Those who know me will readily tell you that I can’t stand not being in control of a situation; and they would be right on the money. I’m not a control freak, or even close.
I simply have to be able to take charge and do what needs doing. Whether that means trying to drive down the street without idiots clogging the road and slowing me down, or being able to cut through red tape without the assistance of some under paid bureaucrat who really doesn’t give a damn. I like to pilot my own barge up the river of life, thank you very much. I’m sure many of you no doubt can easily relate to this.
Yet, there are sometimes . . . certain and special times, mind you, where being that crusty old riverboat Captain trudging determinedly up the same ol’ river can be a might too predictable.
A man likes to have some things laid out for him in no uncertain terms. If you catch my meaning. Blindly following explicit directions can be more exciting than most people know.
Sit back, relax, and I’ll explain what I’m driving at. There was this one particular event that always comes to mind.
I’d had a miserable day at work, continually dealing with my whining employees, suffering through another mindless tirade from my oh-so ignorant boss, and dealing pleasantly with anything but pleasant clients. You know, just another ordinary day at work. We’ve all been there.
I wanted nothing better than to just get home and relax with my wife and kids. Hell, a couple fingers of whiskey might even be in order.
I parked my truck and plodded wearily into the house, which was strangely quiet. With two young and healthy kids at home running around and making all sorts of noises, a calm home was not something I was used to.
“Hi, Honey,” my wife called from upstairs.
“Hi,” I grunted tiredly.
“Have a good day at work?” she asked.
“Oh, I had a wonderful day.” Did I mention that I’m sarcastic? But only on days that end in ‘y’.
“Can you come up here for a second?” she called again, ever so sweetly.
“There goes that drink,” I muttered to myself. I knew that tone of voice. That was the “Come-here-because-I-have-a-list-of-things-I-need-you-to-do” voice.
So I journeyed upstairs, wondering if I’d be done with her list of chores in time to maybe make some time with her before the kids came home. When I got to our bedroom, I saw she definitely had other plans for me.
“Come in here,” so told me. Her voice was low, dripping sweet honey. It was the voice she used on me when she needs something from me. Let me tell you, brother, it always works.
There were two lit candles on the wardrobe. Their scent was soft and alluring. Soothing, gentle music floated suggestively from the headboard cd player. The thick blinds were drawn tight. A soft hint of Vanderbilt perfume, my favorite, wafted alluringly. The total effect was very erotic, and suddenly I knew why the kids weren’t home.
My gorgeous wife sat comfortably in the armchair jammed into a corner of our modest bedroom. She’d let down her long, auburn hair, letting it flow beautifully over her strong, sensual shoulders. Flickering candle light jumped and shimmied, reflecting wildly off her luscious locks.
No, she wasn’t decked out in thigh-highs, stiletto pumps and a barely there negligee. She wore a black, long skirt that buttoned all the way from well below her knees to her thin, shapely waist. Only a few gleaming buttons were undone, enough that I could see the tops of her shining, black-leather knee-high boots with the three inch heels.
She was also wearing a white, form-fitting, long-sleeved sweater. The tiny, sparkling buttons were straining to contain her round, lovely firm breasts. The sweater’s thin material couldn’t conceal the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything under it. It was warm in our bedroom, so she must’ve been happy to see me. I know damned well I was happy to see her.
When my eyes finally traveled up to her stunningly beautiful face, I noticed she’d put on a little extra make up. Which is something she rarely does. She’d also slipped on her green, cat’s-eye contacts. The total effect made her eyes so sultry and so sexy that my pants were having difficultly containing my throbbing manhood.
"Oh, wow,” was all I could utter breathlessly.
“Take your clothes off . . . slowly,” she fairly purred.
Let me tell you, that was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life. I wanted nothing more than to rip them all hurriedly off and jump her, but I couldn’t spoil her game; I wouldn’t.
First went my tie, then my shoes and socks. As sexily as I could, I unbuttoned my shirt and flung it across the room.
“Mmmm, nice, baby,” she cooed. Her nipples stretched the very limits of her thin sweater. “Now take off the rest.”
That wasn’t a request. So I did what the lady wanted. Slowly I unzipped my fly, exposing my briefs, and my aching member making the large bulge. I was really getting into it now.
Turning around, I bent over at the knees, thrusting my ass toward her as I slid my pants to my ankles. I took a few seconds to step out of them. When I finally did, I quickly kicked them out of the way.
I started to turn my head to look at her, but she caught me, telling me not to peek.
So, I peeled off my tight briefs. I heard her catch her breath. There I was, standing totally naked infront of my wife. Let me tell you, I loved the feeling of her eyes feasting on my ass. I know she enjoys looking at it, but the thrill of having her tell me to let her stare as long as she wanted was making me hornier by the second.
Then finally, “Turn around, baby. Slow.”
