Damn, what a day. A phone call wakes me up at 4 AM, an hour earlier than I should be waking up. It's my mom, bitching about her back and how she needs more Vicodin. Hearing my mom in pain is horrifying, but so is the idea of her becoming a dope fiend. Images of crackheads roaming outside my door flash into my mind. I was in med school and needed a cheap place to stay, and addicts abound wherever "affordable" housing is available. "Affordable" is a relative term and took a new meaning for me at that point in my life. Years later, success brings new problems. Not only do I fear my poor mother becoming dependent on opiates, but the DEA has been cracking down on fellow doctors that have been a bit too carefree with painkiller 'scripts. And I mean crazy-style.
Lawsuits have been popping up like parking tickets in the Loop, and many sawbones have even gotten locked up. Hearing phone calls from patients screaming in excruciating pain makes me sick, but I can't afford the lawyer fees for yet another fling in the courtroom. And jail time... I don't want to even think about that one. Shit, nothing's easy anymore in our Modern World. Then my better half starts bitching about being woken up, as if it's an activity I thrive on. That's right, just keep calling her the better half and eventually you'll remember it's the truth, right? I sure hope so; we haven't even had a good fuck in a month or two. Well, sex is always good, but no great, mind-blowing sex. (Hell, even my thoughts sound like I'm a Cosmo editor.) Perchance she's cheating. Wouldn't that just be the icing? Working difficult fourteen-hour-days for a cunt that's just been pumped full of some asshole's competing genes. Whatever, it'll all be over sooner or later. I just wanna get to bed.
I pull up into the driveway of my cookie cutter house, get out of my regular 'ol sedan, walk up to the ordinary door, check my mail (i.e. bills), get out the keys to unlock my door, and step inside my home. There she is, my wife, sitting her lazy ass on the couch, watching the nightly news in her underwear and a baggy sweatshirt. God
damn
, is she hot! Especially in that get-up. She knows what I like. Being the Don Juan I am, I play it cool.
"Hey, honey, how was your day?" I ask as I notice the cover to a porn sitting on top of the DVD player, and a wet spot in the middle of her panties. I suppose if I come home to this, life can't be that bad.
"Okay. I did some cleaning, cooking, and gardening. Not much is new." That's good to hear-she did her half of the work, and didn't even mention Mom. Maybe things are looking up.
"You been masturbating? What's up with the porn?"
Her big brown eyes shoot towards mine, then to the stairs, then back to me. "I, uh, um... yeah you caught me. What can I say?" The lack of blushing puzzles me.
While walking into the kitchen, I loosen my tie and glance upstairs. Nothing there. I drop my bags on the table, go over to the counter, pull a joint and lighter out of the cookie jar, walk back to the couch, and collapse next to Natalie. She rolls on top of me, straddles me by kneeling over my lap, kisses me, and asks, "Sweetie, can you hold off on the herbs until later? I just want your full attention for a while. Bad day at work?."
My penis starts to wake up, and soon it'll be standing at full attention. Nevertheless, I've been thinking about this spliff for the past several weeks. I'm taking the next three days off for vacation, and that doesn't happen too often. I get every third or fourth day off because I work such long shifts, but I'm still on call those days. Even if I wasn't on call, I couldn't smoke because I require two days of "recovery" when I light up. Not that I really need them, but surgery is not something I take lightly. It's my job, and somebody's life is in my hands. I want my brain working perfectly when the scalpel is in my hand. "Natalie, I've had a long week, and my-." She pulls the jay and light from my hand, throws it on the coffee table, and starts to make out with me like a seventh-grader while ripping off my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. I don't argue; she always trumps weed. Rarely does she ask me not to toke, and when she does there's usually a good reason. Plus, her body... well, it speaks for itself. Long, toned legs; a flat abdomen that still has a thin layer of baby fat on it; perfectly rounded 28C breasts that even push out of a baggy sweatshirt; an amazing ghetto booty (why she complains about it is beside me); and a ridiculously gorgeous face. Her long, light brown hair frames those big brown eyes, high cheekbones, smoothly cut jaw, and cute little nose. Her full lips are great to kiss. I lost count of how many times other guys have mentioned how hot she is. Most proposition for a threesome, but I always angrily refuse. She's mine, and I work hard to keep it that way. Even if the idea did interest me, I don't know how she would respond if I asked her. Maybe I don't want to know.
By now she's pulled off my shirt. She rubs my chest with one hand and my crotch with the other. My body's nothing to scoff at, either. I work out like a madman on my days off, but I also have to give credit to good genes. I don't eat well enough to be as ripped as I am, but then again, I shouldn't complain. She's constantly telling me how hot I am, and I suppose I have reason to believe her. Well, I guess Popeye arms and washboard abs are great, but I still never got hit on nearly as much before I finished med school and married Attie, even though I've had the same body since high school. Funny what scrubs and a ring do to the psyche of a woman.
Ahhhhhhh... she slides down to the ground and kneels in front of me. After taking off my belt and pants like a professional, her lips wrap around the head of my cock and I feel her tongue wriggle all over it. Suddenly, she shoves her head forward and traps my dick in the back of her throat. Her head pops up and down a couple more times. I'll have a hard time lasting long at this rate. My cock throbs and drips a little bit of precum onto her chin. She continues sucking a bit longer, pulls her head off my member, stands up, sticks one hand into her lavender cotton underwear, and starts playing with herself.
"Attie, can you keep sucking? You do it so well and work has been-"
"Ssshhhhhhhhhh," she replies as she takes her hand out, puts her index finger over my lips, and then sticks it into my mouth. My mouth waters like crazy; it's a conditioned response, like one of Pavlov's dogs. "Mmmmmm, you taste so g-"
"What did I just say? I shooshed you. That means be quiet, so shut your goddamn pie hole. For the rest of the night, I only want to hear uncontrollable moans. Now, take me upstairs, piggyback-style."
Her sudden change of tone throws me completely off guard. Confused and excited, I comply unquestioningly. She climbs on my back and I stand up and walk to the stairs. I can feel her warm, damp panties rubbing on my back. While walking up the stairs, I feel her fingers reach into her underwear again and wiggle around. Her horniness makes my rock-hard cock twitch. One of my hands is holding onto the banister, and I reach down to my hard-on with the other.
"Hey, hands off! That's my job!" she snaps. I pull my hand away and use it to steady ourselves on the wall.
When we get upstairs and enter our room, I'm surprised to see a long strip of ripped towel tied to each corner of the bed. Pleasantly surprised but apprehensive, I squat down to set her onto the bed.
"Now, lie down on your belly with your head at the foot of the bed," she commands after standing up off the bed. My obedience shocks even me. She pulls each my four limbs to a corner of the bed and ties them up. My head is resting at the end of the bed. I strain my neck to pick up my head and see what's going on. She takes a blindfold off the dresser and ties it over my eyes, then crumples up tissues and stuffs them between my face and the blindfold. Not a ray of light breaks through the blindfold. Each of my legs and arms is tied to a different corner of the bed so that I can't move at all.
