That evening Sheila found herself
uncharacteristically distracted. She could not
get the seemingly sinful sensations she had
experienced that day while touching her husband’s
brother’s member, out of her mind. She found
herself standing there, still, her mind engrossed
by the erotically mesmerizing feeling of such a
member in her hand, pulsing, and then . . . . . .
when he exploded . . .. . such a huge amount of
. . . . crème . . . . . . . His utter satisfaction at her hands . .
she smiled softly, her tummy a’flutter with almost
forgotten sensations.
She burned their dinner twice before she finally
just ordered in Chinese.
That night when her husband came to her in their
marital bed, she did not repulse his advances.
It had been a long time since she welcomed his
touch. But than as she neared her orgasm, just
as she crested the summit and felt her sliding
toward nirvana, she saw not her husband’s body,
but his brother’s. Slightly shamed, she allowed
herself to fantasize about her husband’s
brother’s penis filling her, stimulating her
beyond anything her husband could manage, and
found herself screaming in ecstasy over and over
as her startled husband stopped moving, his face
shocked by her sudden violently cataclysmic
orgasm, her obvious ecstatic fulfillment from his
touches. She had never done this before . . . .
with him. Five years of marriage and suddenly
his wife goes berserk during her cumming!
I, n fact, it startled her husband so much that
he lost his concentration, losing his erection.
As John’s limpness evacuated her liquid cauldron,
she performed another first, she reached down and
began to fig her clitty, not minding that her
husband was watching her lewd actions, her wanton
masturbation. She came five more times before
she collapsed in utter blissful fulfillment.
Her husband lay there for several hours watching
her satisfied, softly smiling face as she slept,
sensing rather than understanding that things had
changed between them. He could not decide if the
change was for the better, or for the worse.
During fitful sleep John dreamt of losing, . . .
. dreams of frustration in which he was losing
everything he owned, valued. And no one cared.
Sheila found herself wonderfully rested the next
day. She sprang out of bed with a smiling song
in her heart. Rather than go straight to her
shower, she poked her head into Daniel’s room to<
make sure, she told herself, that he was OK.
Her eyes were instantly riveted to the
wonderfully large, strategically located bulge
that tented his sheets. Sheila found herself
wettening as she stood there transfixed. She
licked her lips several times, wondering what
Daniel would do if she were to walk over and
touch him, just a little, just for a few brief
seconds of nirvana.
It seemed her husband would NEVER leave the house
that morning for work. The seconds drug by, tick
after tock of the kitchen clock, as she sat at
the breakfast table, her impeccable right leg
swinging impatiently from above her left knee.
Finally she heard the garage door close and her
husband’s car start. Then an eternity later she
heard the garage door return to its closed
position.
Her heart thumping like Big Ben, feeling
delectably intense thrills all through her body,
radiating from her lower tummy, Sheila stepped
silently to the garage door and peaked in.
His car was gone!
She hurried to the window in time to see her
husband’s taillights flash from his breaking, the
blinker flashing for his turn, as her husband’s
car turned right to go to his work. Alone with
Daniel all day! There was no resistance between
her legs as she sashayed toward Daniel’s
infirmary.
As she walked eagerly into his room, he moved his
only good limb, his right leg, pulling the sheet
from over his gorgeous engorged manhood, already
pulsing in full blown need of her attentive
caresses.
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©2007 Hugh Doute |
