I saw , still lying on his back, but now fully exposed. The bedclothes were gone; so were any shorts or pajama pants he might've been wearing when he came to bed the previous night. With his legs bent and spread apart, I had a clear view of Mark's rigid cock standing tall and proud. Mark's right hand was wrapped around his shaft, tugging the skin up and down as it pumped in slow strokes. His head (the one on his shoulders) was facing away from me, thank goodness, and was tilted to the left. He was looking at the Andres photo catalogue he had commandeered from my closet, grasping it in his left hand, which was resting on his nighttable. I had seen Mark masturbate before, but only when we were having some kind of sex together and then only for a moment or two. I remembered mutually masturbating once, long ago, when we were young and daring and still dating. But I had never had the chance to watch him when he thought he was unobserved, when he was at his most natural. I watched in fascination as his hand moved up and down, pumping his cock in a rhythm that I knew matched the throbbings he felt. It was marvelous, seeing the way his body built its way toward a rising pleasure even as his mind was occupied elsewhere, focused not on his own body but on the erotic photographs that held his attention. My mouth was dry as I watched his hand speed up its tempo a little, quickening its pace as he built to a climax. So soon? I groaned inwardly, feeling cheated by the quick conclusion I foresaw. But I was more than a little pleased as well. So, you can't hold it in after weeks without making love? Good! And I hope that my little peep show this morning made things worse! I grinned as I contemplated the torture he must have experienced as I exhibited my naked body to him, and then yanked it away untouched by his horny little hands. Suddenly his pace slowed again, and I looked on in wonderment as he let the book slide out of his fingers and reached out with his left hand. After a brief moment his hand closed around the erstwhile contents of my lavender sack--my cock, still attached to the leather harness I had worn the last time, with Kathy. I was dumbstruck as I watched my husband Mark bring the cock closer to his body, rubbing his chest, his nipples, with the tip. I was thunderstruck when he held it up for a moment, looked at it...and then slowly inserted it into his mouth! His lips closed around the cockhead, sucking, moistening, and I looked on as he slowly, softly pushed it and pulled it in and out of his mouth, a little deeper each time. Mark knew how to give a blow job?!? Where the hell did he pick THAT up? I almost smacked myself on the forehead. Of COURSE he has a pretty good idea of blow job techniques. He's had 'em, hasn't he?!? Maybe he even learned this from ME, I thought, and I continued to stare as he extended his tongue and gave the cockhead a good, sloppy licking, wetting it down thoroughly. I was tingling as I began to think about that. If he was moistening the cock, lubricating it, that must mean... And he did not disappoint me. With his eyes closed, his right hand still gripping his now-straining cock, my husband guided the latex penis down between his spread knees, under his balls, to his dark anal opening. I held my breath as he pushed a little, changed the angle of the penis in his hand, pushed more, and gasped loudly. "Errrrrrr," he grunted, and I felt rather than saw as the cockhead pushed into him, penetrating him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle at his entrance until the head was just inside him, the rest of the cock hanging down. Mark moaned, and suddenly his right hand was pumping furiously, jerking with hard, fast strokes. He was panting and moaning now, quick sharp moans as his climax neared, the cockhead in his anal aperture driving him into a frenzy. His hips were bucking wildly now, his left hand just barely keeping the head of the cock inside him as he stroked himself with abandon, and I heard a loud "Aaaaah!" as the building tension met its sudden release and his body went rigid for a moment, and then I could see the spurts as he ejaculated into his hand and over the top of it, his cum soaking the hand clenched around his cock and spilling onto his stomach, which was heaving with his deep, ragged breaths. I watched as his body slowly relaxed, the latex cock softly emerging from the opening it had barely entered, his legs straightening as he unbent his knees, and suddenly I realized how vulnerable I was to discovery. As Mark began to recover I tiptoed back down the hallway with mincing little quicksteps, making it to the front door and picking up my shoes. I waited with baited breath until I heard him get up and head to the bathroom to clean up. As he turned the faucets and started running a shower, I exited the front door, the sounds of my escape camouflaged, I hoped, by the running water. All the way to work the image of my husband naked, writhing, uninhibited, danced before my eyes. After a while on the Parkway I started to worry I might plow into a Jeep or something, and so I stabbed at the radio button, searching for something to distract me. No such luck, because the first words I heard were "...welcome back to Dr. Joy, here to discuss love, intimacy, and relationships. We've been speaking to Dina, who has been feeling a distance growing between her and her husband. Now tell me, Dina...how has this been affecting your intimate relationship?" "Ummmm....what?" "Your sex life, dear, your sex life. If it were a casserole, for example..." In the car I snorted once, loudly. "...if it were a casserole, would it be piping hot? room temperature? yesterday's refrigerated leftovers?" "Oh, DEF-initely leftovers. He almost NEVER wants to have sex any more..." Dina was getting positively chatty. "And just the other day I found a stack of adult magazines! In his desk, downstairs! He says that he just buys them to, you know, look at the pictures..." I snorted again, even louder. Dr. Joy apparently concurred, because she said, in a flat no-nonsense voice, "He's *not* just looking at the pictures, Dina." "But he saaaaaays..." Dr. Joy cut her off immediately. "Dina, that's what he would tell his mother if she found them. Are you his mother?" "Noooo," came the uncertain reply. "Dina, he is masturbating. He uses those magazines to look at while he is masturbating." "But...howcome he isn't...I mean, why isn't he satisfied with meeeeee?" she whined, and I tuned out mentally, catching only the words "masturbate, masturbate, masturbate" somewhere in Dr. Joy's response. But Dense Dina had clarified something for me: why should I be concerned or upset about Mark's behavior this morning? After all, he was just putting the photo book and sex toy to the same use I had! And I had enjoyed both of them very much. So had he, I recalled with a grin. As I squeezed the Toyota into a miniscule parking spot and climbed out of the car, I was struck by a sudden thought. Instead of worrying about why Mark was masturbating, instead of wondering about what he got out of it, wouldn't it be better to capitalize on it? This morning my husband had unknowingly told me what he enjoyed, what turned him on. I stood there, holding the door open, rooted to the spot next to my car. Wouldn't it be great if I could find a way to bring that freedom, that lack of inhibitions out of him? A thoughtful expression must have crossed my face as I flashed back to our lovemaking, and his tendency toward silence, especially when he was having one of those "stealth orgasms," the ones where he barely made any noise and his whole body just went rigid all of a sudden as he came. He was moaning this morning, I realized, twisting around and really getting into it. Could I still bring that out of him? I thought. I had, once upon a time, but after being married for so long... I smiled, a faint, small smile, and licked my lips, my tongue moving slowly across them. So *that's* what he likes, hmmmm? Well maybe it was time to find out what we could do together to improve on that. And Kathy DID ask me what I had in mind when I bought it...The wheels in my head began to spin a little faster, and I absently stepped back and slammed the car door shut. That day, during my lunch break, I went out to do a little shopping. I got home late that night, by intention this time, rather than carelessness. I didn't open the front door much before eleven o'clock, having whiled away the evening playing Tetris on my work computer, ordering in Chinese food, and thoroughly enjoying the sensation of working late while my husband might be waiting up, instead of the other way around. When I finally did get in, I was pleased to notice that yesterday's mess had not recreated itself; Mark must''ve gotten boredwith TV really quickly and found something else to occupy his day. I smirked at the thought, wondering if the "something else" had anything to do with his activities that morning. By the time I reached the bedroom I had assumed a weary air, plodding slowly down the hallway and emitting tired little sighs. Mark was in the bedroom already. In fact, he was in bed with the lights out, but not asleep. Behind my tired pose I smiled to myself. All was exactly as I had planned it, and hopefully my husband did not suspect a thing. I entered the room humming "Try a Little Tenderness"--"women do get weary..."--as sort of an early warning. Turning my back to Mark, who was propped up on one arm as he lay in wait for me, I began to climb out my clothes, slowly, wearily. "Awwww," I heard him say in what little "bedroom voice" he possessed. "Rough day, honey?" Still facing away from him I grinned, and, trying to keep the grin out of my voice, I let my breath out raggedly and grated, "you have NO idea." From there I launched into a lengthy diatribe about the horrible day I had, how exhausted I was, how rotten my boss was, how lousy I felt, and how, on top of everything else, I was probably getting PMS. None of which was true, of course, except for possibly the lousy boss part. But then, today he had been out sick, and how much better can a boss be? As I undressed I dropped my clothes in a heap on the floor, every gesture indicating my tired, cranky attitude. At least I hoped so. I showed practically no flesh at all, the polar opposite of the little exhibition I had put on that morning. After slipping out of my blouse I grabbed hold of the most unsexy t-shirt I owned, a big ratty thing with a faded picture of "Hello Kitty" on the front; to add insult to injury, I even slipped out of my bra after I was already in the shirt, yanking it unceremoniously out of my sleeve ("ta-daa! look, Mark, no boobs!"). I pulled down my skirt in one quick motion, tugged down my pantyhose, and without even changing my panties (oh, I wanted to--but sacrifices had to be made) I climbed into a thick, bulky pair of sweat pants. Snug-waistband, cover-everything, unattractive, no-access sweat pants. I didn't brush my teeth. I didn't go to pee. I just wrapped myself like a mummy in my blanket and turned over, facing away from Mark. My husband was completely flummoxed. My performance had so deflated him that he hadn't tried a single one of the seductive moves he had planned. After hours of waiting for me--I was five hours late--he had been ready, primed, posed naked under his thin bedsheet (I had noticed, but then, I had already foreseen this maneuver), anxious to renew our intimate relationship. Or at least anxious to get some, which sort of amounted to the same thing. But he had been throttled. He had been hoodwinked. Bamboozled. My preemptive strike had reduced him to a meek whimper: "well...can I give you a backrub, Honey?" I responded with a short series of negative grunts, and burrowed deeper into my cocoon. He gave a deep, theatrical sigh that was probably pretty sincere and turned over to face away from me, hurt and angry. Perfect! The next morning, Thursday, I awoke early for work and hopped out of bed. Today I got dressed as hastily as possible, skipping my shower, jumping into my clothes, hustling for all I was worth. Again my husband feigned sleep, this time due to his wounded ego and not his voyeuristic tendencies. I pretended not to notice until I reached the "earrings-and-accessories" stage, when I turned toward him and walked around to his side of the bed. Sitting down beside him--he scrunched his hips over a little to avoid contact with me, the poor hurt sweetie--I murmured "Oh, darling...I'm sooooo sorry about last night...I was just sooo tired, and it had been such a looooong day..." No response. But when I reached down and caressed his left hip, he made no movement to pull it away. Gotcha! I injected a little more TLC into my voice, a more soothing quality. "Let me make it up to you, Honey. How about dinner tonight? Come meet me at work, and we'll go out to a nice restaurant," (I rubbed up and down, softly, pleadingly) "and then afterwards...well, we'll see about afterwards. Whaddaya say, Big Boy? OK?" He emitted a slightly whiny-sounding noise, sort of an "nn-nnnn," like a big puppy. "It's a date, then," I said, kissing the back of his head. "I'll see you at five." I rubbed his back reassuringly, got up, and left the apartment, silently cackling to myself all the while. In the middle of the day, about noon, I called home and got the answering machine. "Hi-- we're not here right now, but...BEEEEEEEEP." "Sweetie, it's me," I opened. "I'm sorry--I'm going to be a little late. So could you please get here at five-thirty instead of five o'clock? Oh, and one more thing...don't wear any underwear tonight, Sweetie. Bye! See you soon!" Of course I wouldn't be able to meet him at five. My work schedule was eight-thirty to five-thirty, always had been. But this way I had an excuse to call and slip in my real message about his attire. I spent the remainder of the afternoon assembling reports and ignoring my phone, letting the voice-mail get everything. Mark called five times. I didn't call him back. By four-thirty I had abandoned all pretense of getting any more work done, and panic set in. Had I pushed him too hard? Would everything work out the way I hoped tonight? What if he was angry with me? Was this really a good idea? But I had passed the point of no return already, and I steeled my resolve. Dammit, it had been months since we had made love at one-hundred-percent capacity. He had been so busy, so wrapped up in his work that I had been lonely, frustrated, and aching with need for months. Would my little tryst with Kathy have occurred if Mark had been tending the home fires properly? I wondered. Well, maybe--but I wouldn't have...then again, maybe that line of reasoning had its flaws. Still, I deserved to be in the driver's seat for a while. And deep down I *knew* that he would enjoy this. He absolutely positively would. I hoped. By 5:25 I was sitting at my desk looking busy, despite the fact that the office had cleared out a half-hour earlier when all the nine-to-fivers departed in a cloud of dust. Not even a single secretary remained to buzz Mark in, so when he called my intercom to let me know he was there I had Security open the door for him. After a few wrong turns my husband eventually navigated his way to my desk, where I sat with a pencil stuck behind one ear, a stray tendril of hair trailing down in front of my face, and my lower lip sexily pouting as I "concentrated" on some piece of paper or other. Mark drew closer. "So...you ready to go?" he asked, a little testily. "Ummm...one sec," I responded absently, watching carefully out of the corner of my eye as he walked right up to me, his body language conveying his cranky hostility. "Look," he said as he reached me. "I--" His words trailed off as I turned toward him suddenly, my eyes ablaze, my hands making a beeline for his crotch. With no fumbling at all--and I was mighty proud of that--one hand held his pants material straight while the other unzipped his fly in one swift tug. ZZZZZZZPPP. Without hesitating, or speaking, I sent my hand diving into his open fly, and I made a pleased noise in my throat when I noted his compliance with my "no underwear" instructions. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, which was still flaccid--perhaps out of shock--but began to respond immediately to the attention. I carefully maneuvered it out of the opening, taking special care as the crown emerged from between the zipper tracks, and lowered my mouth to it. There is nothing--NOTHING--quite like the sensation of a hardening, thickening cock in my mouth. With my eyes closed I enclosed his penis in my wet lips, enjoying the texture of the soft, rubbery flesh, the small, thin droopiness. But the attraction for me is the way a soft cock begins to almost jump in my mouth, warm and pulsing, and then begins to grow, filling out inside me as I pull back my teeth and let it expand between my lips. His penis grew hot, the pulsations faster, the small softness giving way to immensity, to hardness. I love that feeling of ballooning, the ecstasy on my lover's face and in his groans as his cock becomes erect inside my mouth, the rise in tension and excitement that always seems to me to be akin to the onset of an orgasm. By the time he is fully hard I have always pulled my head back a little, my throat unable to accommodate the size of the monster I have brought to life. But it's always fun to try. Mark looked like he was in shock. For weeks we had had practically no intercourse of any kind. For days I had been torturing him in his unbearable horniness. For hours I had ignored his very existence. But now he stood there, his knees buckling slightly, as I commenced a leisurely licking of his erect dick with the broad, flattened surface of his tongue, punctuated by extended moments of taking only his cockhead between my lips and sucking it in and out, like a child would a popsicle. And then I pulled away from his wet, glistening penis, turned my head up to face him, gave him a wide, dazzling smile, and pulled at his pants so that his cock was once again encased. Very cautiously, I zipped his fly back up. I had dumbfounded him yet again, as the stricken expression on his face so clearly showed. "I can't do this *here*," I murmured. "There's so many other people around." Mark obviously did not agree with my assessment of the situation, but he was too much in shock to articulate his views coherently. "But....I.....I mean....You--" I stood up next to where he was still standing--in more ways than one--and patted him on the cheek. "Come on, sailor," I grinned, slipping my hand into his. "Let's go out and begin our evening. I *promise* you that it will be one to remember." He looked at me, puzzled and more than a little suspicious. I returned his look with a smoldering smile that expressed all the deviltry I had been containing for the past two days. A moment later we entered the elevator for the short ride down from my second-floor office. As soon as the doors closed I attacked him, mashing his lips with my own, my hands rubbing his back, snaking under his suit jacket, caressing his unfettered ass through his pants, which were just tight enough to cop a good feel. As the bell dinged for the Ground Floor I snapped off the kiss and straightened myself up, gleefully staring at the hard-on that still raged at his crotch, threatening to burst its bonds at any moment. As we left the building I could see that his eyes were a little glassy, and contained just a hint of fear. I chuckled low in my throat, insinuated my arm through his, and snuggled up to him as we walked three blocks to the restaurant. As we neared the familiar green awning with "Phillipe's" in gilt lettering, Mark grunted once, a little noise of disapproval. Following his gaze, I saw two teenagers sauntering ahead of us, a boy and a girl who were obviously in love, or at least thought they were. Both were in jeans, and as the girl awkwardly shuffled forward with her head resting on the boy's shoulder, I noticed that his hand was planted firmly in her back jeans pocket, plastered against her backside. "Oh, please," my husband muttered, "just get a car and climb into the back seat like everybody else." "Oh I don't know," I murmured. "Actually, that looks like it probably feels really nice." And, without further ado, I leaned my head on his shoulder and slipped my arm around him, moving my flattened palm down until it was circling his ass, under his suit jacket. "I'd stick it in your back pocket," I whispered in Mark's ear, "but that wallet you have there is in the way." He jumped forward, and looked back at me, his cheeks flaming. I smiled mysteriously and swept past him into the restaurant. "What has gotten into you?!?" he demanded, once we had been seated. I looked back at him appraisingly over the top of my menu and replied, "you're blushing, dear." As his fading blush brightened again I surreptitiously slipped one foot out of my shoe and extended my stockinged foot until it touched his. Then, slowly and deliberately, I ran my toes up his leg and to his crotch, where I lingered for a moment, flexing the toes experimentally. For a second, his legs opened wider and I felt him push his crotch slightly forward against my foot. Then, as he realized what he was doing, his eyes widened and he stared at me, goggle-eyes. "Really," he asked. "What *has* gotten into you?" I smirked at him and jabbed my toes forward so that they poked him right dead center. He closed his eyes briefly, and by the time he opened them a mischevious gleam was apparent. He reached down one hand and grabbed my foot at the ankle; with the other he started tickling my instep. I am horribly ticklish, so the effect was instantaneous. I burst out giggling, gasping for him to stop. He just tickled harder, staring right back at me. Then we both heard a loud cough right next to us, and looked up to see a rather uncomfortable waiter standing patiently beside us. Mark blushed. I blushed. Somehow we managed to stumble through placing an order with only a modicum of stuttering. But as soon as the waiter left, I stuck my foot out again and caressed Mark's calf with it. "You're incorrigible," Mark grinned at me. "You ain't seen nothing yet, buster," I responded. Once again my husband stared at me, but he no longer looked apprehensive. Now his expression was one of a man intrigued. Pretending to be busy with the wine list I titled my head a little and sat still, letting Mark's gaze linger on me, drinking me in. Finally I raised one eyebrow and looked back at him, a slightly challenging look on my face, full of promise of things to come. His eyes went a little glassy again and the color returned to his cheeks. I smiled and returned to my wine list. Dinner was lovely, the food delicious, the atmosphere romantic, the erotic tension between Mark and I rising with each bite. I alternated between looks of smoldering passion and feigned innattentiveness. He began to look like his head was going to explode, as he switched back and forth from staring at me in awe to smoldering a little himself. Finally we were done and Mark was going to order dessert. "Let's not, honey," I said to him, searing him with a look of pure heat. "We can get dessert....later." Mark gulped, swallowing hard; I was really getting to him now. "Uh, OK," he said to the hovering waiter. "Why don't we just...um...get the check." "That's a good idea," I murmured, my foot beneath the table returning to its exploration of my husband's thighs. "I think maybe we should go home now. It's getting late." Mark's eyes bulged--that wasn't all that bulged, either, since my toes were massaging his crotch--and after straightening himself carefully he got up from his chair and we left. As he reached out to open the door, I snuck up behind him and caressed his derriere once again. Again he jumped, and I let out a quietly devilish laugh as he stepped to the curb to hail a cab. As soon as we got into the back of the cab Mark attacked me, pausing only long enough to give the driver our address. I let him have his way with me for a little while--a process I thoroughly enjoyed--but before too long I called a halt to the proceedings and pulled away, a little mussed. "Mark," I hissed, "the driver!" "Let him get his own girl," he responded, unsuccessfully reaching for my breasts. "He's *watchinnnnngggg*," I protested, giving Mark a little shove, and indeed the cabbie was falshing glances at us through the rear-view mirror, a broad grin on his face. Mark sighed and settled for squeezing over next to me so we were huddled together in the back seat. The annoyed expression on his face revealed his frustration at his wife's anti-exhibitionism. He was wrong; I really could've cared less about the driver. I just wanted to keep Mark at a peak level of anticipation and desire. I looked at my reflected image in the side window and smiled, knowing that I was succeeding. When we eventually did get into the house Mark made as if he was going to jump on me and wrestle me to the ground on the spot. But I headed that off at the pass too. "Honestly, Sweetie, I just feel too disgusting to do anything just yet. I haven't bathed in days, and I bet you haven't either." Mark was looking at me as if I were a little green Martian who just landed on the planet in front of him. "Whaaaaat?" he expostulated, sputtering that he had just showered, and what the hell-- I stepped close to him and put a finger across his lips. "Please, honey. Just a little while longer, I promise. You go in and shower first, nice and squeaky-clean, inside and out." He looked puzzled. "Inside and out, that's right. And then I'll go and take a bath..." He looked apoplectic; whole months have gone by with me in the bathtub. "...a *short* bath, and then I promise you'll get what you deserve." Mark was melting, but he manfully tried to stand his ground. "Remember," I hushed him, "you *did* promise me whatever I wanted on Thursday, and it's Thursday now..." He had the good grace to look a little shamefaced. I gave him a light smack on the butt. "Off with you, then...hop in the shower. Spit-spot!" My husband looked confused--he hadn't expected Mary Poppins after all that foreplay, and he was worn out after all my teasing him. But he dutifully entered the bathroom and started his showering process, sending reproachful looks my way until he finally shut the bathroom door. I knew it would be the shortest shower on record, so I lost no time in running to the bedroom, stripping, jumping into a bathrobe, and grabbing the biggest towel I could find. Just as he was exiting the bathroom I bundled a few vital items into my towel, concealing them within the folds. I brushed past Mark as he was entering the bedroom, a bundle in my arms and an innocent smile on my face. He was naked and still wet, his cock at half-mast as he stood there dripping. I saluted it with my free hand and tenderly stroked his chin for a second, saying "I'll just be a little while." As I neared the bathroom door I reached out and spanked him smartly on his rear end--SMACK-- jumped into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me. I hadn't been kidding. I did bathe quickly, but thoroughly, washing my body and all of my orifices with soapy, slippery hands. Although I had been trying hard not to show it, I was as worked up as Mark and maybe more, since I knew what was coming and he didn't. After muttering a quick "I really hope this works" I got myself together, dressed, and covered up with Mark's oversized terrycloth bathrobe. Quivering slightly I unlocked the bathroom door, pulled it open, and made my way to the bedroom. When I got there, everything was perfect, better than I had hoped. During the day Mark had neatened up the bedroom and made the beds, which beckoned to me to muss them up. The lights were dimmed to a decidedly romantic level, and fresh flowers--the white roses he had sent me when we were first dating--adorned the room. Somehow my husband had even found the time to light some candles while I had been bathing, and their strategic placement around the room added to the evening's romance. The object of my affections was resting on the bed, propped up on one arm like the night before. But this time he was on top of the covers, and I breathed a little faster as I gazed at his nakedness, the body I knew so well. I approached him and took his hands in mine, raising him up to kiss me deeply as we stood beside our bed. I held nothing back; I gave him the soul-kiss I had been yearning to share with him all evening, the deep searching comingling of our tongues, our lips, and our passion that I had missed for months. We stood that way for a long while, our mouths bound to each other in a deep, unhurried embrace that made up for all the separations we had endured, all of the long, lonely nights we both had hated so much. When the kiss finally broke our eyes remained locked together, mine misty and welling up a little in the passion of the moment. "I love you," he said, simply and sincerely. I could not speak, but my eyes spoke volumes. "So," he said, breaking the spell, "what shall we do now, hmmmmm?" He waggled his eyebrows in impish glee, and I grinned back at him savagely. "Well," I retorted, "that depends." "On what?" he snapped, the impishness giving way to outright deviltry. I took a deep breath. "On how far you want to go...and how much you trust me." After a long night of surprises, Mark was clearly taken aback by this final challenge, which must represent the climactic shock of the evening. He narrowed his eyes and gave me a sharp, searching look. I looked right back, promising much and pleading for him to take this chance. He smiled, enjoying the way I unsuccessfully tried to hold my anticipation and excitement in check. "Well..." he drawled. "I *did* promise you anything you wanted..." I pushed a little to sit him back on the bed. "I have a little...present for you," I said, and spread my arms wide in front of me. "All you have to do is unwrap it." He looked at me quizzically, a half-smile on his face, and reached out for the knotted bathrobe belt around my waist. As he loosed the knot I shrugged back with my shoulders and dropped the heavy terry robe to the floor behind me. My husband stared. I stood before him in a pale green demi-bra I had bought the day before at a specialty lingerie shop, one which fitted me perfectly, lifting my breasts up and out, my nipples clearly visible through the thin material. Around my waist was a matching garter belt that was clipped to thigh-high stockings, a touch designed to appeal to my husband's ideal of beautiful, intimate femininity. And where my panties should have been was the cock I had purchased so long ago, gleaming slightly after the soapy scrubbing I had given it in the tub, wisps of my dark pubic hair escaping from behind the black leather patch that held it in place. Mark's eyes widened in disbelief, and I imagined that he had turned a shade paler in the dim light. I spoke to him caressingly, soothingly in the sexiest contralto I could muster up. "I love you so much," I said in a low whisper, "and I love your entire body so much. I want to love you, to make love to you everywhere, every way, to do things together that we never imagined." I was running out of steam and genuinely worried now that I had gone too far. "But...if you don't want to..." His gaze shot up, away from the cock jutting out of my pelvis, and locked with mine. I saw heat there, and hunger, and Mark rose to stand before me, crushing my body to his, the springy latex of the cock I wore pressed up against the sudden rock-hardness of his own erect member. I tilted my face upwards and searched out his lips with my own, and then we were kissing again, not the deep soft passion we had shared before but a hungry savage assault of lips and tongues and teeth that startled both of us by its fury. I broke the kiss first and looked sharply at him for signs of any hesitation or discomfort; there were none. I grinned at him, letting the full force of my rising excitement show through. "Lie down, Mark," I said, "on your front." He crawled onto the bed and did so gingerly, carefully positioning his erection as he lay down facing the foot of the bed, his legs on our pillows. Once he was down I stuck a pillow under his head to raise it a little, and then sat down on top of him, my butt resting on the small of his back. I then commenced a long back rub, beginning with the firm circular rubs he likes so much and then tapering off to a more feathery touch. My rubs turned into caresses, and I heard him groan softly, deep within his pillow. I smiled, and wiggled back a little further until I was sitting up on his legs, just beneath his buttocks. My caresses moved up and down his muscular back, down his arms, across his broad width, and then down the sides of his waist. Softly at first, I rubbed the back of my hands past his waist to the top of his crevice, and then across the width of his ass. He moaned again, and I scootched down a little further. Using both hands, one on each cheek, I began to massage his buttocks, my rubbing getting firmer. Waiting for a reaction I spread his cheeks apart, noticing as his muscles clenched almost involuntarily. I had never played with my husband's ass sufficiently, I thought with a smile, realizing with a shock that no one probably ever had. I rubbed some more and then snaked a hand around underneath, moving between his legs and under to the front. Instantly his reactions became more pronounced, and his hips lifted off the bed as my hands hugged his balls, hefting them slightly, rubbing all over them and beneath them, putting firm pressure on the area between his testicles and his anus, massaging his prostate. My hand moved upwards and found the shaft of his cock and encircled it, and with firm pressure I held it tightly. I pulled up and down, emulating the masturbatory strokes I had seen him employ the day before. He moaned loudly and spread his legs wider to give me greater access. By now Mark was almost on his knees, his head still ensconced in the pillow I had given him, his body now mimicking the rear-entry position I had lain in on that bed so often. I continued to stroke his cock, occasionally letting go of his shaft to run my open palm downward over his balls again to knead them and caress them, causing Mark to groan further out of the pleasure he was obviously experiencing. As he rose to his knees I moved around until I was sitting directly behind him, my hand between his legs and on his cock. Without breaking my rhythm I leaned forward and peered at his anus, at the small, dark opening that seemed so tightly shut. Hoping that Mark had heeded my request for a thorough internal washing I let go of his cock, spread his asscheeks apart, and began to run my tongue down his crack, to the tip of the entrance. As Mark squirmed a bit I ran my tongue around its puckered surface, poking in a little with the tip. As I tongued him I returned my hand to his cock and was rewarded with a violent jerk, as it stood up stiffer than I had thought possible in response to my touch. Mark was pushing his ass back against me now, swaying a little as I licked at his ass and pumped his cock, his head now raised and tilted back, his eyes closed. I stopped what I was doing and moved my mouth close to his ear. I whispered, "I love you and I want to fuck you, Darling. I want to fuck you and enter you and fill you the way you do to me..." "Yesssss..." he hissed, his consciousness swirling in a haze of anal pleasure I never expected from him. I turned to my nightstand and found the tube of K-Y Jelly I kept there, pleased at the discovery that there was still some left. I squeezed some onto my finger and applied it to his entrance, massaging it in to the area. I added a more generous dollop and saturated the area, rubbing around the rim of his hole and then slipping a finger inside, causing his hips to buck momentarily. I made little circles inside, making sure that he was well-lubricated, and then glopped a larger amount onto the cock I wore, rubbing it around the head and underneath, and then onto the shaft. Mark spread his legs a little wider, opening himself fully to me. "I love you so much," I murmured, reassuring him with my words and my tone that I only wanted to give him pleasure. Moving very deliberately I kneeled behind my husband, who was positioned with his ass in the air and his head in his pillow, reminding myself of me lying there and of Kathy, who had lain in that very position a month before, waiting for me to enter her with my cock. Using my hand I placed the cock's tip at his entrance and moved it around the opening to ensure that there was enough lubrication to ease its entry into Mark (there was--I must've used half a tube of KY). Resting one hand on Mark's back I moved closer and began to push the cock into him, using my hand at first and not my hips. Mark gasped as the cock pushed into his ass, and I pushed further until the flared crown of the latex cock was inside. Remembering my mom's childhood band-aid removal techniques I kept pushing, determined to get the whole thing in at once. Mark gasped again as the cock plunged deeper into his virgin territory (though maybe not--how did I know what had been in there when he was alone today?), and I rolled my hips forward until I had pushed it all the way within him, my pelvis up against his backside. He was on his hands and knees again, having raised himself a little to a better angle, and I was overcome with a sense of strangeness, of altered states. How many times had I fucked Mark when he was behind me, pressing back against him as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper inside my body? Here we were with roles reversed in a way I had never imagined. I pulled my hips back slightly and the cock moved with me, pulling back out of Mark's ass most of the way. I pushed back inwards; Mark gasped once again, and then emitted a low moan; I pulled back; I thrust forward; Mark moaned again. Slowly and gradually I began to fuck Mark with the cock I wore, in and out of his ass in a deliberate but steady rhythm. Mark began to moan in earnest now, his anal passage becoming accustomed to the length and width of the cock. The stimulation of my fucking motions was getting to him, and his hips began to move in rhythm with the thrusts I made. With one hand he grabbed hold of the bed's footboard, to steady himself. With the other he began to pump his cock, his hand picking up speed rapidly. I stopped moving and rested my hands on his waist, just above his hips, the cock buried in him to the hilt. I spoke to him slowly, with urgency: "No, Mark...slowly...let's make this last." Mark's hand slowed its pumping, and I resumed the rhythm of my thrusting moving the cock smoothly forward and back, in and out of his ass. I spoke again, expressing the excitement this was causing for me. "I'm fucking you, Mark. My cock is moving in and out of you, in (I pushed forward a little harder) and out (I pulled back)...fucking you like you fuck me...do you want me to *fuck* you? Do you like it when your wife *fucks* you?" "Yes," he moaned, "fuck me...yessss..." We were both as far into this as we could be, and although I wasn't the one being penetrated I was getting more and more excited, the outside of my vaginal area being stimulated by the rubbing of the harness I wore. I pushed the cock deep into my husband again and kept it there, pushing my pelvis firmly up against his ass so that the harness pushed back against me. I began to move up and down, masturbating myself with the leather patch over my pussy as the cock's movement inside my husband's ass stimulated him. He grunted in a little pain as the cock drove deep inside him, but he was getting close as his hand frantically pumped away at his cock. I grabbed his hips harder with my hands, pulling him back against me as I rubbed myself up against him, and he felt me fucking him and holding him as I fucked him and my thighs were pressed against the back of his thighs as we rocked together and he groaned and shouted "Oh yes fuck me oh I love you fuck me fuckme" and I felt him jerk as he started spurting and I was burning and rubbing and I was cumming at the sound of his voice and I fucked him and came and came and came and came-- I came so hard my arms and legs were twitching afterwards as I subsided. Mark was hanging against the footboard, exhausted and limp, his hand and belly and knees damp with his ejaculate. Wary of hurting more than I had to I put my hand around the base of the latex cock and began to withdraw it slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. It slid out smoothly, still lubricated even afetr our furious fucking, and with a final careful tug it emerged from Mark's ass, none the worse for wear, and I leaned back. I fetched some tissues and wiped the lubricant around Mark's anus, discovering as I did so a drop of blood; I must have cut him at some point. Worried, I pulled Mark back to me and apologized for hurting him, saying I was sorry for not taking it easier, asking if he was all right. My husband smiled at me, his eyes still half-closed, and caressed my chin with his hand. "That may have been the best orgasm I ever had," he said dreamily, "and I bet it was the noisiest, that's for sure." I laughed, blowing out my breath with a little "whoosh." "The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you," I said. "This wasn't some kind of S & M thing where I raped you or anything..." He shushed me with a finger on my lips and said "I know. It was that picture, wasn't it? The two blonde kids in that art catalogue? Isn't that what gave you the idea?" Mutely, I nodded. "I liked that picture too. I didn't think much of a lot of the other ones, especially the one with the lady and the horse..." I giggled, remembering Kathy's reaction to that picture. "But your picture..." "Christiaan and Rose," I said. "Yes, Christiaan and Rose. They looked like they really loved each other. And this was a way they....made love to each other." "Yes," I breathed, and I brought my face up close to my husband's. "And we did, too." I leaned forward and reached for his nighttable, snaring the Andres catalogue and yanking it out from under the pile of clothes where he had hidden it. "I saw you looking at it yesterday morning," I said, forcing the words out over my hesitation. "I saw you...pleasure yourself while you looked at the picture, with the cock I bought." He froze up a little beside me. "You were so...beautiful," I went on. "So excited, so aroused...I love it when I can see you like that. And I love it when I can help bring that out of you and give you that much pleasure. I love *you*." He held me tightly against him, and we stayed that way for a while, both of us gazing at nothing. And then both of us looked at each other, and then down at my pelvis, where the latex penis still hung from the straps around my waist and hips. I looked at it fondly. Imagine...so much pleasure given to so many people by this one hunk of rubber and leather. I smiled contentedly and looked at Mark. "Hmmm," he murmured, speculatively. "Chicks with Dicks?" "WHAT?!?" I said, glaring at him. He still had that faraway look on his face. "Oh, you know, "Chicks with Dicks. Like in those porno movies. You know, "Big-Breasted Babes. Video Virgins. Anal Annies. Chicks with Dicks. Like that." He went on, oblivious to the fact that my glare was growing stonier and stonier. "And your *point* is what...?" I queried, and edge to my voice. "Oh, nothing..." he trailed off meekly, looking up at the glint in my eyes. "I see," I said. "So I'm a titillating liitle porn queen freak show to you, am I?" He chuckled, and I attacked him again. "And where do you know so much about Adult Videos, anyway? We've never rented any." He reddened noticeably, and I stared at him. "Well," he said, still red-faced. "I never said you knew *all* of my secrets." "I'll say," I answered. Which ones did you like best?!? Chicks with Dicks? Ohh--I know. I bet it was Chicks with Chicks! Wasn't it?!? Wasn't it??!" I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. "You men...you really Are all perverts!" He gave me a leering grin. "Takes one to know one honey, especially after what you put me through today. Besides, what's wrong with having lesbian fantasies. Haven't you ever...?" Now I was starting to blush myself, my neck prickling as I reddened at the roots. "You know...the softness of another woman's body (my cheeks were reddening faster)...that intimate knowledge of a woman's pleasure (I was flaming now)...that chance to see how much fun it can be to pleasure another woman (I had to shut my eyes, I couldn't look at him). Say! Look at you!!!! Who is it? Who's your fantasy girl??" I was silent as a tomb, which only got him going further. "I know who it is!! I bet it's...no...probably not someone from work...hmm... OH!!!!" I couldn't bear this. "KATHY! That's who!!!" I was going to die. That's it. The bed was going to swallow me up and I was going to die. I had to save face somehow, so I lifted my chin and said defiantly, "you don't know all of my secrets, either!" Mark was laughing at me. After a moment, I was laughing with him. But as the chuckles died away we looked at each other, deep in thought. "So you say there's more going on in there than we've ever tried before?" he said. "You don't deny it?" "Well," I said, "you don't either." Mark ran two fingers down the curve of my left breast and pinched the nipple between two fingers, over my flimsy bra. "Sounds like a challenge to me," he said. "Is that so?" I said, facetiously. We looked at each other, both of us hatching plans within our evil little minds. Then Mark laughed, and grabbed my waist. "Take that thing off," he ordered. "It's served its purpose tonight, and the night is still young!" "Yes, Master," I said, meekly, and began to wriggle out of the straps in eager anticipation of the lovemaking to come. Even as I melted into his embrace, I did not forget about the plans I began to form that night. As it turned out, neither did my husband. But that is another story, for another time.
Fri Jan 17 04:58:40 2003