I smile back, hopefully with an equal twinkle, and unbutton my cardigan as I watch him stroke himself. He is into it. Into me. How long as it been since my husband was into me, figuratively or literally?
He was waiting for me when I got back upstairs, all smooth and hard and naked. Audacious. Very audacious. I like audacious men. Especially with long hard thick cocks to suck on. God he is huge. Huge and gorgeous. Larger, and much more beautiful than my downstairs drunken husband.
I am his star and I will and must perform for him, give him my all, give him his due, reward him for his undivided attention.
I figured, well, hoped, actually, that he had some ulterior motive for hanging around the party so late, helping me with the cleaning as the other guests drifted out the door, when he helped me find a quilt to cover my husband on the couch, when he excused himself to use the bathroom as I finished tucking my husband in, when he failed to reappear as I turned out the last light and headed up the stairs to the bedroom.
The cardigan unbuttoned but still hanging over my breasts I slowly draw back the left half, exposing one breast and inch at a time, and then back again, covering the breast, and then the right one, off, exposed, on, hidden.
All through the party he was looking at me. No matter who he was talking to, where he was in the room, every time I looked for him I caught him looking. But he did not look away, did not play coy, just caught my gaze and held it. Audacious. very audacious.
I unbutton my pants. He is still stroking, slowly, languidly, lightly, up and down the long hard shaft, smiling at me with a knowing twinkle in his eye.
When we were near he touched me. It was subtle, not obvious, but there was no attempt to conceal his desire; my woman friends kept giving me looks, little jealous looks, but if he wanted them he gave no sign, and when he spoke to them he was still looking at me.
I want to touch him as he touched me. I want to touch myself as he touched me. He is mine. All mine. At least tonight. At least.
I gasped when I answered the door, when I saw him standing there. I had not seen him in four years. He was beautiful then but too young for me. Not too young to lust after or drool over but too young for me to touch.
Now he is legal. More than legal. Extra legal. Extra desirable. Extra everything. Extra big especially. God I can't wait to have that monster cock in my mouth and in my cunt, filling me more than my husband has ever filled me.
Of course it wasn't just the age. It was my marriage and the entanglement of family ties. But for whatever reason when I opened the door and saw him, those arguments seemed not to matter anymore.
My clothes in an untidy pile on the floor at the foot of the bed I climb up and crawl toward him, my most lustful, I am sure it is my most lustful, I have never lusted this much before, look on my face. He holds my gaze as I crawl toward him, holds my gaze and keeps on stroking, his hand joined by my mouth when I reach him. I must add extra delicious to my list. His hand is on the back of my head, holding me as he pumps his cock as I lick him, as I suck him. Extra forceful. But he wants more, and I want more. We both want a nice long ride, and we are both ready.
He looks like Russell Crowe. I mean really. Who cares what today is? Who cares what the relationship is? Who cares that I haven't seen him since he went away to college? He looks like Russell Crowe.
Looking down at that face, that extra beautiful face, I position my hips and lower myself, push back, impale myself on his extra delicious enormous cock, feel the pleasure rush through me, watch the pleasure rush through him, hear us both gasp in unison as he enters me, feel his hands on my hips guiding me up and down, think, for just a moment of my so unlike husband as I ride his father's youngest brother's son in the middle of our bed, whisper silently, with just a hint of sarcasm, or gratitude or something "Happy Birthday Honey" and lean in to kiss my nephew before we fuck each other into the extra sweet oblivion of endless bouncing nights and anxiously relentless sunlit days.
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