Chapter 2: Wet Agreement

Joyce and Roger waited patiently on the front steps of their home for the Transit Van. Joyce tugged on the short skirt and felt her husband's finger run down her arm. She turned and smiled, before raising her hands and asking, "You like?"

Roger chuckled and nodded his right 'S' hand up and down with his palm forward, answering her with enthusiasm. "I did pick it out," he added. "You have nice legs," he signed.

He watched her blush and tipped her head back for his lips. Their kiss was long and tantalizing as each tasted the other. They parted and Roger tucked her into his side while they looked to the East.

Within a few minutes the white and burgundy van could be seen and when it pulled up in front of their walk, the couple waved to the driver, who waved back. "Ready?" Joyce signed.

"Yes. Did you bring..." Roger's hands were stopped by the roll of his wife's eyes. "It was just a question," he signed, when she lifted the notepad and pencil from her purse.

They got in the van and waved to an elderly couple riding along. Joyce handed a pre-printed card to the driver with a list of where they would be going and an approximate time to pick them up. He nodded his acceptance and waited while they buckled in.

As the van got underway Roger turned to his wife and signed to her, "Were you serious about asking your sister?" He didn't add anything else to the question, knowing his wife would know exactly what he was talking about.

Joyce glanced at the older couple and blushed. She saw the woman stare at her husband's hands and for a moment she thought the woman had understood sign language. The woman smiled, turned away and said nothing else. Joyce breathed a sigh of relief and signed to her husband, "Yes I was serious. Were you?" When he answered yes, she grinned and asked, "When do you want me to ask her?"

Roger thought a moment. "Let us wait until after the date with Tucker... maybe..." His hands fell away and he winked to his wife.

She immediately brought the side of her right little-finger onto her left palm and angled it sharply and her eyes flashed with annoyance as she signed for him to stop adding with graceful fingers, "Slow down stud One fantasy at a time."

He stuck out his tongue and she laughed. "I have grown on you."

"Why did you pick this?" she asked him. Her hands slipped to the hem of her skirt and she tugged it down. The vest had two buttons open at the top and hugged her firm breasts. The red of her bra showed and she knew he liked that. She did too, it made her feel sexy. When she was dressed like this she didn't know if it was her deafness that people stared at or her clothes and she found herself more comfortable by not knowing.

Her hand moved casually along Roger's thigh as he signed out why he'd chosen the tiny skirt, vest, and bright red bra and thong she wore. His words spoke of how he wanted to watch her shop today, purposely having to stretch and bend and think of how easily accessible she was for his touch. Casually he told her without making a sound of how he was planning on touching her when she reached for the highest things or how he would rub against her when they were in line waiting to be served.

His hands continued to weave a spell explaining to her that when they went to catch the afternoon matinee she would be so wet, he'd easily slide his fingers into her slippery cunt. His silent words evoked images of erotic fantasies into Joyce's mind and she shifted on her seat, the slickness of her sex that her husband desired for later, was already playing upon her skin.

Roger and Joyce took turns writing notes at the different stops along their route. Each time they did Roger lived up to his "words" and casually caressed his wife through the fabric of her vest whenever he would brush against her. He laid his hand upon her hips and guided her through lines at the bank, utility company, as well as the grocery story.

By the time they were back at their home the matinee was an abandoned idea. Joyce had declared finger play not an option; the need to have all of him raged through her. Roger's cock ached and after paying the van driver they were hurrying to put their frozen produce away. It was during this time of slipping freezer goods into the freezer that Roger tucked away three ice cubes without his wife seeing them.

Joyce turned to hurry toward the bedroom, but was stopped by the light over her phone. She growled as did Roger, but she walked over and accepted the call. Words came onto the small screen and she sighed, but began to type out the pending conversation with her sister. As she did she felt the warmth of her husband's breath on her neck and shivered.

Yes, Abby, we are sure we will be there.

Roger slipped one hand around her waist as she typed. His fingers toyed with the buttons on her vest releasing one then the other. His other hand held a small cup where the three cubes lay nestled together. He bit her neck gently when she swatted at his hand and typed with the other.

Im sre h's a great guy.

He glanced at her words on the TTD and signed on her stomach with one hand. "You need to spell better."

She stomped her foot and tossed back a glare and stuck out her tongue. He turned her chin back to the phone and she went back to typing.

Roger ran his free palm over her generous mounds and cupped the right one, enjoying the feel of the silk fabric against his fingers. He nuzzled her neck and used his tongue to trace the curve of her ear, glad that she'd taken the massive piles of blonde curls and corralled them into a ponytail.

A sigh escaped Joyce and she stopped typing long enough to pull her vest off and let it drop to the floor. Abby, remember that story you gave me?" Her moan went unheeded by both of them as well as the woman on the other end of the telecommunications device; however, the effect of her husband's hand releasing the clasp of her bra was not lost on the woman that was trying to type legibly.

Roger felt the rise of her chest as she took in air and felt her buckle slightly. He knew she was imagining what would come next. His thumb tweaked one nibble than the next, before he left them alone.

He spelled out the words "Type" on her abdomen and then took one ice cube from the cup and ran it over her spine. When she jerked and tried to spin around he pressed against her, forcing her to rest against the desk.

I am okay. Sorry. I detracted. Oh I was distracted.

Joyce bit her lower lip and opened her legs slightly, not sure what he intended, but willing to play the part. As she carried on a broken and somewhat misspelled conversation with her sister her husband played a not so misguided conversation on her body.

He ran the ice cube over her shoulders and then eased her bra off and ran the cube over the small lines it had left behind. He watched her shiver and he replaced the coolness with his tongue and drank the moisture away. Slowly he ran the cube around her waist, over her stomach and teased her belly button with the melting tip.