Friday evening is a time when we lock the doors to the business and flop down in front of the TV with a takeaway pizza, a bottle of wine, a tub of ice cream and a big sigh of relief.
I suppose it would have been more interesting for all concerned to be able to report that, having the house to ourselves, we mother-in-law-proofed it by locking the doors and tore the clothes off each others' backs before racing into the bedroom to indulge in hours of kinky sex. Unfortunately, that would be untrue
Were we illicit lovers, had we still been oversexed teenagers, then it might be different, but the reality of being able to take sex at any time you feel like it that you tend not to. The urgency is not there. You can do the shopping, watch what you wanted to see on television and still have time for sex afterwards. Sometimes I feel we could use a little urgency.
"Will you turn off the computers downstairs while I get ready for bed?” She called from the bathroom, after the programme we had been watching was finished.
It took a little longer than had reckoned with: I always take a look at my mail inbox as the very last thing before I shut the PC down (okay, I admit it, I’m an addict) and there were a couple of comments to the last post to which I had to reply.
When I eventually made it to the bedroom Heather was not asleep, as I feared she might be, nor was she engrossed in a Sudoku in one of her magazines. She was draped languidly across the bed, a sheer robe tied at the waist but open enough to reveal what she was wearing underneath: lace-topped black hold-up stockings, black satin knickers topped by a black frilly micro-skirt, red and black satin and lace push-up bra, shiny black fuck-me shoes and, as a cheeky detail, a thin red necktie which nestled in her amplified cleavage. Oh, and lipstick. Mustn’t forget the crimson lipstick.
I undressed and lay down beside her on the bed, crushing her to me and kissing her deeply, pressing past those painted lips, pushing my tongue in deep, DP-ing her mouth with tongue and a thumb. And then my hands were all over her, not knowing which part of her to enjoy first. She, of course, had no such problem. She took a firm, expert hold of my cock which was already hard and throbbing; aching to get inside her. But not yet. For now I preferred to leave her partially clothed. I preferred to rub my palm over her pubic mound, made smooth and slippery by her satin knickers and hear her moan in appreciation as I thrust myself into her fist, clenched tightly around me.
She rolled towards me and wrapped her legs around mine, inviting me to explore deeper between them. I ran my fingertips up and down that flimsy strip of satin, trying to make out the features beneath, trying to work them in between her labia and to follow that furrow back until I found the little nub of her clitoris. As I felt her hot breath panting on my neck I reached down again and gently teased her labia free to either side so that the material was sitting deep in her cleft, then traced my fingertips back until I found the outline of her arsehole, pressing ever so slightly in and then circling. I could feel the quivers of excitement running through her and her little gasps and moans were growing louder.
But those knickers just had to come off; I simply had to feel her wetness, unrestrained by underwear. I slid them down around her ankles and she kicked them free. I encouraged her up onto her knees so that we faced each other on the bed. She threw her arms around me and laid her head on my shoulder. I thrust my hand down between the swollen, parted labia and hooked two fingers directly up inside her soaking cunt, pulling her upwards, and grinding my palm firmly into her mons while my other hand was massaging her bum and trying to find a way into her arsehole from the back. She was close to orgasm. Very close. But at that moment of release she loses control completely and, even with her arms tightly round my neck, she couldn’t trust herself to completely let go. I backed off.
I told her to remain kneeling, with her legs slightly apart, and repositioned myself with my head between them. She splayed her legs even wider and lowered herself onto me and I strained my neck upwards until the tip of my tongue was able to dip into her sweet cunt or flick her clit. She ran her hands over my chest, plucked and teased at my nipples, cupped my balls and tickled my perineum until she took pity on my involuntary hip thrusts and leaned forward until her her perfect crimson lips encircled my swollen glans and slid oh-so-slowly down the length of my shaft.
But now there was a growing urgency: I needed to get my cock deep inside her. She needed the orgasm I knew she could never reach while my head was preventing her from closing her legs. She rolled onto her back and hoisted her legs in he air. I knelt up beside her and gazed deep into her eyes, her expression mild, gentle, expectant. My fingers found her slippery clit again and I massaged it slowly and gently, feeling wave after wave of pleasure running through her. I repositioned myself again, kneeling between her thighs so that she could take charge of my cock and use the spongy glans to pleasure herself before feeding it into her cunt. I pushed her legs up onto my shoulders bore down on her until she was folded in half and fucked her hard for a dozen - maybe two dozen – deep, ball-slapping, thrusts.
I leapt off her again and knelt once more beside her and drew more of her ample wetness up onto her clit. I massaged it slowly and deliberately, taking care not to get carried away and rub too hard. Heather, on the other hand, grabbed my cock, now slippery and glistening with her juices, and was wanking it like a woman possessed. I could so easily have let go there and then and come over those breasts, so perfectly full and rounded, could so easily have despoiled that pretty bra that gave her such a trim and compact shape with my semen.
But now her body had gone rigid and her head was thrown back. I grasped around her throat and she exploded into orgasm. I held her close to me, still gently massaging her clitoris, as shock wave after shock wave rolled through her and her gasps of tension gave way to great heavy sobs of relief. Then I lay on top of her, covering her body, protecting her from the inevitable chill that strikes her right after orgasm. As I slid off her again she rolled over onto all fours, her smooth, silk-clad legs apart, her bum jutting invitingly out from under that saucy little skirt. I knelt up behind her and slid deep inside her, then grabbing hold of the waistband of the skirt and planting one foot firmly on the bed beside her, I pulled her onto me and fucked her hard, slamming her into me so that the breath was driven out of her in little gasps.
And then it was my turn to come, bowing my head and crossing my hands over her back in a final act of surrender to the animal instincts that had driven us. Recovery was slow, almost painful. I didn’t want to ever let her go and from a purely practical point of view the way we were sprawled across the bed we were about as far the box of tissues as it was possible to get. It took a feat of acrobatics to reach back and pluck a tissue free with fingertips without falling out of her and depositing a large blob of our combined juices on the freshly-laundered duvet cover. I know we should make sure we have tissues and maybe even towels handy right from the start, but that rather spoils the atmosphere of spontaneity.
We slept. We slept well. A little too well if the truth be known. The next thing I knew, Heather was shouting in my ear “Fuck, it’s ten past nine!” (We open at 9.30). Fortunately we weren’t too busy first thing and the staff could handle things until we were up and running but all the same it wasn’t the best way to start a day.
