You mumble, "No, not tonight...I'm tired." You seem to sink even further into the mattress as if you could will yourself to get heavier.
I give up. For a while I fumble through the fabric of your shirt and massage across your shoulders and back. This doesn't work well and I find myself resorting to broad stroking motions instead. I am loosing my focus. I was watching for any subtle cue from you, but you seem to have found your perfectly relaxed spot and seem oblivious to me. I keep stroking but can't stop looking over at your cute butt all wrapped in emerald green silk and lace. Kind of like the perfect Christmas present...all I need to do is put a bright red bow on one cheek.
This line of thinking doesn't help anything. Still, surely I can be forgiven one indulgence? I lean forward, careful to maintain the same rhythm across your shoulders and back. I stop just short of burying my face in your neck and hair. I breathe in the delicate mix of you, the faint trace of perfume left over from this morning and the wonderful sleepy smell from your t-shirt. It's a feminine musky smell.
I shouldn't, I know. I should sneak out right now. Still, you might respond....either that, or you are going to have a fit. It's a long shot. One time out of ten you respond positively. The rest of the time I end up sleeping on the couch.
What can I say? I'm a guy. Seems like pretty good odds.
I slide down toward the foot of the bed until I am sitting along side your knees. You show only the slightest response. I gently but purposefully place my palms on either side of your leg and begin a very slow, deep massage of your calf. I get a low moan from you in return. I should have known, after all day in heels... I continue to work on your calf. I can tell that you are coming out of your "sleepy" state, just a little bit.
Your skin is smooth and warm and you relax again under my hands. I begin to work upward, but as I rise to the level of your knee you roll slightly to your side and slide your foot up your calf. Of course, my gaze darts to the crotch of your panties as you expose yourself. The green satin contrasts with the pale color of your skin and the wisp of golden hair that peeks out from the side. I study the muscles of your thigh as they curve inward toward your sex. You are indeed a beautiful woman. If you only knew what you are doing to me. Maybe you do? Perhaps this is a prelude? ...And once again hope burns bright in my heart...well, o.k. maybe its not exactly in my heart.
I move to begin massaging the fullness of your upper thigh. This is pretty grand. Your worn cotton t-shirt lies loosely around your waist and across the flare of your hips. I cannot imagine a softer picture. I begin working up your leg and feel the muscles recede as my hand descends toward your center. You raise your knee ever so slightly, giving me better access and letting me know that I have your permission at last.
I rest my right hand on your hip and trace lightly along your slit with one finger of the other hand. I continue slowly tracing your sex this way. I sense you slipping further away, receding into your thoughts.
I press a little more firmly, running two fingers along the center of your panties. I can feel your sex growing warmer and fuller. Mmm...I can feel your clitoris getting hard even through the silk. I move my fingers forward so that I can cover your mound with my palm and slide my index and fingers on either side of your clit.
Now your body begins responding to my touch. I feel a twitch each time my wedding band passes over your sensitive spot. Your hips begin to rock in time to the motion of my hand and I feel your panties grown humid under my hand.
I can feel your orgasm approaching. You begin rocking your hips harder and push back into my hand. I increase the tempo to bring you to the edge and soon you are there. You raise your bottom into the air and push hard against my hand as your knees come together and your thighs clamp hard around my hand. I watch as you tuck your hand tightly under your chin and your cheek becomes flush with color. Soon the clasp on my hand fades. I slow my motion. I watch as you return to your slow rocking motion, then lie still as your orgasm fades away. Using only my fingertips now, I rub ever widening circles until I feel your tension drain away.
I stop and slide my hand from between your legs. I watch your breathing slow and deepen. The flush begins to recede from your cheek.
I lean forward, breathe in your scent and whisper, "I love you, Michelle."
And I hear you mumble, "I love you too, Michael."
With that I rise and turn off the light.
I think to myself, "Yup, nine times out of ten. Once again I am sleeping on the couch."
But tonight I don't mind.
