her cocked hip, she struck a high fashion model's pose. “Not so bad, if I do say so myself,” she told her image in the mirror. “For an old lady of thirty-eight, you're still pretty hot stuff.” She critically surveyed herself and decided she was, indeed, good-looking. Maybe not quite as appealing as when she and Don had married nineteen years earlier, but still one hell of a foxy lady. The way her tits sagged just a little didn't bother her too much. There was still enough snap if a man toyed with them to delight him. And the sag wasn't the result of poor muscle tone as much as it was the huge mounds of tit-flesh she had dangling from her chest. The waist was as trim as ever. She prided herself on how well she kept in shape. The way her ass flared out into a very womanly set of buttocks pleased her no end. Flexing her muscles even made her legs appear to be as sleek as a teenager's.
There was no doubt in her mind that she wasn't losing it physically.
Whatever problems between her and Don had to be the result of mental conditions. Boredom. She recognized it in herself. Every time he came home, she knew his little ritual. He would toss his briefcase stuffed full of useless papers and half-eaten sandwiches aside, grab the evening paper and retreat to a spot in front of the television.
Getting him to stir before dinner was hard and, after dinner, impossible. As long as the idiot eye was on, he would watch it.
And she was as much to blame. Had she ever tried to entice him away from the TV? Ever tried to seduce him and show him something even more thrilling than watching a football game? She slipped into the nightie and noticed it barely came to the bottom of her behind.
She bent forward and watched tie way it crept up, then she smiled.
This was going to be perfect. Reaching into the closet, she found another filmy dressing gown and tossed it around her shoulders. The peach-colored, gauzy material hid very little and highlighted everything. She looked like a French actress waiting for a sexy part in some movie. Gloria heard Don's car in the driveway. Heart beating faster, she waited for him to come in. The lights were down, candles flickered romantically in the dining room. The door opened and Don came swinging in, his briefcase thumping against the table as he tossed it aside. “Evening,” he called out. “Where the hell's the paper?” She went to him, more like a ghost wrapped in mist than the woman he had come to expect to be there. “Good evening yourself, lover,” she cooed. Her fingers reached out and sensuously stroked his cheeks. He blinked and took a full step away from her. “What the hell's going on, Gloria? Why are you all dressed-undressed-like that?”
“Don't you like it? I'll take it off if it offends you!” She began to remove the dressing gown and when Don saw the nightie was all she had on underneath, he rapidly reached out and pulled the gown back around her shoulders. “Hey, look, I didn't know you were ready for bed. Are you sick or something?” “Do I look sick? Do I feel sick?” She moved closer and her lips hungrily sought his. For a moment, he was taken by surprise. Then, when he had regained a modicum of his composure, he returned the kiss with all the fervor and passion with which it was given. Then, as if coming to his senses from some beautifully erotic dream, he pushed her to arm's length and held her there, simply staring. “What's wrong with you? You don't act like this, Gloria.” “Do you mind?” She hunched her shoulders, then straightened them so that the nightie fell open almost to the waist.
There was nothing but dimly lit space between her succulent tits and his body. “No, I don't guess so. It's just unusual for you to do something like this. But damned if I don't like it!” “Let's go into the living room. I've set up dinner there for you.” He followed her in, admiring the way her perky little ass poked out from under the nightie as she moved. He reached out and pinched her. It was pure impulse. For a second, he thought she would yell at him as she always did when he tried things like that. Instead, she surprised him with a long, juicy kiss that set his heart to racing. He sat in his usual chair and found her kneeling in front of him, a tasty bite of chicken held lightly between her fingers. She held it out for him and he readily took it, making sure to lick her fingers clean. They fed each other and Don felt his desire for her mounting. Yet he was confused at this sudden change. Once, an old habit hit him and he went to turn on the television set. When it didn't light up, he kicked it. She quietly told him, “The set won't work.” “Hell, how long has that been like that?” He kicked the set again, as if this would magically make it work. His feeling of frustration was immediately vented toward the inanimate set. “It'll work tomorrow. It's just for tonight that it won't work,” she told him. “I pulled the plug.”
“Why?” And then he had other things to think about. She came to him on her knees. The sight of her tits bouncing in front of her chest, veiled slightly by the peach-colored nylon, gave his cock a twinge such as it hadn't felt in years. When he saw the dark red nipples begin to rise he knew that she was as hot to fuck as he was.
She pressed close to him, her arms around his knees. And then, looking up, she moved closer to his crotch. With her teeth, she pulled the zipper of his fly down and let his prick snap to immediate attention. The long, ugly red shaft was quivering like a racehorse in the starting gate. It knew what it wanted and was eager to get it.
“So lovely,” she said, her fingers caressing his prick as if it were some sort of religious relic. Then she popped the purpled knob of his cock into her mouth. Ruby lips closed on just the glans and sucked until her cheeks went concave. He groaned and almost fell. He reached out and caught himself on the television set. Only with the sturdy box propping him up could he maintain his stance. Never had this weakness hit him so fast. He knew that his cock was primed and ready to explode. Her hot, sucking mouth moving up and down it had something to do with it, sure, but he realized that the entire seduction was taking, its toll of his stamina. He felt like a teenager again. But these were hardly teenaged games she was playing. These were very, very adult and very, very sophisticated. And he loved the hell out of it. “Keep sucking, wench,” he told her. “I like the wet feel of your tongue all over my prick.” She was cradling his cock inside her mouth with a cupped tongue. The roughness as his prick slid in and out made him come fully erect. Never had his prick felt stiffer than it was now. And the way she sucked on his cock turned him on in a big way. Tiny arrows of delight stabbed into his groin, then shot all the way into his belly. His balls in their hairy little hag churned faster, almost at the boiling point. The thick stew of his jism begged for immediate release. He held it in, wanting more pleasure before releasing the fiery torrent of sperm and semen.
“Do you really like it, lover?” she asked needlessly. Her fingers reached into his pants and fumbled out his balls. The lightest touch on the little sac was almost enough to make him come in her face. That would be a waste, he decided. Iron control held in his jizz, at least for the time being. “Damned right I do!” he told her. He perched his ass against the edge of the television. For once he'd found a use for it that didn't require sitting and mindlessly staring at the giant oval eye. She teased and tormented his balls as much as she could. The woman was getting hotter by the moment. The smell of male musk in her nostrils spurred her on to suck harder, to face- fuck herself just a little faster, to give even more stimulation to the bag containing his balls. She pressed her tongue against that hard little sphere dangling under his long prick and felt the agitation inside.
The balls were tumbling and lurching harder than she'd ever felt before. She went back along the tasty shaft of his cock. She licked it as if it was a merry popsicle. The taste made her mouth water. Whenever her nose burrowed into the thick fleece of his bush, she wanted to sneeze. The odors assailing her were making her pussy dribble out its thick lubricating oils. She heaved a big sigh and hotly gusted through the tangled forest of his pubic hair. That made his hips jerk spastically. This took her by surprise. He was close to coming. She realized then the full effect of her little dressing-up-or not dressing!-was getting to him even more than she had hoped. It excited him, it turned him into a raging beast intent on nothing but fucking! And that pleased her because she felt like a bitch in heat. She wanted that prick. She wanted it stuffed all the way up her twat and fucking the living hell out of her. Nothing less than being split apart all the way to the chin would satisfy the longing she felt deep inside. Her cunt felt hollow and empty, neglected for too long by this man's lovely prick. She wanted to feel him inside her, moving, fucking, making her come alive to the feel of his prick against her pussy walls. “On your feet, dammit,” he flared. “I can't take any more of this. And I don't want to waste all my jizz by coming in your mouth. I want to stick this where it'll do the both of us a hell of a lot more good!” He lifted her and spun her around so fast that she fell forward. The television set caught her fall. She sprawled gracelessly across the top of it. Before she could straighten up, a strong hand shoved her flat. This mashed her tits into the wood top. The hard points of her nipples felt as if they would pop from this treatment. And erotic surges of carnal delight blasted into her chest. She slumped back down and rubbed her tits against the set. The way the nylon of her nightie and the pressure on her boobs stimulated her, she could have gotten off just on those two things alone. When she felt him come up behind her, his legs pressing into the curve of her behind, she knew she wouldn't have to masturbate herself to a climax. His huge prick forced its way between the thick slabs of her asscheeks. She thought he was hunting for her cunt dangling wide a few inches below. He took her entirely by surprise when his prick head nudged firmly into the tight ring of her anus. “N-no!” she cried out. “Don't fuck me up the ass! Please!
Y-you've never done that! You'll rip me apart!” It was true. In nineteen years of marriage not once had he
