I slid my panties to the side and proceeded to slide a finger into my soggy twat. Once again I had stolen away to watch a porno on the Internet. I surfed for hours on end before I found the perfect one. A site that specialized in muff diving movies. My husband over the years has continuously denied me oral pleasure. Much to my dismay, I was feeling very under appreciated and neglected. I begged, pleaded, negotiated, whined, made false promises, pulled guilt trips, and yet my husband still wouldn't budge. He had more excuses than the President for his behavior, or lack thereof. He could be quite a selfish-acting bastard at times.
"It's nasty. It's unnecessary. Damn it, don't I please you the regular way? I'm well-hung, and I don't need to. I'm from New York and we don't do that. It's against my personal code of ethics. It's against my religion. Maybe next time, honey. For crying out loud, I have to kiss you with this mouth!" Blah, blah, blah! I had grown rather weary of his lame excuses, and began to retaliate myself. I would often put on a naughty nightie from Victoria's Secret and then innocently model it for him. I'd let him catch glimpses of nipples or a full view of my firm ass in a thong and when he became aroused beyond control, I would pull a classic, "Not tonight, dear. I have a terrible migraine," and roll over to go to sleep, leaving him frustrated and alone. Or to really piss him off, when we finally did have sex, I'd pull (what he calls) the "Roadkill" shenanigan. Just lie there completely motionless, not interacting or moving. He hated that more than anything. "You're being a dead fuck. I hate when you do that. I might as well go down to the mortuary and get a piece there." At times he would give me the silent treatment or like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, sneak off to the bathroom with some Vaseline and visit Rosie Palmer and her five sisters. It was sweet revenge, served on a platter. However, there was one problem: While manipulating the pussy, I was depriving myself too. My frustrations had all but come to an end.
You may wonder: Why in the hell would I marry a man who doesn't deep sea dive, especially when I like it so much? Well, in the beginning, I was young, dumb and full of cum. I was only nineteen when I married him. He was only the second man I had ever been with sexually. He wasn't lying when he said he was hung. The son-of-a-bitch is packing more meat than a roll of Italian salami. But it didn't seem to bother me at first. Until I started hearing my friends' tell me how their husbands were going down like nobody's business.
"Honey, Richard gets pissed if I won't let him eat it," Lorraine confessed.
"Sometimes, Mike comes to my job around lunch time. He tells me that we'll go to the park and he'll have me for lunch. He can't wait to taste me, he says," Deena chimed, slightly flushed by the thought of it. And there I sat, listening to my two best friends rub salt in my wounds, unknowingly. Something had to be done- and quick.
While my retaliation games had slowed from every chance I get, to a once every now and then, I was still feeling unfulfilled. Cheating wasn't an option, period. So that left porn or back to Square One of begging and pleading. Neither I was crazy about, but my needs were important and had been neglected far too long.
"Ooh," a moan managed to escape my lips, despite my hardest to be quiet. The movie in it's liquid images darted around the screen. Even thought it was a little fuzzy, you had to be a complete moron to not understand the images on the screen. The first scene was with two lesbians: one woman was going down on the other with such intensity, I could have came without any masturbation at all. They way she sucked and pulled on that woman's labia was driving me wild. Time and time, her short stiff tongue dipped in and out of her honey pot, while the first woman tried to keep her one leg in the air to give the other access to her dripping snatch. It was a scene straight from Hustler magazine. She smacked noisily on her snatch, almost like it was food. Dip a finger in, lick the finger, spread lips even wider, taste the moist hole. This repeated for almost fifteen minutes total. And the lesbo on the receiving was obviously not complaining. She arched her back in ecstasy, moaning and groaning. As if that were not enough, the licking lesbo pulled the other lesbo's legs as far back as she could, exposing cunt and ass. She buried her face in, and every great now and then you would see her tongue darting in and out of her cum-drenched hole. Every now and then the licking lesbo would stop and smirk at the lesbo on the receiving end. Then came the sneak attack: A unexpected rim job with two fingers buried in her lover's furburger.
I was moving closer and closer to my own orgasm when I heard a car door slam. I hurried and clicked the "x" on my window, shutting out the entire movie. Good thing I remembered to bookmark the site, I thought, buttoning my pants. It was 3:30 and I had let the day slip away. I knew my husband was either on his way through the front door or already inside the house somewhere. It wasn't unusual for him to sneak in on me, to see if he could catch me into something that I shouldn't be dabbling in. I was way too clever. I had him beat at his own game.
I pulled my hair back in a high ponytail, assumed an innocent I-wasn't-doing-anything-wrong-look and darted stealthily around the corner like a ninja. Surprisingly, there was no one in the house at all. There was a car parked, illegally, in front of the house, though. I slipped on some old Nike's and crept outside.
"Is this the Coleman residence?" a man's voice asked.
"Uh, yes. Who wants to know?" I asked, removing the palm tree branch from my view.
"I believe you scheduled an appointment for a DirecTV installer to come look at your place about a satellite dish."
I was silent for a minute. Damn, there HAD been something I was forgetting!
"Ma'am?"
"Yes, please come in. I knew I was hanging around the house for a reason."
In walked a tall, and very handsome and muscular man, fitted in jeans, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up showcasing his well-chiseled muscles and a patch that read, "Frank." He had a body like Stallone with the Marlboro man face. Good-looking and it was obvious by his line of work, good with his hands. I smirked at the possibilities.
He stared at me for a minute as if to say something, decided against it, spilled his work tools on the floor and began drilling.
Suddenly, the phone rang, snapping me out of lustful thoughts. The Caller ID box read: Unknown. It had to be Deena. She had to be just coming back from another "lunchtime date" with the husband, and was calling to give me all the details. I crept out the garage door, occasionally peeking in to watch the installer's ass move in those impossibly tight jeans. How bad I wanted to run behind him and smack it!
"Are you listening?" Deena yelled.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here."
"Anyway...so he folds the back seats down in the Escalade, making it into a bed. I lie down on it and he asks me to remove my panties. I remove them as usual. But this time, instead of eating it, he wanted to play with it!"
"Play? What happened to eating?" I asked, slipping a finger in my ever-moistening cunt.
"Wait, it gets better. He had a special treat I didn't know anything about. He had my legs spread open, pussy exposed, and he blowing on it and telling me how good it smells."
"Anddd then...."
"He shoved a strawberry in me, real deep. I didn't even see it coming. Before I could say a word, he applied the Pocket Rocket to my clit."
"Oh, my...Rocket on the clit and food in the cunt?" I asked incredulously. This was too good to be true.
"Yes, and if that wasn't enough, he buried his tongue in my hole trying to dig the strawberry out. It felt soooo good. His tongue maneuvering around in my hole. The whole object was to see if he could get it out without using his hands at all."
"Well, did he get it out?" my voice elevated. I was getting HOT and very bothered.
"Yes, and it was a cummy, gooey mess. It was pure pussy puree. I mean inside of the strawberry and my fuck juice--mixed together. I squirted all over the back seats and in his mouth. He even inserted a straw inside me, and sucked on that to make sure the rest was out. And the rest of my lunch hour, he ate me out like regular. He loooovves to eat pussy. When we left, he didn't even bother to wipe the smell or juices out of his goatee. He says he doesn't because that way he can smell my puss all day long. Sometimes he sneaks away to the bathroom to jerk off if the smell gets to him real bad."
Deena sounded exhausted with excitement. My attitude had soured and I was completely silent, but my "whore"mones were raging!
"Helloooo..." Deena yelled into the phone.
"I'm still here. I am just temporarily fantasizing about the DirecTV man in my house."
"Well, what about him?" she inquired.
"He looks like the Marlboro man with a better body. He has the five o'clock shadow working and he has nice hands. Working-man hands. Tight ass. Nice mouth--sexy and seductive. A mouth that says, "Let me taste you...."
"I know where you are going with this," Deena said, interrupting me mid-fantasy.
"Well, I am sexually frustrated," I said, yelling into the receiver. It seemed that no one could feel my pain! No one understood my plight!
"Calm down, Miss Feisty. You'll get your turn soon enough."
"When? When I am seventy-five? When I'm too old to care? Please, I need the satisfaction now. Not thirty years from now, goddammit!"
Suddenly, I heard a gentle knocking on the garage door and I rushed to get Deena off the phone.
I shimmied back into the house just to find the Marlboro man standing in the living room, looking frustrated.
