0 comments/ 10229 views/ 0 favorites Another Wednesday By: ausqldbris This story follows on from "Home Early on a Wednesday". It may be helpful to read that one first to gain a little more understanding of the characters. Feedback is always appreciated. * * * * * A month or so after our mid-week adventure, another Wednesday. This time, I don't make it home early, in fact, this time I'm running late. By the time I get home, she is already dressed to go out, impatient and anxious. My job is to stay home tonight and mind our already-sleeping son. She is going out with some friends. She told me about it weeks ago. It's a Christmas party of sorts, a bunch of friends she meets regularly are getting together for a small party, drinks and finger-food. It will be mostly other women her age, or older, and perhaps the odd husband or two. I can tell she's been looking forward to it, something that breaks the routine. I'm happy for her to go, and she did ask if I wanted to go with her. The reality is that I won't know anyone very well, and she'll have a much better time on her own, amongst her friends. And since we don't have to try to make babysitting arrangements, the whole evening will be a lot less stressful. I plan to stay at home, catch up on a little work, perhaps watch some television, if I can find anything worth watching. She looks good as she leaves, wearing a short red skirt and loose fitting black blouse. She has put on make up for the occasion, the right shades to suit her tanned skin. I tell her how good she looks and she smiles. "I won't be too late," she says. "I'll probably have a few drinks." This doesn't worry me, she's getting a lift and she rarely drinks much anyway. In fact, it has been a source of good-natured dispute over the years, that I have only seen her really drunk once. I have often hoped she would drink a little more now and then, to lower her inhibitions and relax her. She just doesn't enjoy drinking enough, she says. The evening for me passes completely uneventfully. As I expected there is nothing on television and at eleven I decide to go to bed. I'm a little surprised that she isn't home yet, but I imagine she won't be long. I leave a living room light on for her, turn out the bedroom light and am quickly asleep. Some minutes, or hours, later a noise wakens me. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust and I read the clock. Just after midnight. I hear the distant thud of a car door, fumble of a key in a lock, heels on the wooden floor. During the next few minutes, I drift between sleep and wakefulness several times, hearing her in the kitchen briefly, the bathroom, the door of our son's room, the flush of the toilet. I fall back to sleep. I wake up again and hear her softly calling my name from the bedroom doorway. I shake my head to clear the sleep away, concerned, trying to analyse what might be wrong. "What's up?" I stage whisper, into the darkness. "Nothing. Just follow me." She pads quietly down the hallway expecting me to follow. For a moment I debate whether to put on shorts and a shirt. I only have boxers on and I'm unsure what I might be required to do. She isn't in the living room, nor the kitchen and for a moment I'm confused. Then I see that the front door is open. I'm sure she wouldn't have left it open accidentally so she must be outside somewhere. It's a warm night, despite the fact that it is only early summer. There is a gentle breeze fluttering through the palm fronds high above me but the sky is clear with a half-moon rising. I step into the paved courtyard and see her. She is dressed in almost nothing, a tiny, lacy, black G-string and matching bra, an underwear set she very seldom wears. For some reason though, what surprises me even more is her smile. She is smiling happily at me. I never expected to see her outside after midnight, in very brief underwear. But I could never have dreamed of her smiling about it. She is standing in the middle of the moon-lit courtyard and I walk slowly to her, intrigued and uncertain. She holds out her arms to me and we hug. I quickly sense that she is drunk, quite drunk, I can feel her unsteadiness and see the pleasant detachment in her eyes. "We've never done it out here," she says softly, attempting to speak without slurring, and failing. "Let's do it now." It takes me a few moments to realise what she means. I'm surprised, to say the least. I look into her eyes, trying to read her mood and judgment. "What if someone sees or hears?" I whisper, as I feel my cock begin to harden at her suggestion. The sound of my voice seems loud in the midnight stillness, even though I know it's not. "We'll be quiet. And if they see, well, they'll get quite a show," she says. She leans and kisses my naked chest. "But no one's going to see," she adds, as much for her own reassurance as mine. "Are you sure?" I offer, hoping that she is. "You've had a lot to drink." "Well, you always say that I should," she counters. Then, to end the discussion, she grabs my boxers, pulls them down and sinks to her knees in front of me. It stops any thought of caution in my mind. She takes my cock in her hand, stroking slowly, then her mouth, running her tongue around the head. It feels incredible, not just the sensation of her mouth, but the sensation of the breeze, the night air, the moonlight, the danger. I look down at her and she raises her eyes to meet mine. She takes me from her mouth and presses the heat of my hard shaft against her cheek and her chin and her neck. "I've never told you this," she whispers. "But I really love sucking your cock." It is rare to hear her talk like this and my heart races as I hear the words. It turns me on even more to know how drunk she is as she says them. "I love when you do it," I say. "I can't get enough of it." She laughs softly and returns the swollen head to her mouth, sucking hard, eyes smiling up at me. I moan softly and raise my eyes to the night sky. She stands, her hand still encircling my cock. She kisses my neck and whispers, drunkenly, close to my ear. "Sorry, I just wanted you hard so you could fuck me." She kisses me again. "But later, I'll suck you again. And I'll let you fuck my tits. I know how much you want to." It is my turn to laugh as we hug. It occurs to me that she probably knows a lot of the fantasies I have about her. I hold her tightly and feel my cock pressed against her warm belly and her breasts pressed against my chest. "Where?" I say. It seems unlikely we can do it standing up in the middle of the courtyard. Especially given the state she is in. She looks around briefly then smiles at me and nods towards the carport. "I always wanted to be fucked against a car." I step out of my boxers and guide her over to the car and we lean against the driver's door kissing, hands exploring. Her arse feels so soft and smooth and my fingers slowly trace down the line of her G-string. She groans and reaches for my cock. She smiles at me, a drunken but very sexy smile, all inhibition gone. I love her. I love her like this. So different to her everyday self, yet still herself. I realise that the alcohol has unleashed the bad girl in her, the woman she has perhaps wanted to be but never had the courage or self-confidence to become. She moves to the bonnet (hood) of the car and sits on the cool metal. She parts her legs slowly, knowing I will watch, knowing I will be unable to take my eyes away. I want to please her, meet her needs in any way she desires or commands. "Tell me what you want," I say. Usually when I ask that question in the safe predictability of our bedroom she says she isn't sure. Or she says that she wants to be kissed. Tonight, though, she is sure. Tonight she wants a lot more than kisses. "Lick me. Take my G-string off and lick me." She pauses, looking at me. Then, very softly, she says, "Lick my cunt." She has never used that word and it sends a burst of adrenaline through my body just to hear it from her lips. I peel the G-string from her slowly as she allows herself to lie back on the smooth steel. I lean to her, taking in the scent of a woman, a heady, powerful aroma that triggers a new wave of desire in my male brain. The G-string I toss aside, careless with it now that its task is completed. The taste of her is wonderful as a glide my tongue patiently along the length of her vagina. She is wet, a wetness that I have rarely had the privilege of in the past. It is a wetness that tells of pure lust, female lust, when all rules and niceties are stripped away. She purrs softly as my tongue flickers against her clitoris, the barest, lightest touch that makes her arch her back, wanting more. I lick her again, more slowly, setting alive the acute sensitivity of her pussy lips. She moans, as I hoped she would and I reward her by plunging my tongue deep into the soft, private folds, deep into the wet smoothness of her beautiful cunt. Her fingers run lightly through my hair and for a moment I think she will push me away as she has so often in the past. Tonight, though she pulls me closer, wanting my tongue in her, over her, teasing her. I lift my head and look at her face. She smiles and pushes a few errant strands of hair from her eyes. I continue to look at her, lowering my tongue to her clitoris, slowly circling, seeing the effect it has. She closes her eyes, still smiling, as this new pleasure courses through her, hands falling to her breasts, gently cupping them through her lacy, black bra. I tease a little less and pleasure a little more this time. My tongue performs slow, pressing circuits of the hard little bud of her clitoris. I trail my fingers up her thigh and finding the wetness, enter her with deliberate slowness. The two fingers fuck her gently, deeply, the sound of them inside her a soft, erotic addition to the muted noises of the warm night. Her hips rise to meet my fingers as my tongue continues its measured work. She raises her head to watch me, to see the source of her pleasure, to complete the erotic picture. As she watches, I take my fingers from the liquid heaven of her pussy and offer them to her. She takes my hand and holds it close to her face, breathing in the sweet perfume of her pussy. Then she licks my fingers, kisses them, sucks them, tasting herself. "I love the way you taste," I say softly, and to prove it, lick her once more. I feel her shudder and see her hands pull the bra away from her breasts. She urgently takes her nipples between her fingers and massages them. "Please," she says, voice wavering, "I think I'll come if you keep licking me while I do this." Her fingers rub her breasts and lightly tug her nipples. I lower my head from the sight and tongue her harder. I circle her clitoris with tongue and lips, almost constant pressure on the very centre of her pleasure. Her hips are raised from the hard coldness of the metal, seeking the wild dance of my tongue. Her breathing is now a rush of moaned exhalations. Without warning, her body tenses, as if frozen momentarily in the throes of pleasure. Then, the full force of her orgasm sweeps through her body and she quivers as the ecstasy overwhelms her. Her fingers pull at her nipples with greater intensity, her back arches once again, her mouth is open in a silent scream of triumph and her eyes see me, yet are unseeing. Only her pleasure exists and I observe the moment in quiet awe, the sweet taste of her still on my tongue. Gradually, the waves of orgasm recede and she looks at me with renewed focus. She pushes me away and slides from the car's bonnet. I assist her to stand, which she does cautiously, the combined effects of sex and alcohol making her unsteady. She appraises me for a moment, leans close and kisses away some of her own juices from my lip. We smile at each other, two lovers discovering themselves and each other. "Let's go inside." she says. "Fuck me on the table." She unclips her bra and removes it, turned away from me. She hands it to me and says no more, entering the house with surprising, smooth grace for one so drunk. She knows I will follow. I notice her G-string, draped over the side mirror of the car, as if placed there carefully. I consider removing it. Instead, I smile to myself and carefully place the bra over the mirror as well, before following her inside. For a moment, in the doorway, I turn and look back once more at the night, wanting to remember it all, yet knowing that more is to come. Another Wednesday Ch. 2 This is a continuation of the story Another Wednesday. It is also related to the story Home Early on a Wednesday. Feedback is appreciated. * * * * * The house is darker than outside and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. I see her standing in the dining room, beckoning me. I want her. I can never remember my cock being so hard, so ready. As I approach her she smiles and kisses me. "I'm your little slut. I'll do whatever you tell me," she says. I know what she wants. She has spent her life behaving nicely, speaking nicely...being nice. Right now, she doesn't want that. She wants bad, dirty, wild, unplanned, urgent sex. She wants to break some of the rules she has lived her life by. Yet she wants to be ordered to do it, told to be bad, perhaps, so that in the morning, there will be no guilt, just the pleasant afterglow of the act itself. "Bend over the table," I instruct her. "Rest your face and tits on the table." She complies immediately. I caress her arse for a moment with the hardness of my cock. Then I guide my cock into her pussy, with aching slowness for both of us. Inch by hard inch I enter the tightness of her, both of us feeling every slight, slow movement. Never before have I entered her this slowly in one single thrust. It is like a punishment, a torture to be endured, yet enjoyed. It takes many seconds of this one single, lingering push before I am completely inside her and my balls sway heavily against her. It simply makes me need her with a compelling urgency that I cannot control. I fuck her. Hard. Deep. Fast. We both moan and she grips the sides of the table as I ram my cock into her. I have never fucked her like this before, so completely uncontrolled. She groans and tries to speak but her words merge together and become a single, long cry of pleasure. I know that I cannot fuck her like this for long, the sensation of it and the knowledge of it is too intense. Yet I want to prolong this event, draw it out, and I decide that I will not cum just yet. I pull out of her, breathing hard. "No. no. Don't stop," she says. "It felt amazing. I've never been taken like that before." "Go over to the couch," I order and she looks at me briefly, nods obediently and makes her unsteady way into the living room. I follow, slowly, allowing myself time to retreat from the brink of orgasm. I instruct her to lean over the high, wide, padded arm of the couch, so that her face is pressed against the seat and her feet are off the floor. Best of all, her arse is raised to the perfect height. I lightly put my hands over the curve of her bottom, caressing the soft skin. I slide my hands down to her thighs and part them wide. She is thrown across the arm of the couch now, helpless and completely available to me. I enter her once more, as slowly as I can, another single, gradual thrust that curls her toes. But once I am conpletely inside her pussy, I can no longer control my need and I fuck her hard once again. In this position my cock thrusts into her at a new angle and she moans her delight. "Yes, I feel so bad being taken like this," she says, breathlessly. "Does it make you feel like a slut," I ask, already knowing the answer. "Yeah, such a bad slut," she manages weakly, drunkenly. Her face is pressed against the cushion as her body is jolted by the force of me fucking her. "I've been thinking about fucking you in this position for a long time," I confess. It seems almost unreal but I am actually doing it, just as I fantasized, and she is enjoying it even more than my imagination had allowed. "The first time we got this couch, she says, pausing, panting, as I ram into her again, "I imagined you doing this to me." Another pause, another hard thrust. "Why did we wait so long?" It is a question that has no answer. But it triggers the same thought in both of us and she voices it before I have a chance. "Show me the other ones you think about," she says. "How else do you want to take me?" I pull out of her, my mind a fury of long-imagined fantasies. I help her back to her feet. "Kitchen bench," I say, amd she understands immediately. We go into the kitchen and she sits on the edge of the bench, leaning back, making herself available to me. I enter her, once again slowly, but then, after that first stroke I ram myself into her hard. Her head strikes the spice rack on the wall and several bottles and jars clatter from the rack and bounce noisily on the bench beside her. "I love the thought of having sex in the kitchen. I think about it a lot some days," she says. I fuck her until I feel close to orgasm and it is time to move on. "Coffee table," I say, and we move to the living room. She sits on the edge of the coffee table, legs parted, arms out to embrace me. I drop to my knees and we follow our now-familiar pattern. I enter her as slowly and deliberately as I can manage, then we do it as hard and fast as we can. In this position I feel her nipples rubbing against my chest with each thrust. Very soon, I can manage no more without losing control. She is barely in control herself and each new position seems to leave her frustratingly close to orgasm before I stop. "Where next," she says, impatient, but wanting more places, more positions. "Armchair," I decide and I help her to her feet before I sit down in the wide, deeply padded armchair. She immediately straddles me, knees on the chair, breasts bouncing against my face. This time it is her turn to control the pace but she follows my lead, very slowly sinking down on my cock until after several long seconds it fills her completely. Then she rises and falls urgently, riding me to orgasm almost immediately. "Oh...this one makes me cum," she says, barely audible. I feel her pussy tighten around me as her legs shake, her orgasm shuddering through her. Then after holding me deep inside herself as her ecstasy subsides, she begins a slow gyration of her hips, rubbing her breasts against my face. "Mmm, I love cumming in that position," she says. Her hair is wild and I can see the drunken abandon in her eyes as she looks at me. "Where next?" she asks, and I know that she is not satisfied yet. "The floor," I say, ticking it off my mental list. She slides onto the wooden floor and kneels, waiting for me to join her. "You want me on my hands and knees don't you?" she says. "Yes," I say, and I am quickly on my knees sliding into her slowly. I can thrust very deeply in this position and she feels it, moaning encouragement. I hold her hips and control her movements as I take her. I run my hands up her back, holding her shoulders, pulling her to me, pushing myself deeper. "Make me cum again," she pleads. "I'm close." She lowers her head and shoulders to the hard wooden floor, as I thrust in. I know that I am close to orgasm now and I want her to cum once more first. I slide my hand under her and find her hard clitoris. She responds immediately, wildly. My finger rubs her clitoris hard as she moans and swirls her hips in desperate circles. "Yes, you're making me cum again." She groans and collapses onto the floor. I pull out of her and she wimpers at the loss of the cock filling her. I have no choice. I am too close myself and I want to witness her pleasure before I take my own. She is exhausted, the evening's exertions and alcohol taking their toll. She sits up and appraises my hard cock. "I want you to cum. However you want. Tell me and I'll do it," she says. "Outside again," I tell her quietly. She nods and I guide her back into the courtyard coolness. We stand and hug, the breeze a delight after all our action inside the house. For a few seconds I raise my head to the clear sky, hold her, this beautiful, intelligent woman and thank the night that she is my wife. And I thank the stars that she is drunk and adventurous and feeling wicked. And I thank the moon that moments like this make up for all the routine and predictability and sameness of life. "I'll do anything you want," she repeats. "Just tell me." "I love you...I want to cum on you," I say. She smiles and nods. "Will you cum on my breasts and on my neck?" she asks. "No," I say. "On your face." "You've been wanting to do this for a long time, haven't you?" she says. "A long time," I agree. She kisses me lightly on the lips and holds me close for a moment. Softly, she whispers in my ear, "I want you to cum on my face. I want it as much as you do. To show just how much I love you." She lowers herself to her knees, hands resting on my thighs, then she kisses my cock and smiles up at me. I take my cock in my hand, feeling the hot throb of my heartbeat through the hard shaft, feeling the aching need for release in my balls. I stroke slowly up and down as I watch her, watch that face I have loved for so long now. Her eyes follow the movements of my hand then meet my gaze. Each stroke takes me closer, and closer until the need is unbearable. I moan and she looks at me expectantly. I feel the tightening in my balls, the tensing of my thighs and the explosion of pleasure in my mind. I hold my cock and see the first hot jet of semen pump glistening from the tip and splash in thick cords onto her cheek. A second more powerful burst erupts from my cock and covers her lips and chin. Then another and another and another and another. Each time my semen spurts onto her face. Some drips off her chin to her breasts, some from her lips onto her tongue. She holds my gaze, taking my cum, indulging me. I love her more than ever. She takes me in her mouth, sucking the last of my semen from my softening cock. I stand there a moment and look at her, this astounding woman, a woman that I thought I knew completely but who now leaves me intrigued anew. She licks some of the pearls of cum from her lips and gets unsteadily to her feet. We smile at each other. There is so much we could say, but we say nothing. In fact it is minutes later, laying together in bed before either of us feels the need to speak. The house is locked, lights out, our son checked. She has cleaned her face and lies snuggled close to me. "All those fantasies we've both had for so long," she says, "Let's share them from now on." "Absolutely," I respond. There is silence for a few moments. Then she kisses me and soon after I hear the steady deep breathing of sleep. I smile, hold her close to me and allow myself to drift into sleep as well.