Wife Masturbates


Quite frankly, I was tired and stressed out.  I love my kids, but this Friday night all I wanted to do was sleep.  I knew that was impossible, though, and I didn’t begrudge anyone.  I simply had to focus on the need to be positive, and awake when I got home.

Funny, though, there was no car in the driveway when I got home.  It was getting dark, but the house seemed too dark even at this hour.  I was nervous.  Were the kids OK?  I quickly turned off the car, and rushed to unlock the front door.   It was open.

As I opened the door, I noticed flickering light coming from the bedroom, while sweet Asian incense filled my nose and brought back images of Thailand and sexual feats that Andrea and I had not tried since our trip there ten years ago.  Andrea blushed just thinking about our adventures.  I could have cried.

I didn’t just want uninterrupted sleep after all, I wanted to sleep with my wife’s bottom pressed against my hardened cock.  I wanted to awake to the combined smells of freshly washed skin, and wet, musky, and aroused pussy.  A pussy I could kiss longingly, while my hands stroked massive pools of creamy white breasts, spreading wide as Andrea called me too pleasure her.

I pulled myself back into reality, but the romantic, mysterious light beckoned me,  I slipped off my shoes, padded down the hallway in my socks.  Turning into our room, I heard the music.  Barry White was beckoning his lady, and needless to say I was intrigued.  Then I saw her, a old black and white photo of a large nude pin-up girl, framed, and on my dresser.  What?  Her head was turned sideways,   blurred by quick motion.  Light colored hair shrouded her face, but her broad, sexy body, and large breasts were turned to the camera.  Moving in, I recognized the spray of freckles between her tits.  They belonged to Andrea.

Oh man, my heart jumped erratically at that) my pants grew way too tight, way too fast.  next to the frame was a n envelope, decorated with roses like a teenager might do for her boyfriend.  One word was on the outside, “Sean,” but a brilliant pink kiss marked this spot, as well.

Opening it up, I found Andrea’s writing covering a plain card.  It read, “Dear Sean, Meet me at the 440 at 9:00.  Look sexy, and understand that, while I want you, you need to win me all over again.  Calm down, relax, and drink a glass of wine.  I poured one for you, and left it on the kitchen counter.  After a few sips, close all of the blinds, grab the DVD on the coffee table, put it in the DVD, and get busy.  I may be demanding tonight, and you’ll need to “blow off some steam” before trying to win my heart.”  The 440 was a cheap, local singles watering hole.  What was my wife up to?

Confused, excited, and a bit annoyed (was this a test?). I followed her instructions to the letter.  Candles glowing, privacy ensured, I drank my wine and started up the DVD.  Andrea appeared on the screen in her typical type of work dress.  Or was it typical?  The cut was flattering, her tits high, and cleavage amply exposed.  Very sensual jazz, with a pulsating, gyrating beat, emanated from the surround sound speakers.  Then my conservative wife began to gyrate like a stripper.

One by one, Andrea manipulated the buttons on her dress, until she had the front wide open.  Andrea then grabbed the sides of her head, and with intoxicating drama, she looked upward, eyes closed.

My bride began moving her creamy, white belly like a belly dancer.  The difference between my lovely wife and a belly dancer, though,  was that Andrea’s boobs were struggling inside of a hot, leopard print, retro styled bullet bra.

Black fishnet stockings squeezed her thick thighs tight, and were topped by 50s styled cherry ornaments.  Her pale blue “work dress” hung on her like a sheer robe, but damp from her exertion.  If only she had had the nerve to do this in person.

Then I noticed another note n the coffee table.  One card, one word:  “Enjoy!”  Next to it was a bottle of my favorite lotion.  I disrobed while Andrea began making noises on the screen.  I re-focused, and enjoyed the sight of my wife sliding her middle finger into her hairy, red mound of hair.  I could almost smell her.  Oh man, did I want my girl.

Laying nude on the couch, I stroked myself and imagined myself tasting Andrea’s pussy.  What time was it?  I glanced at the wall.  7:50.  Uh-oh.  I needed to hurry, but I needed time.  I glanced from the clock to the screen, and almost lost it instantly.  A big, white butt was filling the screen.  Slightly spread, red pieces of ass hair  poking out at the camera.

Andrea’s butt began to shift, and now deep moans rocked the house.  My cock was anxious.  On my back, nude, looking at the big screen, I finally let go.  My cum, pent up so long, flew over my head.  A few drops splattered my face.  Then Andrea spoke from the TV:  “That’s nothing.  Go get dressed, and come get me.  It won’t be easy.”  The screen went blue.  It was 8:20.  I ran to the shower …

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