Note: This is a bit of a long one, but I couldn't figure out a way to break it up into chapters, so I hope you will indulge me and find humor, hope, and yes, a bit of naughtiness within.
“Hey, Di!” I heard a voice calling from behind me as I exited the supermarket for what seemed like the hundredth time that week. I wondered again what was wrong with me that I kept forgetting staples like milk and eggs—things the kids consumed in abundance—and prayed it was just my hectic schedule and not very early-onset dementia. “I mean, really, Diana, you’re not that old,” I thought to myself. I turned to see who was calling to me.
“Di! Di! I’m so glad I caught you!” gushed my neighbor, Amy. Amy lived six doors up and across the street from me in our “executive” neighborhood, and her kids often played with mine. Her husband, Dave, was a Senior Vice President at a rival bank to my own husband’s employer, where Dean was likewise an SVP.
Neither Amy nor I had to work, although I chose to pick up some freelance writing projects here and there. Amy, on the other hand, fancied herself as an entrepreneur. In reality, she was that acquaintance every woman my age has—the one constantly shilling for one multi-level-marketing company or another. She had been through makeup . . . cookware . . . jewelry . . . you name it. Over the years I had lost track. I had recently received an invite to join her as she unveiled her new “business,” which I had “somehow” managed to “misplace.” I knew instantly that her latest venture was what we were about to discuss.
“You haven’t RSVP’d to my latest project.” Amy was breathless as she ran to catch up to me, her perfect ponytail swinging behind her. “Did you not get the invitation?”
“No, I don’t answer mail that’s postmarked from hell,” I wanted to say. Unfortunately, she had me cornered, so I just smiled and said, “Sorry. I must have mislaid it. You know how it is with school projects and dance lessons, soccer practice . . ." I let my voice trail off.
“You’re telling me! Did I tell you Emmaline was chosen to be one of the toy soldiers in the ballet’s production of the Nutcracker? “I mean, it’s great to see they’re finally rewarding her talent, but the extra practice and performances will have us all ragged before the year is through!”
“Good ol’ Amy,” I thought. She could always be counted on to work some inane fact about her positively amazing children, Emmaline and Emery, into any conversation.
“Anyway, it works out perfect for you. My launch party is Saturday night, and I know your family is all out of the house this weekend. It’ll give you something interesting to do.” She winked.
“Those darn meddling kids.” I silently cursed my loudmouthed offspring, who must have let slip that I was going to be blissfully alone over the weekend when they were over at Amy’s house a few days ago. Dean was leaving early to catch a couple rounds of golf in Myrtle Beach before attending meetings all next week in Charlotte, and our kids were going to “Camp Grandma” to be spoiled rotten. I was going to go to bed early and sleep in late, watch trash tv, and enjoy getting more than two minutes in the bathroom before having to respond to, “Mommmmmmmmmm!” Attending Amy’s party was definitely not part of my plan to rehabilitate my mental health.
“Umm . . ." I started.
“Good, then it’s settled. I’ll see you at seven on Saturday.” She hurried away to her Range Rover. “Isn’t it great we all live within walking distance? There’s going to be plenty of wine!” She made the “drinky-drinky” motion with her hand. When I was sure she was looking away, I rolled my eyes.
The rest of the week passed in a flurry of activity—and laundry—trying to get everybody squared away so they could be on their way and out of my hair on Saturday morning. Dean was dropping the kids off at his parents’ house on his way to the airport, and as they were rushing out the door, he absently planted a kiss on my cheek. “Love you,” he said. “See you Friday night.”
“Love you,” I responded. I did, of course. Dean was a good man and a great father. Aside from the one time when the kids were very small, he had also been faithful.
He had confessed immediately when I confronted him with the evidence—makeup on the collar of a shirt positively reeking of perfume—that I discovered while unpacking his suitcase after a business trip to Dallas. “I’m so sorry, Di. It’ll never happen again,” he pleaded. “It was only once, and I used a condom.” He went to his briefcase and retrieved the two others from the three-pack he had purchased. “See?” He continued, “It meant nothing. She meant nothing. It’s just that we haven’t had sex for months.”
Although I didn’t see that as much of an excuse, it was true. I couldn’t remember the last time we had done it. The kids were sapping my energy, and I felt less like a sexual being and more like a lactating pack animal. It took a while for me to forgive him, but as far as I could tell, he never cheated again, and eventually I let it go. I’m not sure Dean ever forgave himself, though.
Compounding our marital issues, just as I finally came out of my sexual doldrums, Dean began to experience equipment failure. When we fooled around, he’d get hard, then lose it, or barely get hard at all. I alternated between jumping on his briefly erect cock before I was ready and desperately trying to keep his limp prick inside me. In the end, he would be frustrated and embarrassed, and I would be deeply unsatisfied, remembering how good the sex had been and what Dean’s member was capable of when all systems were go.
I waved goodbye as Dean and the kids pulled out of our driveway and drove up the block. Then I closed the door, went upstairs, and drew myself a bath in our soaking tub—a luxury I hadn’t partaken of in far too long.
As the tub was filling, I undressed and assessed myself in the mirror. For three kids, my body was still pretty rocking, if I did say so myself, especially since I had added strength training to my workout routine earlier in the year. I was lucky with regard to my weight, too. I never gained much during my pregnancies, and I had some sort of freaky metabolism where any pounds I did put on just melted away if ate slightly less. “Of course, I’ll probably be the first to die of starvation in the zombie apocalypse,” I thought to myself.
My breasts had rebounded nicely from their biological role in nourishing our children. Never huge, they were nonetheless well-shaped and firm, with pink nipples that never fully relaxed, meaning I needed a bra for modesty’s sake if nothing else. My stomach was flat again, with just a few faded stretch marks left to indicate my fertility.
I turned slightly, and surveyed my backside and legs. I was curvy, yet muscular, and could maybe still get away with a miniskirt if I were so inclined. “And you, you poor thing,” I thought, as I glanced down at my mound, neatly trimmed, yet so neglected I might as well let it return to its natural state. I parted my outer lips so my pink pussy was exposed. “You’re all ready to go again, but you don’t have anybody to play with anymore,” I sighed.
By then, the bath was ready, and I sank in, letting the warm water buoy my body and my spirit. I began to fantasize about how things had been when Dean and I were first married. There had been many weekends where we scarcely made it out of bed, two young lovers, deeply attracted to each other and to the pleasure created when we joined our bodies together. Back then, he had been able to get hard whenever I wanted him, which was as frequently as possible, and feeling his thick, hot cock slide inside me was almost as good as the orgasm that inevitably followed. As my mind wandered, so did my hand, toward my yearning pussy. I was just about to begin stroking when the phone rang. “Ignore it!” screamed my body. “You can’t ignore it,” overrode my mind. “You’re a mom. What if someone’s sick or hurt?”
Grumbling, I got out of the tub, wrapped myself in a towel and raced out of the bathroom to where I had left my phone on the dresser. It was my in-laws. “Hi, Linda. Is there anything wrong?”
“It’s actually Al,” said my father-in-law. “Linda’s trying to calm Number Three down.”
I sighed, as much over Al’s insistence on calling the kids by number rather than by name as over my interrupted bath. “It’s just not cute, and it never has been,” I wanted to shout. Instead, I calmly asked, “And what seems to be the problem?”
“Well, they were unpacking their suitcases, and Number Three seems to have forgotten . . ."
“Lammy,” I said quickly, knowing immediately what the issue was. “She forgot her stuffed lamb.”
“Damn you, Lammy,” I thought as I stood dripping and shivering, yet still horny as fuck, on the hardwood floor of our bedroom. I had lost count of the desperate searches conducted around the house, in restaurants, and even on a couple of planes for that threadbare little bastard. I almost told Al to put “Number Three” on the line so I could tell her to “suck it up, buttercup,” but I decided maybe a five-year-old who had just started kindergarten was still a bit too young for such strident parenting. I walked to her bedroom, knelt down so I could peer under her bed, and sure enough, there was Lammy, looking all innocent, when I knew the truth—he was a born hellion. I grabbed him by the neck and said, “I’ve got him, Al. I’ll drop him by in a little bit. Just make sure none of the others has forgotten anything. I can’t be running across town every time someone’s missing something.”
Four phone calls and an hour-long round trip drive later, I was finally home again, minus Lammy, a toothbrush, four books, two friendship bracelets, and a single Spider-Man sock, but plus seventeen late-season tomatoes and half a pound cake. My in-laws were food-pushers.
I thought about running another bath, but the mood had been broken. I took a quick shower instead, then dried my hair and sat down to read a book. That lasted all of five minutes before I remembered I had started a load of laundry that morning which was now just sitting, growing moldy in the washer. Even with the kids gone, there was no escaping motherhood, it seemed.
One chore led to another, and I found myself running around picking up this or folding that all afternoon, until I realized it was nearly time to make my appearance at Amy’s shindig. I wondered what “miracle time-saver” curling iron/vacuum sealer contraption I would end up wasting my money on that evening in the name of neighborhood harmony.
I ran a brush through my hair, put on a little mascara and slipped on a clean blouse and a fresh pair of jeans. I was sure Amy and some of the other invitees would be dressed less casually, but I didn’t really care. I was presentable, and that was good enough for me.
I checked that the door was locked behind me as I left the house for the short walk up the street. As I approached, I saw my friend Michelle coming from the other direction. “You’re late,” each of us accused the other as we started up the walk to Amy’s front door. We smiled. Knowing Michelle, there would be at least one other attendee who didn’t really want to be there.
It was then that I fully realized Michelle was dressed to the nines—slinky, low-cut dress, stilettos, and some of her best pieces of jewelry. “You and Mitch going someplace afterwards?”
“Didn’t you read the invitation?” she asked, surveying my choice of outfit. “Amy specifically requested we dress up in whatever made us feel ‘most sensual.’” Michelle air-quoted “most sensual,” and rolled her eyes.
“To be honest, I never even opened the invite,” I admitted. “I thought she was throwing a party to launch yet another one of her scams . . . not hosting a neighborhood orgy.”
“Hoo, boy. You’re going to be in for a real treat, Di. Amy’s new thing is selling for Danaë.”
“The sex toy company?” I practically shouted.
“Shhh. Keep your voice down,” Michelle admonished. “Yes, the sex toy company.”
I had almost turned on my heel to race back down the walk when Amy’s door flew open. “There you two are!” she exclaimed. “Now we can really get the party started. I love your outfit, Michelle.” Amy just stared at me. “Interesting choice, Di.” She looked like she wanted to pat me on the head.
Amy ushered us into her formal living room which was currently occupied by a dozen or so of the other women in the neighborhood, all dressed—for better or worse—in tight, revealing or otherwise “sensual” clothes. “Penis cookie?” giggled Tracy from around the corner, as she offered us a tray of extremely anatomically-correct treats, then pretended to fellate one before popping it in her mouth.
“How early did she start drinking?” I whispered to Michelle, as Amy handed both of us a glass of white wine, then gestured for us to take a seat.
Amy strode to the front of the room, where she had set up a table covered with a black velvet cloth, woven with minute flecks of gold. “Good evening to my dearest friends. Thank you all so much for coming to help me launch my latest and most exciting enterprise. As of tonight, you are looking at the newest representative for Danaë, purveyor of the world’s finest lingerie and intimate aides, designed by women, for women, especially those in marriages or other long-term partnerships.”
Everyone clapped. “That was certainly a fancy way to say, ‘I’m selling kinky shit for you to shove in your hoo-haw,’” I said under my breath to Michelle. She barely suppressed a snort and punched me in the thigh.
Amy continued. “Why is the company named Danaë? Great question. In Greek mythology, Zeus—mightiest of all the gods—impregnated Danaë with a shower of gold, and all of our products contain real gold, whether woven into the fabric of our babydolls, as clasps on our bras and bustiers, or even as components of our most personal toys, because all women—especially wives and mothers—deserve only the finest.”
More clapping from the peanut gallery. I leaned over to Michelle again. “I guess a shower of gold is better than a ‘golden shower,’” I whispered.
“You shut up before you get us both in trouble,” she said, but she was trying hard not to laugh.
“So without further ado, I’d like to get this party truly started by introducing my assistant for the evening,” Amy said, her voice giddy, “Mr. Luke Strong.”
From somewhere behind us emerged possibly the finest male specimen I would ever personally lay eyes on. I mean, there may be some actors who are better looking, but I was never going to be in the same room as any of them. He was tall—well over six feet, I guessed—and it was clear he was built under his button-down with rolled up sleeves. He had thick wavy hair and chiseled features surrounding his sparkling blue eyes. I allowed my own eyes to wander below his belt and was unsurprised to see he was also clearly the owner of a mighty fine package. “Holy shit!” Michelle hissed, just a little too loud. It was now apparently her turn to be inappropriate.
“Don’t get too excited,” I said. “He’s probably not interested in what we’re offering.”
As Luke made his way through the crowd to take his place next to Amy, there were whistles and catcalls from my neighbors. “Simmer down, ladies, simmer down,” Amy called, but she was grinning. Clearly she was relishing the reveal of her secret weapon.
“Luke is here this evening to help demonstrate our products . . ." More claps and whistles. “. . . but remember ladies, he does not come with your purchase. He’s here for illustration purposes only.” There was laughter and a few boos.
“So, who wants to be our first volunteer to help Luke demonstrate our Inner Goddess personal lubricant and massage gel? It’s water-based, warming on whatever skin you choose to use it on, and flecked with bits of real gold foil, because you’re worth it, my friends.” Almost every hand shot up. “Let’s let Luke pick, how ‘bout it, gals?” Amy turned to Luke. “Luke, who’s it going to be? Who’s the lucky lady?”
“I’ll take her. There. In the red halter top.” Luke pointed to Lori, “Come on up and join me.” His voice was deep with a hint of gravel. Just like I knew it would be.
As Lori approached the table, Luke brought over a chair from the dining room for her to sit in. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned her around and asked her to straddle the chair, so she could lean against the back as he massaged her neck and shoulders using the gel. “You’re all right with straddling things, aren’t you?” He winked.
Lori looked she might faint from the excitement of imagining herself settling down on Luke’s lap instead of the chair, but he pressed on. “May I untie your halter? It will allow me to really get my fingers on your tight spots.” Lori just nodded.
Luke theatrically untied the straps around Lori’s neck and let them fall forward to her chest. He then took some of the massage gel and rubbed it over her neck and shoulders. Lori sighed audibly, obviously turned on by a man other than her husband Rick touching her. She began to squirm in the chair as Luke kneaded the knots in her back, and her top inched downward. Fortunately for all of us, the halter had enough structure that Lori’s assets remained hidden.
“The proprietary formula makes it easy for anything to glide over, or in, anything else,” Amy was saying as Luke massaged away. “And the gold, well, that’s just the something extra that declares ‘I am a valued woman, who spares no expense where pleasure is concerned.’ How’s it going Lori?” Lori was clearly lost in who knows what fantasy, but she managed to give a thumbs-up. “That’s what I thought,” declared Amy. “Let’s have a big round of applause for our volunteer, Lori!”
Luke ended his massage and reached forward for the halter straps, “inadvertently” brushing Lori’s breasts with his hands as he did so. She let out a squeal. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For what?” she asked, and we all laughed. He tied her back up, helped her off of the chair, spun her around to show that her shoulders were indeed shimmering with minute flecks of gold, and sent her back to her seat with another kiss on the cheek.
“Now that Lori’s gotten her massage, I’d like to introduce all of you to the finest personal massagers you can buy, Danaë’s Thunder of the Gods.”
“Thunder of the Gods?” It was too much. I couldn’t help myself. I let out a snerk that I hastily tried to turn into a cough. Michelle came to my rescue and began patting me on the back as if I were choking. “Everything okay, Di?” Amy asked.
“Wrong pipe,” I managed to say, hoping that my laughter sounded vaguely like distress. “Don’t mind me.”
“Anyway . . . as I was saying, Danaë’s personal massagers are the best available, designed with powerful, but quiet, motors to relieve stress wherever it resides—external or internal. Every massager is hand-held, cordless, and either gold-plated or tipped in real, fourteen-karat gold. Do we have any volunteers to help Luke demonstrate our Zeus’s Wand model?” She held up a good-sized proxy-prick, smooth and shining gold in the light.
Once again, just about every hand in the room went up, including Michelle’s. “What?” she said when I looked at her like a traitor. “You’re not curious?”
“I choose the beautiful lady in the jade,” Luke said, gesturing to Felicia. She looked down at the floor as if she had suddenly grown bashful, then jumped up and ran up to Luke like she was on the Price is Right, planting a kiss directly on his lips.
“That settles it,” I mouthed to Michelle. “He’s definitely gay.”
“What? How do you know?”
“What straight man would ever know that Felicia’s dress is jade?”
“Now we can’t demonstrate some of the features . . . obviously . . ." Amy started.
“Why? We’re all consenting adults!” came a voice from the crowd. We all looked around. “Somebody cut Sharon off,” another voice said.
“As I was saying,” Amy glared at Sharon, “We won’t be able to fully demonstrate the product, but if you would be so kind, Felicia, to have a seat, Luke will be happy to show us what he can.”
Luke turned the chair so it was facing the audience, and helped Felicia sit down. He fired up the vibrator, and I had to admit, it was pretty quiet. “Close your eyes,” he told Felicia. When she had done so, he asked her to hold out her arms, and, starting with the fingertips on her right hand, he ran the wand up one arm, across her shoulders and back down her other arm. She shivered. “Now, spread your legs.” He turned toward us and shook his head, pretending to be scandalized. “Not like that. Get your minds out of the gutter.”
Turning the vibe to a higher setting, Luke ran it over Felicia’s thighs, just barely edging the tip down to the space between her legs, and stopping just shy of anywhere truly erogenous. “What do you think?”
“Yep. That ought to do it,” she replied breathlessly. Luke switched off the toy, kissed Felicia on both cheeks, and helped her up.
“A round of applause for Felicia!” Amy commanded. As she returned to her seat, Felicia muttered, “I am so getting one of those.”
“Moving on,” Amy continued, Let’s now turn our attention to Danaë’s exquisite line of lingerie, all containing either gold threads, gold fasteners and clasps, or both.” She held up a sheer babydoll nightie, sparkling with golden flecks and a gold-trimmed hem. “Who wants to be our model?” Far fewer hands went up than the other times, and I could see why. It was going to take someone with extreme body confidence to wear something that revealing in front of her neighbors . . . and Luke.
“Luke, what do you say? Do you want to choose again?”
He surveyed the group, and to my dismay, he settled on me. “You,” he said, pointing, his eyes seductive, “I choose you.”
“My hand wasn’t up,” I said quickly.
“Doesn’t matter,” Amy pronounced. “Luke has spoken. Come on up, Diana.”
“No, really. I’m good. I think Jackie had her hand up.” Jackie nodded vigorously. She was clearly looking forward to letting Luke put his hands on her.
“Luke wants you, and we don’t want to disappoint Luke, now do we?”
“Yeah, we certainly don’t want to disappoint Luke, Di,” Michelle repeated.
“Fine.” I approached the table. Luke took both of my hands and pulled me to him, giving me a light kiss on the lips, lingering a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
“Danaë’s lingerie is all silk, interwoven with gold,” Amy intoned, handing me the babydoll. “If you would, Diana. You can change in the powder room.” She handed a pair of silky pajama pants to Luke. “Luke will be changing in the guest suite.” The assembled ladies went wild.
I entered the powder room cursing Amy and everyone else involved in this nightmare. “I’m going to get up and march right out of here,” I thought. “No, you’re not,” I answered myself. “You don’t like to make waves.”
I sighed and began shedding my clothes, folding everything neatly and stacking it on the back of the toilet. I kept my own panties on, then slid the lingerie on over my head. I took a peek in the mirror, and was thankful I had upped my exercise regimen. I was even more grateful that I had shaved recently. The babydoll left precious little to the imagination, its filmy fabric barely falling below my backside. The cups of the bodice were nearly sheer, and my nipples were prominently on display. As I stood staring, there was a knock on the door. “Are you about ready, Di? Luke is waiting for you.”
“Might as well get this over with,” I thought as I exited the bathroom and returned to the living room. My friends and neighbors were silent as I made my appearance, and I had never been more uncomfortable in my life. Thankfully, Luke’s own entrance soon diverted their attention completely. Emerging from the hallway, he was naked from the waist up, his body just as hard and muscular as I imagined it. The pajama bottoms were slung low on his hips, grazing his tight ass and conspicuously draping his sizable cock and balls. A collective gasp went up from my neighbors followed by the most enthusiastic clapping of the evening. I hung back, happy to let him be the center of attention until he gestured to me. “Come here, Diana,” he called softly, holding out his hand. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
Bringing me front and center, he stood me in front of him, facing the group, and ran his hands down my arms before settling them around my waist. He lifted my hair back and grazed my neck with his lips, sending electricity throughout my body. “That fits like it was made for you,” he whispered, pulling me so close I could feel his prick twitch in the small of my back. I breathed deeply, momentarily losing sense of everything but the heat between our bodies.
Then Amy resumed her spiel, and the spell was broken. She droned on about thread count and sizing options until she finally wrapped her presentation up with, “And let’s thank Diana for being a good sport, and especially Luke. Hasn’t he been terrific?” As the women cheered, he moved in for another kiss, but I dodged it and fled back to the powder room. I couldn’t get out of there and back into my clothes fast enough.
When I returned, almost everyone was crowded around Amy and a re-clothed Luke, trying to place orders. I sought out Michelle, who was standing off to the side of the scrum. “Not buying anything?”
“Nah. Tim and I do okay in the bedroom game, as long as we remember to lock the door. How about you? You looked terrific in that lingerie, by the way. You should at least get that.”
“I don’t have anyone to use it with.”
“Hang on. Are you and Dean getting divorced?”
“No. I just haven’t been dicked down properly in so long that I don’t even remember what an orgasm feels like anymore.”
“Dean has trouble keeping it up? They all do, eventually, you know. Hasn’t he heard of the little blue pill?”
“Of course he has,” I said. “He’s too embarrassed to go do anything about it, though. He just blames it on work and stress.”
“Well, at least there’s wine,” said Michelle, pouring us both another glass. “It’ll never let you down.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, clinking my glass against hers.
Fortified by the grape, I hung around until the party broke up, then said my goodbyes and set off to make the quick walk home.
“Hey!” a male voice called as I approached the end of the walk. “Can we talk?” Luke was taking boxes out to his car, parked in Amy’s driveway. “I hope I didn’t offend you earlier. I noticed you didn’t buy anything.”
“Offend me? Oh, no. You’re quite a persuasive salesman. But don’t these companies usually have female sales reps so we can ‘let our hair down?’”
“I think the wine took care of that,” he laughed. “Besides, Danaë goes a different direction, and tries to get you . . . excited . . . about using the products.”
“Well, you definitely did that. Rick isn’t going to know what hit him when Lori gets home tonight. Listen, I should get home myself. It’s getting late.”
“Let me drive you home. These are the last of the boxes.”
“I literally live six doors away, up around that bend. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Let me drive you anyway. It’s dark, and I’d hate to see you trip and hurt yourself.” He opened the passenger door and motioned for me to get in.
“Fine,” I said, climbing in, “but it’s really not necessary.”
Thirty seconds later we pulled into my driveway. “Well, thanks again.”
“Hold on,” Luke said. He reached into the back seat, and grabbed a box wrapped in gold paper. “For you.”
“It’s a surprise . . . on the house. Let me walk you to your door.”
“Luke. This is really good neighborhood. The worst crime we experience is kids moving lawn gnomes into compromising positions.”
“Well, since you insist.”
I had forgotten to turn the porch light on, so Luke used the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the doorway as I fumbled with my keys. As I finally turned the lock and opened the door, he put his hand on mine and asked, “How much time do we have?”
“Until whomever you were escaping at that party gets home.”
“Oh.” I responded. “Ohhh,” I thought. I was beginning to get it. Now I just had to decide if I really wanted to get it.
“My husband is out of town, and my kids are with their grandparents,” I heard myself say.
“So we have all night,” he said, pulling me close and kissing me.
“Do you do this after every party?”
“I’ve never done this before in my life, but I’m definitely not gay.” He laughed.
I felt myself blush. “You heard that?”
“I heard that. And your blouse is periwinkle, by the way. You pick up a few things when you’re surrounded by women everyday.”
We entered the house, and I closed the door behind us. Luke took my hand and started to lead me up the steps.
“Where are you going?”
“I assume your bedroom is upstairs.”
In the bedroom, I put the package down on the bed, and Luke and I began removing each other’s clothes like our lives depended upon it. He pulled down my panties, and caressed between my thighs before I pushed him away. “Luke, stop. I’m sorry. We really shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I know what you should be thinking. You should be thinking that you deserve to live a little and give in to passion. I overheard you telling your friend that you haven’t had an orgasm in a very long time.”
“Luke . . ." I started.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it when we were standing there together. My business is all about giving women pleasure. Let me pleasure you tonight.” He picked up the box he had given me and led me into the bathroom where he turned on the shower. Then he unwrapped the box, and pulled out a long, curved vibrator capped off with the solid gold tip that his employer was known for. He smiled and cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure, Luke,” I said hesitantly, as he stepped into the shower then pulled me into the warm water and up against his hard body.
“Women love it.” He looked me in the eye. “They say it’s angled just right . . ." he teased before setting the toy down on a ledge.
He kissed me hard, one hand on my breast while the other drew my own hand down toward his dick. It surged when I touched it, and he moaned. I had forgotten how substantial an engorged cock could feel.
Luke felt between my legs, where my arousal was beginning to join with the spray from the shower. He slid a finger inside, and I gasped. “If you think that’s good, wait til you see what this baby can do.” He gestured again to the vibe.
I nodded my acquiescence, and he turned me around so I was facing away from him, my hands on the shower wall, bracing myself for what was to come. Luke massaged my pussy for a moment, then whispered, “Ready?”
“Ready,” I breathed. He positioned the tip of the vibrator at my entrance and gently circled it around. He used it to slowly penetrate me, inch by agonizing inch, until he found the spot he was looking for. Then he turned it on.
At once I felt warmth bloom from deep inside me, radiating outward from my center of pleasure to my extremities. Luke moved the vibrator gently within me, stimulating my g-spot with its golden head, while his free hand stroked my nipples. I began to breathe deeply as all the stimuli built toward a powerful release. “That’s it, Di,” he said softly in my ear. “Let your body feel what it’s meant to feel.”
He continued to press the vibe into my g-spot until a powerful orgasm overtook me, and I relaxed backward, into his waiting arms. “That was the first time in years,” I confessed, practically in tears.
“I could tell. I’m so sorry.”
“He’s not a bad person. It’s just . . .”
“Shhh. Let’s not talk about him.” He put a finger to my lips, then his own lips to my neck. “I know I sell the latest gadgets, but there’s something to be said for doing things the old fashioned way, don’t you think?” His hands began to roam down my body again. “I want to make love to you, skin on skin. What do you say?”
He turned me to face him, and in doing so, I grazed his groin. Gazing down, I saw that his erection had grown even more impressive as he brought me to orgasm—solid, throbbing, and huge. My desire to feel him inside me eclipsed any ability to think about what I was potentially doing to my marriage and family. I had to have him.
Luke turned off the shower, and grabbed two towels from the shelf just outside. He dried me from head to toe, leaving the towel wrapped around me, then quickly dried himself. Scooping me up in his muscular arms, he carried me out of the bathroom and laid me carefully on the edge of the bed.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” Luke unwrapped the towel from around me, and I shivered as the air hit my damp skin. “We can’t have that. I’ll just have to find some way to warm you up.” He parted my legs and moved between them, then kissed my breast, taking the nipple in his mouth and rolling his tongue around it.
I closed my legs around his waist, and pulled him toward me, desiring only one thing. Luke’s cock brushed against my thigh, then nestled against my pussy. “You’re so wet,” he smiled, “and I don’t think it’s all from the shower.”
I smiled back. “Take me now,” I said, reaching for his swollen prick and guiding him into me. I moaned as he pushed in, filling and stretching me like no man ever had, but still I wanted more. Reaching back, I grabbed his ass, pulled him deeper, and tightened myself around him, cumming just from the exquisite sensation of so much man, so hard, just for me. When he sensed my climax had passed, Luke began to stroke, slow and rhythmic, keeping eye contact with me the entire time. My hips moved with his until we both knew orgasm was imminent, and I relaxed and let Luke take over, driving . . . pounding, until he spent himself deep inside me. I came again in another rush of warmth, and he collapsed onto the bed next to me.
“My God, Di, that was . . .” He fumbled to express himself.
“Shhh.” It was my turn to quiet him. “We both know what just happened. We don’t need to find the words.”
We lay there, entangled, until the chill forced us to move farther onto the bed and under the covers. He reached for me in the night, and we made love again, slow and tender, before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
Luke left at dawn in the morning, before the neighborhood could wake up and notice the strange car in my driveway. He kissed me gently on the cheek before he left. “My card is in the box in case you ever . . . you know,” he said, a hint of hope in his voice.
“Thank you,” I whispered, a hint of sadness in mine.
I never called him. One night had been enough. The need had been strong, but I was sated. I understood now why Dean had cheated. The desire to be desired could become overwhelming, and sometimes a spouse just couldn’t fill that role. But where Dean’s dalliance seemed to have broken him, my indiscretion with Luke strengthened my resolve to work on our marriage. Maybe some vows needed to be be broken to be forged anew. That realization was Luke’s true gift to me.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
Copyright GWinterbourne 2018.