Her nipples are long and hard, especially when she's excited, which seems to be most of the time. Especially when she's flirting, which seems to be most of the time. I love to tease them, to suck them, to drive her insane, especially in those stolen moments on elevators and in closets and behind barely closed kitchen doors, when there is little she can do to fight back, no opportunity to yank out my cock and suck me in her long slow languid loving way. She can only mew helplessly as I squeeze them and pinch them and flick them through her dress, or unbutton her cardigan, or lift her tank-top just enough to get my mouth on them. Sometimes I think she flirts with other men just to drive me to it, to think of them as I suck her, to flirt with them in anticipation of my sucking, and sometimes of theirs as well. I love watching her mingle in a crowd, her nipples prominent, protruding, obvious. Knowing I have sucked them, or will suck them, or will suck them again. Watching other men, other women, begin to salivate, their eyeballs tracking the swaying of her breasts beneath her flimsy excuse for clothing. You could hang things from them. I'm sure they think that. I know I do.

These are my thoughts as we begin our long slow dance of lust across the room, toward each other, pushed and pulled by the ebb and the flow of people in my house. So many people in my house. Such an odd occasion for such a large party, to celebrate something so personal. But then, we had a large crowd, largely the same crowd, ten years ago. Perhaps this is a recreation of the reception. Perhaps it is just an excuse for my wife to flirt. For she likes to flirt too. Is flirting too. Is building up fantasies for the night's fuck. I see her glance surreptitiously. around, but then I am pulled into conversation, and whatever it is she did not want me to see has already taken place. Besides, she is not my focus. I celebrate her guest list. Celebrate the opportunity to recreate the reception. To recreate a fantasy never truly lived. Maybe "recreate" is not the right word, though it will most certainly be recreational.

The smiling face, the hard nipples, the swish of naked ass beneath a thin skirt. We are back to back now. I can be surreptitious too, can pinch, can squeeze can fondle. Can guide a tall, tanned, lovely woman through my house to an empty room, can close the door, can kiss her, kiss her deeply, her back pressed against the door, can lock the door as I kiss her, my hand on her breasts, her nipples so hard that I must suck them, her hand inside my pants already, her wedding ring cold against my raging cock, drawing me out, wanting me insider her, not questioning the insanity, thriving on the insanity of our passion.

I push her back onto the bed. She is ready. There is not much time. The dreaded knock can come. Still I must suck her nipples again. Where did her blouse go? Kneeling over her, ready to enter her, I remove my ring, place it over her nipple, tongue the nipple, flicking the ring as I lick. Her eyes are mad with wanting. I enter her, the ring still on her nipple, jiggling as her breasts jiggle, wanton in the symbolism we stare transfixed as I slide in and out of her, stare at her nipple, stare at her ring. oh god. oh god. I do not know if it is me saying it, or her saying it, it does not matter. The shared intense naughtiness of this moment is more than we can bear. We must come. Cannot come. Not yet. Must move faster. Breasts heaving faster. Ring twirling faster. Bouncing on her bouncing breast around her rock-hard nipple. Breathing coming short and shallow. About to come. All eyes focused. Focused on the ring. All eyes glazed. We come. Come together, bucking, spasm, spasm, spasm, shockwaves jolting through our bodies.

Panting. We lie panting. Breasts still heaving, I remove the ring with my mouth, nipping at the nipple, return it to my finger, watch her gather her blouse in a daze, put it on, the nipples hard and obvious. For the rest of the evening I will watch her, remembering how my ring looks as it twirls and dances around her nipple. My wife can build fantasies with her guest list. I choose to build memories.

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