The door bell was a shiny golden button that I couldn't bring myself to press. I wanted her bad; I wasn't the unfaithful type but we had been having mind sex for so frigging long that I was like a horse sweating and chomping over the bit.
I had to have her despite the fact that she wasn't much to look at especially when compared to my willowy, Nicole Kidman look alike wife, Shelly. If anything else she had a rather dumpy figure, being a single mother of two had destroyed her figure and given her a few grey hair but she made it up with a sunny temperament and a sharp wit.
My mouth watered as I stared at the bell and willed my finger to press the cold button in. 'Push it in damn you!' I muttered to myself but I remained frozen.
Sex with Shelly had always been hot. She was good at giving blow jobs, she knew where to lick, to suck the tip of my dick, to squeeze my balls ever so gently and just when I would be about to come she would release my dick and look up at me with her big china blue eyes and ask "Honey, which of the three holes will it be? The mouth, the cunt or the arse?"
She knew this line would get me off faster than a red hot engine steaming down the tracks. I would grab her by her butt, spread her legs and ram into her sure and hard with her cries of delight ringing in my ears till we both would come together.
I would then go down on her and suck the nub till it ran some more juices, made her thighs tremble and perked her nipples up to be fondled by her swift fingers.
Curling her thighs around my neck, Shelly would grab my head and tell me exactly where to suck and lick. And, as she would quiver and cum the smell of arousal would mingle with the smell of combined juices.
But knowing Shelly as I do, after thirteen years of coupling, she would want more. She would turn and show me her perfect little arse and jiggle it in my face.
"Do you want some more?" She'd purr her stale line
Holding the orbs apart she's show me her third hole and say invitingly "Its yours to take big man"
My dick would respond with a slight rise. The suggestion would revive its ailing spirits and I would grab her biggest 16 inch dildo, lick her hole to make it lubricant enough and slowly push it in.
Leaning against the satin sheets she would close her eyes and moan through her perfectly rounded red mouth.
In slow but hard movements I'd move the dildo in and out and watch her butt grind its aroused rhythm and just as she would be about to cum I would ram by big boy into her rough and cruel and bit her neck as she would clutch the wood of the headboard and cum for the last time.
As I said before, sex with Shelly was way beyond awesome. Squirting in her tight little cunt was the only highlight of our marriage.
Wiping my sweaty hand against my jeans I again caressed the smooth surface of the button and wondered if I was doing the right thing. Shelly, after all was my wife and the sex was good but then the after glow left much to be desired.
After the fucking when our breaths became normal, bodies demanded sleep and souls a little cuddle; Shelly would sit up and demonstrate the reason why I married her in the first place- for her twat and not for her fluff of a brain.
She would grab my wilted penis as she always did after sex and talk about her maxed out cards or the new dress she had seen at the mall or a trinket she just had to have. She would hold my muscle hostage in a rather absent minded manner, fiddling with it this and that and not letting go till I gave in to her polite demands.
The vixen probably believed that I found her version of a dominatrix act to be rather creative but it was nothing more than an annoyance that kept sleep at bay.
Twice a week it would be the pattern would repeat it itself, she would whore herself for some extra hundreds or a dress or fur wrap that she would have to have. Apart from that our lives moved on different levels.
I lived in my study writing my latest pulp fiction and she spent her afternoons spending the cash even before it made it to the bank account.
Caressing the frilly design of brass flowers and butterflies over the bell I wondered whether the attraction that Shelly had for me was merely the size of my wallet or the size of my big throbbing boy.
I wasn't a much of a looker; a plain, skinny guy with hazel eyes, light brown hair and indistinguishable features. But it was my ability to spin words that attracted women, not to mention the lime light that tagged along.
I was so 'in' amongst the celebrities that Shelly, the nineties supermodel, had after a week of blow jobs and stained sheets in a hotel room spun me to the altar before I could think beyond my raging libido.
I never had the chance to enjoy my 'in' status with other 'in' people. I was addicted to Shelly's pussy and enjoyed the fate of a deluded sex junkie for thirteen fucking years till Lilly came into our lives.
Lilly, Lilly....Liiiiily came knocking on our door, on one fine gloomy day, holding a rum cake and a two look alike tow heads clinging to her tight, faded jeans.
Shelly had let her in. They both had been gracious towards each other. Shelly had smiled at Lilly. She accepted the cake, made polite conversation about the neighborhood, found out that Lilly was a newly divorced wife, dumped for the secretary and the divorce settlement as plump as her butt.
Or so Shelly had told me with a slight smirk on her perfect thin lips as she raised my penis to life that night. Shelly described Lilly as she sheathed my prick with her moistened cave.
A wholesome woman who had let herself go for her children. She wasn't the skinny type that men now days lust after. Too many curves spilling out of a tight tank top and jeans that did nothing to hide the round paunch that threatened to make a tardy appearance.
Rocking back and forth, Shelly had closed her eyes and as the rhythm picked up she talked about Lilly's brown hair that fell like a thick curtain over her faded features. Biting her lip, she sucked a breath in and leaned slightly forward and huskily talked about the silky texture of the hair that had streaks of grey running through them.
Shelly wondered why Lilly didn't color her hair but felt it complimented her personality. She seemed like a woman who favored her brain over her body.
As she quivered and climaxed Shelly breathed that Lilly was more my type of a woman than Shelly was.
It was all Shelly's fault. She had made me fantasies about our new neighbor even before I had seen her.
And now here I was standing outside Lilly's door after a week of getting to know her, thinking again with my raging libido driven this time with a woman's brain and not pussy.
I finally met Lilly three days after her appearance at our doorstep with her gift of friendship.
I had just finished my novel and emerged from my study where I had been holed in over a month.
Stepping out of my house I inhaled in a breath of fresh air and surveyed the rich neighborhood that was quiet most of the times except on that morning when I heard loud laughter come from across the road from the old Victorian run down mansion.
