Loving wife fucks her husband in the ass as a birthday present

L

The cake’s gone. The presents opened. Company has left to go wherever company goes when they walk out of our door. The kids are in bed and the thumping noises have finally stopped so I’m pretty sure they’re asleep.

Cleanup is relatively easy. The bag of trash needs to go out, but it can wait until morning. Once again I wonder if I should write a thank-you note to whoever thought up the idea of paper plates? I rinse a handful of silverware and load it into the machine.

Matt watches as I finish. He’s still sitting in the chair of honor at the table—wrapping paper and ribbons drifting around his legs. I can’t see his face, but I hear his sighing. I know the feeling; birthdays aren’t nearly as much fun anymore. Still, I think I have something that might make him remember this one as something special.

I throw the dishrag down and turn to him. “So how we doin’ over here?”

He shrugs. My big blond bear of a husband looks closer to four than forty. “It’s finally happened.”

“What?” I play the game and look sympathetic. I don’t want him to get any hints about what’s next on the agenda.

“I’ve turned into my father.” He gestures at the pile of gifts. “Three ties, a tool box and a sweater.”

“Well the kids picked the ties.”

“I figured,” he sighs again. “I like the Daffy Duck.”

I think it’s time. I want to tease, not torment the poor lug. I sashay over and sit, straddling his legs.

“You haven’t gotten my gift yet.”

“Really? I thought the sweater…” His oversized hands reach around to stroke my rear and I skootch down harder on his cock and smile when I feel it start to wake up.

I shake my head, “That was for show. To fool your parents and the munchkins.”

“Mmmm,” he grins and the boredom suddenly disappears from his voice. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

I rock against him again and his cock twitches in a Pavlovian response. You have to love science. “Be right back.”

I walk over to the utensil drawer and open it and pull something out. “I’ve always wanted one of these, but never knew what I’d use it for.” I show him the marble dowel with the bright red bow.

Matt’s eyes widen, “What the fuck?”

I ignore him as I look around for something else and curse myself for not thinking of this earlier. I finally find the cord for the beaters and decide that it’ll do nicely. I like that it follows the impromptu kitchen theme I’ve got going.

I saunter back over to my bemused husband. I can tell his brain’s been busy and he’s started to figure this out. I also know that right about now he’s thinking how much he wishes I didn’t have such a good memory.

“Hands behind your back, birthday boy.” I don’t want to give him too much time to dwell on a way to get out of this.

“Uh, Lorrie, I don’t…” Ah, but he does. He told me so.

I remember the conversation perfectly. We’d seen that movie, I can’t recall the name now, but it was one of ‘those’ movies and after it was over we were talking about some of the er, high points when Matt mentioned the moment when the woman used the strap-on on her tied up lover. I was making fun of the whole thing when I noticed Matt wasn’t laughing.

“Oh my god,” I’d said out loud as I read his expression. “That turned you on?”

He looked like I’d caught him stealing cookies. “Yeah, I mean no,” he grinned his bad boy smile. “Well sort of.”

I was surprised. Ass play wasn’t in our usual repertoire. I’d made it clear my own backdoor was strictly an ‘exit only’ long ago. It hadn’t seem like much of big deal though, since Matt had never seemed interested one way or the other.

“Course,” he added, surprising me again. “I’d rather do it to you.”

I snorted, “No, you started this, you first.”

“And if I agree?”

I laughed, “Then we’ll renegotiate.”

He’d grabbed me after that and started a tickling war that soon developed into a different sort of stimulation. The anal angle was forgotten in the moment, but I thought about it before I fell asleep and the next day too. The more I pondered this new little wrinkle, the more I realized that Matt had been serious under all the smiles and banter.

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George B. J. Martin

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