Annoyed

He'd been terribly busy all week, up early and gone too soon for even one quick squeeze of his wake-up erection. Gone before she could get down to share a breakfast. A few mornings ago she'd heard him rattling around and had fluffed her hair and pinched up her nipples and strolled into the kitchen, her trimmed bush peeking under her babydoll with each sway of her hips. Hoping he'd jump her.

Nothing. He wasn't there. She hadn't even heard him leave.

At night he'd phone he'd be late, just leave him a sandwich. Then he'd sit at his desk past bed-time, nose buried in papers. She'd stood behind him a few days ago, running her hands up and down his chest, feeling her crotch grow moist. "Just this week, honey, I'm nearly done," was all he'd said, not even looking up. So she'd broken off and gone to bed alone. Past midnight he'd crept in, careful not to wake her. She felt neglected, increasingly resentful.

Now late Friday, he'd come home smiling, bearing a big bouquet of fresh-cut daisies.

"For you," he said. "For being so patient."

She took them without a word and slid them into a crockery vase he'd never liked.

She knew she was being unfair. They'd had this crisis at the office, he'd warned her it was coming, she was proud everyone trusted him to deal with it. She should congratulate him. But despite herself she was annoyed. "Thank you," she managed grudgingly. "They're lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he said. "Let's go to bed and kiss and make up!"

"Oh, have we quarreled?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Make up for lost time I mean, honey," he said.

"All right," she said. She should make him wait, she thought. But he took her in his arms and pressed his cock into her belly and hugged her. So she added, "It's been difficult for both of us."

"Very hard," he replied.

"Maybe for you," she said. "Difficult for me."

No more word games. He picked her up in a single swooping gesture and carried her upstairs, crossed the threshold of their bedroom and laid her down gently on the bed, legs over the side, breathing heavily. On their wedding night a few years back it'd been effortless. Swiftly he knelt between her knees, ducked under her full, pleated skirt, and plunged his face into her pussy.

He encountered only her damp panty crotch, slick nylon stretched across her slit. She felt vindicated, but then regretful. So after a moment of nuzzling, she grandly lifted her buttocks and slid her lace panties out from under altogether. A moment more and his nose was buried deep between her lips, his tongue licking up juices that were starting to flow despite herself. She finally had him where she wanted him.

She looked down and saw only her skirt, no husband, no lover, no man, but the most delicious feelings emerged from that place. Was it a nose, a tongue, his lips nibbling her? She began to moan. Soon she clamped legs onto his invisible head and thrust her crotch against it repeatedly in her first orgasm. Then closed her eyes and felt herself rise toward another.

Her mind's eye recalled a slim young man she'd dated long before her marriage. They'd gone sailing and gotten becalmed, and there'd been nothing to do but wait. Well, almost nothing. They'd gone into the cuddy cabin, and there as the little boat rolled gently she'd lain on top of him and he'd rolled his head between her thighs, kissing and sucking her pussy while she bent toward his cock. She'd rolled her tongue around it to lick up pre-cum she squeezed from it, then on impulse she'd sunk her whole face down, burying him deep inside her head. Her first cocksuck. He'd soon turned tense and cum had spurted down her throat as she came too.

She'd then reversed position to squeeze him into her before he could soften, and that's how they were, licking cum from each others' faces, crotches beginning to move in unison, when a stiff wind also came up and they had to return to port.

He'd never fucked her properly, that beautiful boy. They didn't meet again for years.

She decided that now it was high time. She was ready. Eyes tight shut, she lifted her skirt to her waist and tugged the head down there up by its hair. Now it was that slim young man who lay between her legs, not her husband fumbling to plunge his stiff member into her. The bed rocked beneath them both as she heaved and that boy lunged back at her. She kissed his sweet cum- soaked face passionately, and he kissed hers gratefully, and the winds rose within them both until he throbbed inside her uncontrollably, and her moans peaked into shrieks.

She came down thinking that it served him right, this man she'd married and had just cuckolded in her heart. Now they were even. But still, she felt guilty. Later when they were showering, reaquainting their soapy hands with each others crevices, she decided to confess her infidelity.

"Do you remember your Uncle's boat, that summer we met and first got acquainted?" She reached for his cock and once again held it.

"I've never forgotten," he said. He lifted a breast in each cupped hand and bent to kiss her nipples tenderly, delicately.

"If we'd actually made love that day, if that wind hadn't come up, do you think you'd have married me years later? Wouldn't you have gotten what you'd wanted and then gone your way?"

"I did get what I wanted, and I keep wanting more." he said. "And we did actually make love that day," he said. "Both kinds. I often remember it the way it should have been. Just now again, in fact."

"Oh?" she asked. "Just now?"

"Yes," he said.

"You were such a beautiful boy," she said dreamily. "And now you're such beautiful man. I've missed you all week."

"I've missed you terribly."

"I thought we were apart all week. But I guess we're together sometimes even when we don't even know it."

He looked a little puzzled.

"Yes," he said finally.

She smiled. Still naked, they returned to their cuddy cabin and sailed away for the entire weekend.