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"You bought underwear for yourself?"
"Would you model it for me?"
She must have wondered. We'd made love Friday night, which should have set her clock running for something three, four weeks from now. For some reason Friday hadn't been enough. I was dying for more, had to have more. My own hand would never keep me sane for three weeks. I needed her, had to have her today.
Yesterday, Saturday, I'd been giving her hints. Even with the kids in the next room I'd grab her, fondle her, playfully be a PITA. Hinting at what I needed.
This morning she told me that Grandma would be taking the kids out. That meant we'd have two, maybe three hours to ourselves, so rare, so precious. Knowing that for her that meant maybe we could go Christmas shopping together. She'd spent the morning cooking trying to stockpile some meals to be reheated against the interminable Christmas schedule. I shoved her out of the kitchen, "I'll clean up." "It's my mess," she said, but I shooed her off to do more important things. "You can thank me once your mom takes the heathens off our hands."
Hoping against hope that, once the kids were gone, I could get her into a corner, take the clothes from her incomparable body. Knowing that that wasn't to be, because as much as I could drop everything for some quick, satisfying sex, that wasn't her way. Confirmed after her mother took the kids, no sense from her demeanor that she had any interest.
Shopping went remarkably well. She knows how much I hate it, but also knows how much some stores intrigue me. After all these years, working well together, arriving at some new, wonderful ideas for presents for the kids. An efficient, productive hour and a half out in the awful, harried world of only-two-weekends-left shoppers.
Back in our bedroom, hiding our acquisitions. "Will you model them for me?" Her reaction made me think it might happen. I love sex in the afternoon, much, much more than at night, tired from the day, full from supper, 'get it over with so I can sleep.' I watched her in the mirror. She slid her pants down, revealing black bikini panties. She moved her shirt over her head, revealing a créme coloured bra. Oh God, thank you, maybe it's going to happen.
"I'm modeling my old underwear," she said, a smile in her voice.
"I love anything you want to show me," I breathed. I loved looking at her body any way she was willing to let me see it. Discomfort growing in my pants; time now to commit, I undid my belt.
She came to me, a wonderful hug, a rare, open-mouthed kiss, my tongue exploiting the precious chance to explore her lips, her teeth. "You smell good," she said as I squirmed out of my shirt. "I'm glad. You smell good too, you feel so smooth, so wonderful," as my hands snuck down beneath her panties, kneading her perfect buns.
I moved to undo her bra and began to worship her breasts. Her hands slid down my back, cupping by butt, sliding my underwear down. My cock, released, jumped into her vee; we started to move together.
We shucked the last of our clothes, and I moved her back to the bed, my mouth making love to her nipples. I moved a hand onto her back and laid her carefully onto the bed, moving my head under her leg. I wanted to make love to her centre, seeing her pubic hair matted into something resembling an arrow, pointing both up and down. Oh God, let me partake, I thought. I began to worship, my tongue lapping her nectar. Pulling my head back for a moment, I looked at her flower, and wondered how I might make this incredible moment right for her.
So right, I thought, so perfect, that I can see in the light of day her essence. I could see the outer lips, the nectar. The lips separating, the nectar pooled in the entrance, the place I wanted to be, the secret thing that was my life, that our vows had made mine, but not mine; mine only when SHE would let me.
.... There is more of this story ...