Emma Tate hated Monday mornings.
The only thing that made them bearable was a good fuck to start the day. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy to pin her husband Harry down. Once he was out of bed, his mind started to click into gear for his day's work at the lab. It was hard enough to get him to state a preference for his eggs, let alone to get him interested in the differences between boys and girls.
Emma stood by the kitchen table, in her filmiest of filmy negligees. She could hear Harry rummaging around in his study. "Harry, darling your eggs are ready!" She looked anxiously at the clock. Harry still had an hour before he had to be at the lab. And it was only a twenty-minute drive. She figured there was still enough time for his breakfast and a quickie.
Her optimism flagged as Harry wandered into the kitchen with a wad of papers in his hands, rummaging through them like a proverbial absent-minded professor. "If only I could discover the link between them… It should be very simple."
"Good morning, Harry dear." Harry had been in the bathroom when Emma awoke. This was the first time she had seen him this morning. He found his seat at the kitchen table by careful investigation by feet and ass, and slowly sat down. He held up his cheek absently for Emma's good-morning kiss.
"Don't get your papers in the egg yolks, Harry." She watched dismally as he began to eat. One hand on his fork, one on his papers. Both eyes totally captivated by scientific formulas. Emma could have been wearing a paper bag and a horse collar. The effect on her husband would have been equally as dramatic.
"Could I have some coffee, dear?" At last, he had spoken to her. Emma sensed the absurdity of being elated by this minor victory. She looked critically at her husband as he ate and drank and read. He was a good-looking man. His smooth regular features and his neat, closely trimmed beard and mustache made him look very mature and very wise. Emma felt a renewed surge of desire for him as she recalled how his skin smelled very close up, how his beard grazed softly against her cheek. He had such a wonderfully soft beard!
She checked herself as her pussy began to flare hotly. May as well forget it this time around, she told herself. There'll be no rousing Einstein this morning.
Emma and Harry had been married for three years. They had met when she was an undergraduate and he on the last legs of his climb to a Ph.D.. She had been very impressed. She had thought Harry knew everything. And about physics, he probably did know close to everything. His teachers conceded he was a genius.
Where Emma had made her mistake, she realized now, was in thinking Harry knew everything about everything. He did not. One thing he knew practically nothing about was women.
They fucked when he felt like fucking. They did not communicate about sex. He never took the trouble to find out what her real needs and desires were. He assumed he had a perfectly satisfied wife. He liked to assume that. That freed him to think about physics eighteen hours out of the day. The other six hours, he slept.
Emma knew she was bored. She felt guilty about being bored. Harry was a good kind man. He deserved all the love she could give him. And she did love him. But she wanted more out of life than a permanent post as the guardian and watchdog of a professional thinking machine.
She was a woman, with real live hopes and dreams and desires. And needs. Needs that were not being fulfilled.
Once again her thoughts strayed back to her hot aching cunt. If only Harry could get his nose out of his papers long enough to fuck her for just a few minutes.
It wasn't that they didn't fuck often. They did. But it was beginning to seem dull and repetitive to Emma. She didn't know it it was natural to feel the way she did, but she wanted sex to be more adventurous than a hurried, furious coupling before sleep each night. At times she felt more like a fixture in somebody's wet dream than a wife.
"More coffee, Harry?" she asked dully, holding the coffee pot poised over her mate's cup.
"What… huh…? Oh, no thanks, honey. I've got to be going. I've got an important meeting this morning. I want to be there early. I've got some things I want to talk over with Jackson before we start."
"Good… well, you'd better be going, Harry. You don't have much time." Emma wanted him gone now. She needed some time alone, to think things out, maybe to get rid of this awful nagging ache down in her pussy.
"Okay… I'll see you later, honey." He was still leafing through his papers as he left the house, briefcase and raincoat tucked precariously under one arm.
When Emma was alone, she automatically headed back to the bedroom. She felt she had some unfinished business in there. She pulled open the doors of her closet and looked at herself in the mirror hanging on one side.
There she was. A full-blown woman, just ever so slightly on the plump side. Her tits were full and firm. Her waist tucked in provocatively between breasts and hips. Her legs were long and strong. Her light brown hair fell softly around her pouting, sensuous-looking face. Tall and strong, she looked like a statuesque Scandinavian princess.
"I am sexy," she told her mirror emphatically. "How could he possibly be alone with me and not notice me once all morning?" Her nipples and dark cunt-hair were like lures beneath the filmy material of her negligee. She parted the folds and admired her naked chest and belly. She watched, fascinated, as her hand trailed down over her firm stomach and burrowed into her thick thatch of cunt-hair. The fingers made almost immediate contact with the hidden nub of her clitoris. The effect was electric. The little gland stood up in eager erection.
"Mmmmmm!" She watched her blue eyes become hazy, watched her lower lip fell open slackly. Her face, naturally sensuous, became a molten landscape of naked desire. She was hot!
Her pussy palpitating with need, the shy Emma began to sort through ideas for giving her body the satisfaction it craved. It would not be enough for her to just masturbate. She wanted to let her frustrated sexuality come out. She wanted to be wanton.
She went into the bathroom and pulled out her makeup pouch. She almost never wore makeup. Amongst the wives at the lab, it was fashionable to sport the natural look. To let the wrinkles and lines sprout where they may. Emma kept the makeup for very special occasions – for the times when she was alone and she wanted to feel very sexy.
With deft strokes, she began to apply eyeliner and mascara, eye shadow and rouge. A bright red lipstick added a provocative finishing touch. Now she looked like a whore-garishly beautiful instead of her usual quiet attractiveness. She liked the feel of her negligee flowing over her back and buttocks while her front remained bare. She felt very sexy, very daring.
She went to the living room and poured herself a scotch-on-the-rocks from the closet bar. She downed it quickly and poured a second. The tingling sensation from the alcohol went straight to her pussy. It pulsed with excitement. Glass in hand, she went back to the bedroom and again inspected herself in the full-length minor. What she saw made her pussy flare expectantly.
While she sipped her scotch, she began to investigate the thick patch at her pussy once again. Again her fingers tickled her clitoris. Only this time, she let them go farther. She let them work round and round the erect peak of her clitoris, then press at the yielding hole of her cunt.
"Oooohh, my pussy feels good," she groaned, looking straight into her own eyes in the mirror. She took a long swallow of her drink, then set it on the bedside table. She began to fondle her breasts with one hand while the other caressed her wet cunt.
Emma was able to sit on the bed and still enjoy the picture of herself playing with her most private pads. She spread her legs wide, so she could get a full view of her glistening, hair-fringed pussy. Her fingers moved hypnotically along her cunt-channel. Lust-darts were soaring from the tender spots where her fingers moved. She was literally shaking with excitement. This was the kind of forbidden turn-on she was never able to enjoy with Harry.
This was the kind of thrill that made her pussy wettest.
"Uuuhhh, Jee-zuz," she grunted. Two fingers were embedded inside her cunt now, and they began to wriggle back and forth. Her debauched excitement was intensified by the sight of her fingers, gleaming with her juices, emerging from her tight pussy. Her inner muscles closed her fingers convulsively on every in stroke. Her body was so open, so aroused. Her cunt was so hungry for the magic of orgasm. "Hhnnnhh, I love acting like a whore! I love being depraved! Christ, my fingers feel so wonderful up inside my cunt!"
Her face heavy with sensual abandon, she watched her hands caress her breasts and her pussy. She imagined she was performing her abandoned act for the pleasure of an onlooker – a handsome man who would fuck her silly when she had male herself cum. But that was the first requirement of the arrangement. First, she had to make herself cum.
"Uuuuhh, I want to cum… I want to cum so bad!" Her fingers began to fly in and out of her cunt-hole while her thumb worried the swollen nubbin of her clitoris. The quaking sensations assaulting her lewdly clad body were becoming more and more urgent. She watched her heavily made-up face in the mirror. Watched her tongue flicker lewdly over her red lips. Watched her dark, wide eyes with their blue irises grow wider and wider with the surprise of her feeling.
What would Harry think if he could see me now? she thought. In a way, Emma wished he could see her now. Perhaps it would snap him out of himself and tune him into her. Perhaps he would see she was a living, breathing sex addict with a very strong libido. Maybe he would get turned on, really turned on for the first time in their life together.
But Emma was too far gone to think for long about the source of her current frustration. She began to fantasize about Sam Robbins next door. She had seen the way Sam looked at her. She knew he thought she was a desirable woman. Besides, she knew he had a thing for tall, good-looking women, whoever they might be. She was vaguely aware that Sam and Helen had an agreement between them. That they both made love to other people.
That knowledge made Sam available in her mind. She felt free to fantasize about him. She imagined that Sam was watching her while she rammed her fingers in and out of her craving cunt, while she massaged her tits with her fingertips. She thrust her full lush tits out proudly and stared at the long, swollen nipples.
"Well, what do you think, darling?" she asked her unseen lover. "Do I look sexy enough? Does it turn you on to watch me play with myself… oh, God, it feels good! My belly's on fire! Oh Jee-zuz… Jeezuz!"
Suddenly the warm floods of orgasm were sweeping over her. Her body leapt into the pit of fiery release and bathed itself in the splendid flush of orgasm. She fell back onto the bed and lay groaning, clutching her cunt-mound while it throbbed out the last waves of her orgasm. Then she sat up and looked at herself once again. Her lush body covered in a light film of sweat. Her eyes dreamy and her lips laughing. She felt wonderful! The hot glow of the whiskey still tingled in her belly. She was very pleased with herself, with what she had done for herself.
The ring of the front doorbell invaded the sanctity of her fantasy-world like a gong. Emma leapt to her feet and searched feverishly in her closet for something to wear. She didn't even consider not answering the door. Somehow she needed to appear normal, to assure whoever was there that she had not been up to anything strange.
The intrusion of the outside world had suddenly made Emma feel very unsure of herself.
She was already opening the front door when she remembered her face was covered with makeup. It took a moment before she realized that was not unusual. Millions of women wore make-up. The stranger at the door should see nothing odd in that.
She stared as though frozen at the big man standing on her landing. He was very handsome – just Emma's type. He was over six feet tall and probably well over two hundred pounds. All of it muscle. He wore his blond hair fashionably long, but scrupulously trimmed. His broad handle-bar mustache flattered his large, Germanic face.
He could have been the answer to Emma's fondest fantasy-prayers. It took her a minute, in her confused condition, to realize he was a salesman. He was holding a bottle of lotion in one hand and a sample case in the other. His smile was very open and friendly.
Emma felt weak. She was not in the mood to deal with a salesman. But she was captivated by the compelling magnetism of the man's personality. Though he had spoken not a word, he had gained the woman's full attention.
"Hel… hello." Her voice sounded weak, even to herself.
"Good morning. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." His long, appraising look made Emma doubt herself for a moment. Did something show? Why was he smiling at her like that? She looked down nervously to make sure the sun-dress she had slipped on was not gaping open somewhere it shouldn't be. Everything looked all right in that department.
"Good morning. No… I was just cleaning house, that's all."
"That's wonderful!"
Emma looked skeptical. She could think of nothing wonderful about being a household drudge.
He laughed at the confusion in her face. "What I mean is, cleaning house is just what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm your Harrow's Household Helpers representative in this area, and I have this free gift for you if you will give me a few moments of your time."
He shoved the bottle of lotion into her hand. Before Emma knew what had happened, they were both sitting on the living-room sofa. She knew she had invited him in, but she wasn't really sure how or why she had done it. The big man began to assemble various bottles and jars on the coffee table, while she stared at him dumbfounded.
Wow, he sure has a lot of self-confidence, she thought admiringly. She liked being with a man who was one hundred percent male, and knew it. His bright blue eyes penetrated hers as he looked up from his display.
"First I'd like to tell you about our miracle floor care products." He spent close to half an hour describing the various items manufactured by his company. Before she knew it, Emma had given him a twenty-five dollar order.
"Can always use good cleaning equipment," she rationalized. Deep down, she knew she wanted to see the man again. "What did you say your name was again?" she asked out of the blue.
"Bob Cranach." He smiled. She noticed his teeth were very white and very even. She smiled back. "I should be back with your order in four or five days. When is the best time of day to find you in?"
"Between nine and noon," she answered automatically.
He rose to leave. "Well, I'll see you around Friday then."
"Good. I'll look forward… to trying your products."
"Good-bye, Mrs. Tate."
"Oh… call me Emma. After all, this is a democracy… and we are both about the same age." She felt awkward as she showed him to the door and watched him head down the sidewalk toward his car. She also felt excited. She was looking forward to Friday. It wasn't often she was alone with such an attractive man.
Of course their relationship was perfectly innocent… but still, it was fun.