It had to have been a Saturday because Susan and I were both at home in our beach house on the Chesapeake,... at the same time. This, in itself, was rare. We both had to travel a lot,... and I loved just being at home with my wife.
We were both pretending to work. Susan was shuffling around some of her legal papers since she was currently tasked with the assignment of sending some accused felon to prison. I, on the other hand, was attempting to piece together an article which would be appreciated by no more than ten percent of the readers of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
And it was hot. Susan was wearing her shortest shorts,... and some ridiculous little plastic sandals that were popular at the time. I was waiting for the ballgame to come on TV. But before that, a cooking show came on,... and Susan joined me on the sofa. She lay back and feigned that paper shuffling had totally exhausted her,..... and she stretched out with her legs across my lap. I got rid of those plastic sandals right away, have no fear.
We watched the cooking show,.... it was a spinach casserole thing. And I began idly playing with Susan's feet - she knew this was coming, and she giggled while trying not to move. I played the "piggies" game,... only I rewrote the script. "This little piggie stayed up all night gorging on comfort food,...... and this little piggie is into S&M,.... and this little piggie wants to join the Peace Corps." You get the idea. Between the tickling and my stupid goofing around, Susan was laughing herself to tears.
Once all ten of her delectable toes had been accounted for, Susan screamed out, "Alright! Stop. That's all the piggies. I'm trying to watch the show."
"Ah, but there's one more piggie," I intoned in my best Boris Karloff voice.
"One more piggie?" Susan objected. "Where?"
I let my right hand slide up her leg and under those little short shorts. Susan sucked in her breath as my hand found what it was looking for. "What about this little piggie? Doesn't she get some attention?"
"I never thought she was one of the piggies." Susan played back.
She was squirming seriously.
"Yes, my child." (still Karloff) "She was the eleventh piggie. She was sent away." At this point Susan is shrieking with laughter. My left hand is tickling her feet and my right hand is tickling the eleventh piggie.
But I did all this very gently,.... very slowly. I teased as judiciously as I could,... keeping Susan balanced between foot tickling and arousal,.. After a point,... midst her moaning and laughing and thrashing, she just screamed out, "Finish me off, for God's sake!."
Well that didn't take long. As she shuddered and convulsed there on the sofa, she threw one hand down over my hand where it remained under her shorts. "Do not move this hand. Do you hear me? Don't move it."
"Yes m'am," I answered. I'd been married long enough to know how to take orders. Susan sweated and panted and curled up in a little ball,..... she turned around on the sofa and lay with her head in my lap. I stroked her shoulders and her hair. We sat like that for maybe twenty minutes,... I just looked at her. She was the first to speak.
"Want me to give you a blow-job?"
We were both pretending to work. Susan was shuffling around some of her legal papers since she was currently tasked with the assignment of sending some accused felon to prison. I, on the other hand, was attempting to piece together an article which would be appreciated by no more than ten percent of the readers of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
And it was hot. Susan was wearing her shortest shorts,... and some ridiculous little plastic sandals that were popular at the time. I was waiting for the ballgame to come on TV. But before that, a cooking show came on,... and Susan joined me on the sofa. She lay back and feigned that paper shuffling had totally exhausted her,..... and she stretched out with her legs across my lap. I got rid of those plastic sandals right away, have no fear.
We watched the cooking show,.... it was a spinach casserole thing. And I began idly playing with Susan's feet - she knew this was coming, and she giggled while trying not to move. I played the "piggies" game,... only I rewrote the script. "This little piggie stayed up all night gorging on comfort food,...... and this little piggie is into S&M,.... and this little piggie wants to join the Peace Corps." You get the idea. Between the tickling and my stupid goofing around, Susan was laughing herself to tears.
Once all ten of her delectable toes had been accounted for, Susan screamed out, "Alright! Stop. That's all the piggies. I'm trying to watch the show."
"Ah, but there's one more piggie," I intoned in my best Boris Karloff voice.
"One more piggie?" Susan objected. "Where?"
I let my right hand slide up her leg and under those little short shorts. Susan sucked in her breath as my hand found what it was looking for. "What about this little piggie? Doesn't she get some attention?"
"I never thought she was one of the piggies." Susan played back.
She was squirming seriously.
"Yes, my child." (still Karloff) "She was the eleventh piggie. She was sent away." At this point Susan is shrieking with laughter. My left hand is tickling her feet and my right hand is tickling the eleventh piggie.
But I did all this very gently,.... very slowly. I teased as judiciously as I could,... keeping Susan balanced between foot tickling and arousal,.. After a point,... midst her moaning and laughing and thrashing, she just screamed out, "Finish me off, for God's sake!."
Well that didn't take long. As she shuddered and convulsed there on the sofa, she threw one hand down over my hand where it remained under her shorts. "Do not move this hand. Do you hear me? Don't move it."
"Yes m'am," I answered. I'd been married long enough to know how to take orders. Susan sweated and panted and curled up in a little ball,..... she turned around on the sofa and lay with her head in my lap. I stroked her shoulders and her hair. We sat like that for maybe twenty minutes,... I just looked at her. She was the first to speak.
"Want me to give you a blow-job?"