussied herself with the house, rearranging and sorting things the way she wanted. Setting up the kitchen and buying drapes and furnishings for that large place. I would come home in the evenings and find her near exhaustion. I was also busy at work, so our love life suffered some in the beginning.
After a few weeks, I came home one evening to find my wife in the tub of our master suite. She had her eyes closed and earbuds on. I assumed she was relaxing after a long day of housework. I didn't want to disturb her 'me time' but decided I should check on her later to make sure she didn't fall asleep and drown.
I had noticed a wonderful aroma emanating from the kitchen, so I went to investigate the dinner plan. It was a pot roast, whose timer was going off, so I donned some oven mitts and removed it. I had just set it on the top of the stove when she came up behind and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm so glad you're home. I need you."
This is not her usual behavior, but who was I to complain. She dragged me to the bedroom and proceeded to fuck me near death. I don't know if it was because of her willingness or because it had been a while since we had sex, but it was great. My performance seemed to be enhanced as well. My five inches (it is..I swear.. on a good day), served me proudly.
As I lay there trying to recover, Ann swooped down and swallowed my limp dick. This was very unlike her. She didn't like sucking, and had refused outright to do it. Of course this only made me excited, and I was up again quickly. A second round hadn't been seen around our house since our honeymoon, but there it was.
Over our cold, yet somehow delicious dinner, I asked Ann what had gotten into her.
"I was relaxing in the tub, and suddenly felt overwhelming desire. I just knew if I didn't get laid I would explode."
Did she just say 'get laid'? Ann does not talk like that. "What about the oral.. that was new for you too?"
She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I needed more. So I made it happen."
A couple of days later, I worked late and came in after she had retired. I showered and fell into bed, grateful to get some much needed rest. I was asleep instantly, only to be awakened by moaning. My back was to her, so I glanced over my shoulder.
She was holding the blanket away from her body, obviously to hide what her other hand was doing. Even in the darkened room, I could see movement under the blanket.
The next morning as she set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, I asked "Did you sleep well last night?"
"Mmm, yes." She bent and gave me sensual kiss. "And thank you."
What the hell was she thanking me for? Inquiring about her sleep? I was trying to get her to talk about her masturbation. I had never seen her do it before, and wanted to watch her next time.
Now, something you should know about Ann. We never have sex on Saturday night. She says she doesn't want to feel my 'stuff' leaking from her in God's house on Sunday. As if I put it deep enough to still be leaking the next day. But rules are rules and I live with it.
So a couple of nights later, a Saturday, I leaned over and tried to give her a simple kiss good night. She drew me in and started what seemed to be her 'I want to get fucked' kissing. I went with it, even caressing her breasts. When she began to pull me to her as if she wanted fucking, I reminded her it was Saturday.
"I want you to do what you did last time." She answered as she threw the blanket off her body.
The last time was when we had that great sex, and even a second round. I was moving into position to try to reenact my performance from that night, when she started to moan.
"Mmm yes, just like that. I love it when you do that."
I hadn't done anything. I looked at her questioningly, only to discover her eyes closed, her head tilted back, tongue slowly sliding over her top lip. What the fuck has gotten into her.
She drew her knees back further, and brought her hands down toward her pussy. I watched as she started to undulate her hips. She was obviously headed toward a climax. As I said, I had never seen her pet her kitty, so I wanted to see how she manipulated herself so I could do it while making love to her. In the low light I couldn't see too well, but it looked like her hands were only cupped above her pussy. Not actually rubbing it. I thought that a bit strange, so I looked closer.
Her hands were not even touching her pussy. They hovered about eight inches above it. How odd is that? She was really getting into it and tossing about, hips rolling in some primordial rhythm. She let out a guttural moan and collapsed. Hands falling by her side.
"Thank you Mark. I really needed that." She said as she turned over and went to sleep.
Again she thanks me for not doing anything. What the hell is going on?
Sunday, while she is in church, she has me cleaning out the attic. This is not my strong suit. I hate cleaning anything. It's not that I'm a dirty person, I just think my efforts would be more effective in other areas. I prefer to hire people to do the shit I don't want to do. But you know the saying 'happy wife, happy life', so here I was in my first forray into the attic.
Countless years and several families sure produce a lot of castoff crap. Old furniture, toys, trunks, books...just crap. Two, yes two, obviously feminine mannequin thingies that they use to hang clothes on as they make alterations. Just crap. Although I did find a few antiques and an old spinning wheel that might be of value.
I started in one corner, just to clear a space to put things I thought we might keep. The nearest window opened onto the back yard, so instead of running up and down the stairs a thousand times I tossed things out the window to pick up later.
By the time Ann returned, I had a kerchief around my face to keep from choking on the dust, but had made quite some headway.
"You look like an old west highway man." She laughed.
"Thanks for the compliment. This is going to take a lot longer than I thought. Look at all this junk."
"That's why I'm not doing it. I took one look up here and turned right around and went back downstairs. I appreciate your help with it though."
An hour later she was back. "Lunch is almost ready. You hit the shower first, I don't want that dirt all over my clean kitchen."
I had my shower and sat down to lunch. I told Ann that I was done in the attic for the day. I would make it a weekend project for the next few months, because there was just too much to do.
