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Grant Me A Wish

By: Brandy Chase



This story is a slight departure from my usual stories and was co-written with my husband, Rusty Marshall.

Bridget Mallory lay corpse-still, staring at the ceiling, beside her husband of more than twenty years. A solitary tear slipped from one eye and slowly snaked its way toward her ear. Frustration was nothing new to her. She had spent more than a few frustrated nights alone in their bed, even though her husband had been right there beside her. Dropping off to sleep with tears in her eyes, pain in her heart, and that all-too-familiar need between her thighs had become increasingly difficult for her over the last few years. Recently, it had been occurring far too often.

Bridget lived in a constant search for anything that might help rekindle the fires of passion in her husband. She loved Grant with all her heart. He was a faithful husband, a great father, and an excellent provider for their family. The sexual side of their relationship had always left a lot to be desired but now he was a big, fat zero. And that was exactly what she had been getting from him lately, zero.

Determined to keep her marriage together and her sanity intact, she had consumed every bit of information available on the subject. In the process of attempting to fuel Grant's nearly non-existent libido, Bridget Mallory had become a revered name with the order department at Victoria's Secret. Resolute in her quest for a solution to her dilemma, she had taken to cutting out the pictures of the sexy, more-perfect-than-life models from the catalog and taping them to the refrigerator as inspiration in her endeavor to make herself more sexually alluring to Grant.

In her heart, Bridget knew she could never look like those airbrushed beauties, but there was no harm in trying. Many times she had analyzed her nude figure in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door; she still had a nice figure and decent appearance; maybe a bit of a tummy, but hell, she's given birth to two children. She had gained a few pounds while carrying the babies, but with much effort, had lost all of it. But that little tummy pouch one develops during pregnancy was still present and nothing short of cosmetic surgery would ever get rid of it.

One evening she had struck a sexy pose for Grant just before slipping into bed beside him and said, "Whataya think? I've lost forty pounds."

He eyed her from over the top of the book he had been reading and replied, "If you could just lose that flabby pouch over your belly, you might be okay." With obvious lack of concern for her or her feelings, he returned to his book.

Her mind raced. How can you be so cruel? She wondered. You could've said, "Hey, you're looking good, but if you can lose that pouch you'd be looking great!" But no, nothing like that. "You might be okay." Might? Okay? That's the best you can do? You're a son-of-a-bitch, a rotten son-of-a-bitch! She wanted so desperately to vocalize her thoughts, but as usual, kept her mouth shut and her damaged feelings to herself.

"So much for the possibility of sex for tonight," she mumbled under her breath as she walked into the bathroom. "After a comment like that, I wouldn't give it to you tonight even if you begged for it. Yeah right, like a chance of that happening might've really existed. I stand a better chance of getting hit by a meteor."

#

The next morning, with rising hopes, she had watched Grant ogle the pictures on the refrigerator. She owned an outfit like each of the ones the different models were wearing. Her hopes were quickly and unceremoniously dashed to the floor when he glanced at her, than back at the pictures, and commented, "Tyra Banks you ain't."

Before she could regain enough composure to reply, he strolled from the kitchen without a clue of how rude and hurtful he had just been to the woman he supposedly loved. Finally, she recovered enough from the shock to mumble under her breath, "That may be true, but I'm as close as you'll ever get to her, mister. For such a highly educated man you can sure make some stupid statements. You'd think with two degrees you'd at least have a little common sense."

She had carefully watched Grant as his eyes roamed from picture to picture. She was interested to see which models or outfits seemed to strike his fancy the most. Then he had made his snide remark about Tyra Banks, which had narrowed the field down considerably. All she had to do after that was figure out which of the three photos of Tyra he had stared at the most, then she would have a pretty decent idea which outfit he had found the most interesting. Even though she was pissed at him at the moment, she wasn't about to give up hope for the future.

His eyes had returned repeatedly to one particular photo on the upper-right-hand corner of the refrigerator. After he left the kitchen, Bridget scanned over the photos and sure enough, the photo attracting the most attention was one of Tyra Banks in a sheer, deep-red baby-doll nightie, leaving very little to the imagination. The outfit included matching bikini panties and garter belt.

Bridget had an outfit exactly like it, still in the box in her closet. The only part of the sexy outfit Tyra was wearing that Bridget didn't already own was the red stockings and red-satin stiletto heels.

"This little oversight will be remedied before bedtime tonight," she mumbled as she stared at the picture.

#

Hoping to squelch Bridget's incessant nagging once and for all, over their need to seek professional assistance, Grant finally agreed to see a marriage counselor with her. He also agreed to be both, open with any questions he might have, and honest with any answers he gave. Sitting in front of the counselor's desk, Bridget began to wonder if the whole thing had simply been a total waste of time and money.

"Okay, now that we've laid out the ground rules, who's going to start off?" the counselor asked.

"Go for it, Bridget," Grant suggested. "This whole farce was your asinine idea in the first place."

"Mr. Mallory, if that's the kind of attitude you're going to exhibit, you're right, this is going to be a farce and an asinine idea," the counselor stated, folding her hands together and resting her elbows on top of her desk. "If this is the same attitude you have toward your marriage, I can see why your wife feels the need for professional help. It seems to me that you're ready to blow the whole thing off as some kind of big joke already, before the first words have even been spoken."

Grant sat quietly for several minutes, like he was mulling the issue over. Finally he spoke, "I just don't see where there's a problem in our marriage big enough to warrant seeing a marriage counselor. I'm sorry if I seem to be too frank, but I promised Bridget I would be open and honest here today."

"Open and honest is one thing, but open hostility, and out and out rudeness are quite another," the counselor replied.

"Again, I am sorry," Grant apologized.

"Apparently, Mrs. Mallory feels something is threatening your marriage. But it's also apparent she feels the marriage is worth saving at this point and that whatever the problem is can be worked out if addressed properly. Otherwise, the two of you wouldn't be sitting here right now. Do you think your marriage is worth saving?"

"Of course I do," Grant replied after a brief hesitation. "We've been married twenty some years. We've got two teenage children. We own a nice home. There's a lot of reasons for us to stay together."

"How about love?" the counselor asked. "That's an important factor in a good relationship. Do you still love Bridget?"

Again, Grant hesitated before responding. "Well, yes… of course I do."

The counselor eyed Grant for a few moments before turning to Bridget. "How about you, do you still love him?"

There was no hesitation in Bridget's answer. "As much as the day I married him. And I honestly feel he still loves me." Bridget stared into her lap for a moment. Seeming a bit embarrassed, she added, "It's the sex thing. He no longer seems to find me the slightest bit attractive and has absolutely no sexual interest in me at all."

The counselor wordlessly looked at Grant, but the question was in her stare.

"Hey, I'm forty-five-years old," Grand snapped. "And I have more important things to do than to hop into the sack every time she gets the urge. If that were the case, I'd never get anything else done. That's all she ever thinks about."

"Well, maybe if you'd take care of your homework once in a while, I'd be able to have something else on my mind now and then," Bridget said. "But as long as my needs are not being satisfied, that's what commands most of my attention, whether I like it or not. All I'm asking for is a normal sex life for a couple of our age. I'm not asking for sex every day."

"Yes, you do," Grant snapped. "Every time I come home, you're trying to seduce me."

"Well maybe if you gave in once in a while, I'd be able to leave you alone for awhile," Bridget barked "I'm only forty-two. I still have needs and wants. Can you remember the last time we had anything resembling sex together?"

"Well, I can't remember the date, if that's what you're asking," Grant replied. "But it wasn't all that long ago."

"I can. It was on my birthday," Bridget stated.

"See, there you go! That was only, what, four or five months ago," Grant beamed.

"No! It wasn't! I wasn't talking about my last birthday. I meant last year's! It was almost a year and a half ago!" Bridget was getting upset. "And that was about as exciting as a trip to the mail box in front of the house. Plus, a trip to the mail box would've taken longer!"

"Hey, I'm not some kind of super-stud!" Grant almost yelled. "I can't perform on cue just because you want me to!"

The counselor sat quietly listening to their exchange. She had done her job; they were openly discussing what seemed to be the main problem in their marriage.

"You wouldn't know a cue if it jumped up and licked your face!" Bridget was getting angrier by the second. "The only thing you're interested in sexually, is those damn girls in your filthy magazines and movies!"

"Well, at least they're not so hard to deal with. And they're not after me to jump into the sack with them all the time!" Grant countered. "Besides, they don't care how much time I spend with them! They're just as satisfied whether I spent thirty minutes or thirty seconds with them! And with them, I don't have to worry about satisfying anyone but myself!"

"Wait a second," the counselor interrupted. "Magazines? Movies?"

"Yes," Bridget replied. "That was a major error in judgement on my part. I got him a subscription to Playboy magazine for his birthday. I even ordered several erotic movies for him. I thought they might turn him on a little. But it seems like he's perfectly content to sit there staring at the girls in the magazines and movies. But it didn't do a damn thing to make him look in my direction. If anything, it made him even more distant."

"Grant, how do you feel about what Bridget just said?" the counselor asked.

"Like I said, with them, I don't have to make anyone happy but me," Grant replied.

"Do you have a fear of failure?" the counselor asked.

"Me? Failure? Are you crazy?" Grant barked. "I have an IQ of one-eighty-nine. Do I look like the type of person who is use to failure? I've never failed at anything in my life! And I don't intend to start now!"

"Well, I think we may have already stumbled onto where the problem lies," the counselor said. "But our time is up for today. I'm asking both of you to think about everything you've said and heard here today, and maybe we can come up with an agreeable remedy next week and hopefully, get things started back in the right direction."

That was the end of the first and last meeting Bridget and Grant had with the marriage counselor. Grant flatly refused to go back.

#

One evening Bridget did all the normal things preparing for bed; showered, shaved her legs, brushed her teeth, and brushed her hair. Then she added a few things to her normal routine. She had moved the photo of Tyra Banks from the refrigerator to her bathroom mirror. With meticulous care, she did her makeup exactly as Tyra's in the photo. She added just a hint of Grant's favorite perfume behind each ear, her wrists, and just for good measure, she added a dash between her breasts.

A final glance in the mirror told her she had done her homework. The sexy outfit slinked around her curves but still did a nice job of hiding the tummy Grant apparently found so unattractive. She glanced at the picture of Tyra, struck a similar pose, and glanced back at her reflection one more time. "Not bad," she remarked to the lady in the mirror. "You're not Tyra Banks, but you're close enough for government work. If this doesn't turn him on, I don't know what will."

She strolled from the bathroom and found Grant lying in the bed with a Playboy magazine in front of his face.

"Hey handsome, wouldn't you prefer the real thing?" she cooed, striking the same pose she had just practiced in front of the mirror.

Glancing over his magazine with the same unconcerned look on his face she had seen so many times before, he snapped, "Can't you see I'm reading?" His eyes fell back to the magazine.

With her pride ruffled a little and her feelings ruffled a lot, but her determination still firmly intact, she stormed back into the bathroom. With great care, she peeled the photo of Tyra Banks from the mirror, along with the tape holding it. Carefully carrying the photo facedown in the palm of her hand, she stomped back into the bedroom, and slapped the photo right in the middle of the page Grant's eyes were focused on. Before he had a chance to open his mouth or she had a chance to change her mind, she barked, "That's a photo; a piece of paper! This, on the other hand," she paused long enough to strike a pose like the photo and slid her hands slowly down over her hips, "is the real deal! Can you see the difference?"

Grant sat there wide-eyed for a few moments, unable to speak; looking from the photo now taped to the magazine page, then back at Bridget. "Yeah, I can see a lot of differences," he finally replied. "For one thing, her boobs are a lot bigger than yours."

"Fine!" she yelled, stepping up beside the bed. Grabbing his hand, she pressed it against the photograph, then pressed it over one of her own breasts. "But which one feels the best?"

He jerked his hand from under hers and quickly smacked her hand like she was a child caught with her hand somewhere it wasn't supposed to be. "I don't happen to be in the mood to feel one at the moment," he snapped. "Maybe I prefer just to look at a nice big pair right now."

"Oh, these aren't big enough for you anymore?" she yelled, lifting both breasts with the palms of her hands.

"As a mater of fact, no, they aren't. Never have been," he snapped back at her as he slapped his magazine shut and slammed it down on his nightstand. As if to say, this conversation is over, he slid down in the bed and rolled over with his back toward her. "Now shut up and let me get some sleep."

Bridget stood staring dumbfounded at the back of his head in disbelief. There were several things she wanted to say right then, but decided against it. Grabbing her frumpy terrycloth bathrobe from the hook on the back of the closet door and storming from the room, all she could manage to say was, "You're unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable!"

#

Bridget ended up in the family room, where she stood looking at her reflection in one of the two huge mirrors covering both entire end walls of the room. She had loved the mirrors when they were first installed. They made the rather-small room look enormous. But at the moment, they only served to remind her of what was happening to her marriage.

She slipped the bathrobe from around herself and dropped it onto her recliner chair. She tried several different sexy poses in the mirror she had practiced following the arrival of each new issue of Victoria's Secret catalog over the last few months. Finally she spoke to the woman staring back at her from the mirror. "You still look good. You're still sexy. Hell, you actually look downright hot, right now! What's wrong with him? Why isn't he interested in you anymore?"

The lady in the mirror didn't answer; she simply stared back at Bridget.

"Don't just stand there looking all hot and bothered! Think of something! Do something!" Bridget barked.

In her mind, she could almost hear her reflection reply, "Look at me! I mean, what else can I do? I've done every damn thing except rape the stupid son-of-a-bitch!"

"Well, maybe that's what you need to do," Bridget said. "Outright seduction don't seem to be working."

#

Finally tired of arguing a lost cause with herself, Bridget dropped into her favorite chair and leaned it back to its full-reclined position. Figuring she would probably be spending the rest of the night in the chair, she pulled the heavy bathrobe from under her and tossed it over herself for a blanket. Even though she was sure the kids were in their beds fast asleep, she didn't want to take a chance on one of them getting up during the night and finding her dressed, or more accurately, undressed the way she was at the moment. It might be a bit difficult to explain to a couple of teenagers.

For quite some time she lay there thinking about the heart-wrenching conversation she'd just had with Grant and his rude, hurtful comments. At the moment, she couldn't figure out which needed stroking the most; her damaged pride, her hurt feelings, her trampled ego, or the frustrating ache between her thighs. She decided there wasn't much she could do about her pride. When the man you love has basically just told you that you're not built to his satisfaction, what the hell can you do? She would simply consider the source and leave it at that. As far as her hurt feelings were concerned, again she would just consider the source. What about her ego, that feeling of self, of being an independent individual? Well, that part of her no longer existed, she knew she needed him to be complete. But the almost-constant ache between her thighs was a different matter. She could do something to remedy that, at least temporarily.

#

Grant lay in the bed for a while after Bridget had stormed out of the room. His mind roamed from the stories he had been reading to the sexy Playboy Bunnies he had been looking at in the magazine. Eventually, his thoughts turned to the photo of Tyra Banks his wife had slapped on the page in front of his face, then finally to the vision of Bridget and how hard she had tried to look, or at least dress, like Tyra in the photo. He wondered, why'd she go to so much trouble? Surely she doesn't think she looks anything like Tyra. Slowly he began to realize just how rude he had been to her and it was obvious, even to him, she had done all of that dress-up crap just to please him.

Gradually, his conscience began to gnaw at him. This was something Grant was not remotely use to, especially when it concerned Bridget.

"What the hell?" he barked, setting up suddenly in the bed and snapping his lamp back on. "What the hell's wrong with me? After all these years, I think she's finally driving me crazy! I'm actually sitting here feeling sorry for her. Sorry for what I said. Sorry for the way I've been treating her."

Grabbing up the magazine he had earlier slammed down on his nightstand he thumbed through page after page of sexy, naked women until he finally found the page with Tyra Banks taped to it. He sat for several minutes staring at the photo "I've got to admit, she did a pretty fair job of dressing like this picture," he mumbled. "Of course, she isn't built anything like this, but hell, not very damn many women are."


Grant Me A Wish



Turning to sit on the edge of the bed, he spotted his reflection in his dresser mirror. After staring at himself for several minutes he mumbled, "You can be such a jackass sometimes, buster. And you really don't even have to put any effort into it."

After losing several more bouts with his conscience he decided he should go check on Bridget and make sure she was okay. Grabbing his robe from its hook, he headed quietly down the stairs, his mind still working him over. "I guess I owe her an apology," he grumbled. "Then she'll go all emotional on me and the next thing you know, she'll be wanting sex again. What goes wrong with a woman that makes her so damn horny after she gets a few years on her? Seems like everything Bridget does is just another scheme to get laid. Doesn't she have anything better to do? I mean, isn't being a mother and raising two teenagers enough to keep her mind occupied? Whatever happened to the good old days when women thought sex was just something they had to do to keep their husbands happy or to make babies?"

He suddenly realized he was talking out loud to himself and shut up. He wanted to see what Bridget was up to, but he didn't want her to know he was checking up on her. She might get the wrong idea and think I'm looking for a little action or something stupid like that. Nope, I'll just peak around the corners until I figure out where she is. Then I'll slip back off to bed once I make sure she's all right.

Grant momentarily froze in his tracks when he heard soft, sexy moans coming from the family room.

#

Gradually, almost without realizing what she was doing, Bridget's hands slipped under her robe and began to work their way down over her yearning body. One hand stopped on her right breast, teasing its already excited nipple to full erection. The other hand slipped slowly over the slick, sexy fabric covering her stomach. She drew a deep breath when her hand slid between her yielding thighs, pressing the silky material of her delicate nightie against the similar material of her panties, and that sexy silkiness glided over her long-neglected womanhood.

Gentle, deliberate strokes up and down the valley of her soul brought a soft moan to her throat. Little by little, her thighs parted as the wonderful pressure exerted by her long, elegant fingers steadily grew and their speed increased. The terrycloth robe slowly slid from her lap and dropped to the floor when she raised her legs and draped them over the arms of the recliner. The pleasure she was experiencing far outweighed any fear she might have had concerning her children walking in on her. As a matter of fact, nothing on the planet concerned her right then beyond that small portion of her anatomy that existed between her thighs. Her head slowly rocked from side to side. She caught sight of the woman in the mirror again. Her head rolled no more, she could not pull her eyes from the sexy creature she had spotted. As she watched, her moans grew, both in frequency and volume.

Looking at her own body in a mirror had never sexually aroused Bridget. But then again, she had never before viewed her reflection as she was about to come crashing through Heaven's door. She watched the needful look of desire on her face change to a lustful, out-of-control look as her head involuntarily tilted back. But the look on her face when her mouth dropped open and her hips rose, begging for more, as the first gentle swells of ecstasy rippled through her long-deprived body was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. Her breath came in shallow gasps and her insides trembled while she savored the soft pulses of pleasure coursing through her.

Bridget's hips dropped back to the chair. Even though this had been her first orgasm in well over a year, this moment of pleasure had been much too brief and far too weak to quench the sweltering fires burning deep inside of her.

"Oh God, don't stop now!" she begged, as disappointment filled her soul and her hands began working frantically between her thighs. "I'm not finished yet! I need more!"

#

Easing up to the doorway into the family room, Grant cautiously peaked around the corner toward Bridget's recliner. He was surprised to discover the TV wasn't turned on. He had figured that was where the sexy moans were coming from. The real surprise was what he saw his wife doing. He had spotted her just in time to see her with her hips raised high above the chair and her hands working feverishly between her thighs.

He had never seen her looking so sexy, so inviting. His limp manhood instantly sprang to attention with one of the hardest erections he could ever remember having. His hand slid inside his robe and began slowly stroking up and down the full length of his suddenly hard member. He found himself wanting to rush into the room and slam his hardness as deep as he could between her open thighs. In his mind, he could feel her tight, warm, wet, slipperiness wrapped around his granite-hard shaft as his own fingers squeezed tighter around it.

He saw Bridget drop back into her chair and heard her begging for more. He started through the door. He was just the guy who could give her more. Suddenly he jumped back against the hallway wall. Two things caused this rapid change of plans. One was the realization that in his present state of arousal, the only person he was going to satisfy was himself. He knew he would be lucky to get his excited shaft inside of her before he exploded, much less be able to put it to her long enough to do her any good.

The second thing that stopped him was the fact that Bridget had jumped up out of her chair, turned it around toward the mirrored wall, and taken off her panties before she climbed back into the recliner. She immediately went back to work between her wide spread thighs.

"Damn! She looks hot!" Grant mumbled under his breath.

That was when a third reason for not entering the family room to rescue his wife came up, or more precisely, came out. Grant grabbed the front of his robe and held it against the swollen head of his over-stimulated member just in time to prevent a huge mess in the hallway. He went off with such ferocity, that had he not been leaning against the wall, he would have collapsed to the floor when his legs went all rubbery on him as surge after powerful surge of his premature juices shot into the robe in his hand.

#

Bridget had no idea Grant was watching her as she turned her chair to face directly at the mirror. She placed it just far enough away from the mirror to allow the recliner to open up all the way. She picked her robe up from the floor, folded it, and placed it over the seat of the chair before she sat back down. She figured, or more correctly, hoped, things were about to get messy and she didn't want to leave behind any tell-tales stains on the expensive velour upholstery of the chair, which might attest to what was about to take place in the family room.

Once back in her chair, laid back all the way, one leg draped over each arm of the chair, her fingers began anew. But this time the delicate, lace panties lay on the arm of the chair instead of in the way between her eager thighs. The middle finger of one hand gently caressed her swollen clit, while the middle finger of the other worked rhythmically in and out of her weeping center. She was climbing the stairway to orgasm fast, much too fast. She could feel the need for release growing by leaps and bounds as she neared the edge. She needed it desperately, but she wasn't ready for it yet. She wanted more. If she let it happen now, it would be over, and she was enjoying the pleasure of the journey far too much to let the trip come to a meek ending so soon. She was in it for the long haul, for a much more climatic finish.

Her breath caught in her chest and a soft moan slipped from her slender throat when she almost plunged over the edge. "Not yet," she groaned, fearing she hadn't stopped in time. "It won't be strong enough if I cum now." This time she was talking to the woman staring back at her from the mirror. "We're not ready yet, are we, Leslie?"

That was when it hit her. She hadn't thought of Leslie in years, not since she had married Grant after college. Well, she hadn't thought about her in a sexual manner anyhow. Not that they had ever had sex together. But if Bridget had ever had a lesbian love affair, it would have been with the beautiful, sweet Leslie. Even though they had never gotten together or even discussed the matter, Bridget had had this thing for Leslie. She had never mentioned her feelings to Leslie. Hell, she had never actually considered them herself. She liked men and so did Leslie. In fact, Leslie couldn't get men off of her mind, ever.

The thought of going to bed with her had never entered Bridget's mind, but she did like to secretly watch Leslie in bed after she thought Bridget was asleep. She had spent many nights peaking though a peephole from under her covers, watching Leslie bring herself off under the soft, warm glow of her reading lamp.

Of course, Bridget had done the same thing on many occasions, but she had always been a little more discreet about it. She would only do it when she was alone or after she was sure Leslie was fast asleep. And then only under the covers in the silent darkness of their room, biting her lips the whole time to keep from moaning out loud. But not Leslie, she liked to toss the blankets aside and lay naked under her reading lamp, her gorgeous legs spread wide, with her long, slender fingers dancing up a storm between her delightful thighs. Knowing Bridget was a sound sleeper Leslie didn't even try to conceal her moans and groans. Sometimes Leslie would grab her pillow, pull it over her face, and scream at the top of her lungs when she hit that wonderful moment and ecstasy would come crashing down on her.

Bridget could always tell by Leslie's moans if it was going to be one of those scream-into-her-pillow nights and made sure she was ready to secretly join Leslie when her moment of rapture arrived. The instant she heard Leslie's muffled scream Bridget could not help but to explode in unison with her. That scream was the sexiest sound Bridget had ever heard in her life.

Even now, just thinking about Leslie's delightful scream was bringing Bridget closer to the magic moment she had been holding back in hope of achieving on a much greater scale. Suddenly she realized the woman she had been watching and talking to in the mirror had, in her mind, had become her beloved Leslie.

#

Grant had started to return to the bedroom. He felt a bit embarrassed standing in the hall with his spent, shrinking penis in his hand and a huge wet spot in the front of his robe. But then he heard Bridget talking to someone. He hadn't seen anyone else in the family room.

His mind went to work again. Who the hell's she talking to? Who the hell's in there with my wife while she's acting like that? Somebody's about to get a good ass kickin'!

Then he heard, "We're not ready yet, are we, Leslie?"

"Leslie? Who in the hell's Leslie?" Grant mumbled. Forgetting about the wet spot covering a large portion of the front of his robe, Grant released his grip on his now shriveled member, and stepped just through the door into the family room. Quickly surveying the room, the only person he found was Bridget. She was still sprawled out in her recliner with her legs spread wide over the arms of the chair, watching herself masturbate like a mad woman in front of the mirror. But this didn't explain who Leslie was.

Grant froze in place as he watched his wife erupt with an orgasm of apparent epic proportions. Her body arched. Her head flew back. In the mirror Grant could see her juices flowing profusely over her hands and thighs. One of her hands leaped from between her thighs and clamped over her mouth just in time to somewhat muffle a lung busting scream of pleasure. He stood spellbound, seeing Bridget, as he had never seen her before. At that moment, she was without a doubt, the sexiest creature he had ever laid eyes on. His breath caught in his lungs as he watched her licking her own juices from her fingers.

Grant felt a familiar stirring in his loins and that unmistakable urge a man gets when his brain drops from the head on his shoulder to the head on his dick. But he wasn't about to interrupt the rapture Bridget was experiencing. It was simply much too sexy to watch to be interfered with at the moment. His own needs would have to wait a little while. Or would they? 

#

Within seconds, Bridget's insides were coming unglued. Her body shuddered and shook as the first massive waves of delight surged within her. Just like in the old days of watching her beloved Leslie, Bridget sucked in her both of her lips and clamped down on them hard with her teeth to keep from screaming out loud. But in her head and in her heart, she could hear the woman in the mirror's exciting muffled scream. It was music to Bridget's ears; a long forgotten, but once-cherished tune, rediscovered.

Opening her eyes and raising her head slightly to sneak a peak at the woman in the mirror, Bridget was delighted to see the sexy image of Leslie in one of her more beautiful moments spread out before her. She had never seen Leslie so excited or intense about what she was doing. Nor had she ever been treated to such a wide-open, wonderfully clear view of what Leslie was actually doing between her thighs. The soft whimper in Bridget's throat suddenly escalated into a full-blown scream of pleasure the moment she saw Leslie's heavenly juices gushing from her glistening womanhood. Jerking her hand from her own center and slapping it over her mouth to stifle her scream somewhat, she realized just how wet her own womanhood was. But when her wet fingers touched her lips, it was Leslie's sweet lady cum she tasted, not her own. Sucking her drenched fingers deep into her mouth, her tongue danced over, around, and between them, savoring ever last drop, while the fingers of her other hand worked frantically at her enraged clit.

Bridget's eyes slowly focused on the eyes of the woman in the mirror. She was licking her finger just like Bridget was, but she was tasting Bridget's thick, sweet juices.

"I want more," Bridget whispered, lightly kissing the tips of her fingers as they slipped from her mouth.

"Me too," Bridget heard the woman in the mirror reply as their hands returned to the joining of their respective thighs, and two fingers sank deep into each of their velvety tunnels.

Bridget's eyes jumped up and down between Leslie's pretty, emotion-filled face and her sobbing womanhood. The last thing she remembered seeing before she passed out from pure pleasure was the most beautiful look of intense excitement she had ever seen on anyone's face and hearing that magnificent scream of Leslie's.

Just as the need for rest after such a wonderful experience was shutting her body down to all outside stimuli, Bridget thought she saw movement out the corner of her eye. But she was far too spent to take real notice of Grant as he raced from the family room with his fist tightly wrapped around his throbbing, pulsating penis and the rapidly spreading wet spot on the front of his robe.

Grant collapsed against the hallway wall again, exhausted, as the final dwindling spasms drained the last drops of cum from his loins. He remained motionless against the wall for what seemed like an eternity, milking the moment and his retiring manhood for every last ounce of pleasure each contained. He couldn't remember the last time he had been treated to the wonderful sensations of a second orgasm in a single evening, much less within a span of only a few minutes.

Now spent, drained, and exhausted, mentally, physically, and sexually, Grant peaked through the door for one last glimpse at Bridget before he went back to bed. She was a vision of pure beauty and sexuality lying in her recliner sound asleep, her legs still draped over the arms of the chair. She had the sweet smile of a totally satisfied woman on her relaxed face. It was a look Grant had not seen in a very long time. He was surprised to discover that it bothered him to know that he'd had absolutely nothing to do with putting that beautiful smile on her happy face. That was something else he couldn't remember the last time he had done.

Almost on tiptoe, he crept back into the family room and eased up next to Bridget's chair. He couldn't leave her lying there exposed like that all night. What would happen if the kids woke up and came downstairs and found her like that before she woke up? As gently as he could, Grant took the tail of his robe and cleaned up as much of the wet, sweet smelling mess as he could from Bridget's hands and from between her long, slender thighs. Lifting her legs one by one, he placed them each in a more proper position.

Getting Bridget's robe out from under her without waking her up proved to be a much more difficult task. Once he finally got the robe out from under her, he discovered it was too wet to use to cover Bridget's nakedness. It was much wetter than the twice-soiled robe he had on, which was also too wet and nasty to use as a blanket. After a quick trip down the hall, Grant covered Bridget with a blanket from the bed in the guestroom. The last thing he did before leaving the family room was to lean over and give his wife a small kiss on her forehead.

She would have given up everything she owned to have heard him actually utter the words he spoke as he looked down at her. Completely out of character and in a language so unlike Grant, he whispered, "Baby, we gotta do something about this shit. It just ain't right. I love you, Bridget. I know you don't believe it, but I really do."

Grant slowly crept up the stairs, leaving his wife asleep and alone in the family room.

#

Grant crawled into bed looking forward to what he figured was going to be one of the most peaceful, restful night's sleep he had experienced in years. Tired and spent as his body was in every respect, he hoped he could make it all the way into the bed before he fell asleep.

Ninety minutes later he was still tossing and turning, and had the sheets and blankets so twisted he couldn't have gotten comfortable even if he'd been a snake. Trying to get out of the bed in order to put it back together, he nearly fell to the floor because his feet were tightly tangled in the sheets.

He spent the next fifteen minutes repairing the extensive damage his sleeplessness had caused to the bed linens. Well, five minutes were spent fixing the bed; the other ten were spent mulling over what was causing his unrest. He should've been out like a dead light bulb the second he had hit the sheets. All he managed to come up with was that something was wrong or something was missing. But he couldn't determine just exactly what that something might be.

He was sure it wasn't anything to do with the fact that Bridget wasn't in the bed with him. He'd spent many nights without her being next to him. His job required him to be on the road a lot. Plus, there had been plenty of nights when they had had an argument and one or the other of them would end up sleeping in the family room or the guestroom.

"Nope," he grumbled, "can't be that." Or could it? he silently wondered. He had definitely seen a different side of her earlier that evening. And he had most-definitely liked what he had seen. He'd liked it enough to cause him to jerk off twice in a row, and enough to make him wish she hadn't past out because he had wanted to watch her a bit longer.

He finally decided that Bridget couldn't possibly be the cause of his sudden sleep disorder. But just to be certain, he went downstairs to bring her back to their bedroom. "Besides," he mumbled as he descended the steps, "she shouldn't be sleeping down there dressed like that anyway. The kids might get up before she does. Now that wouldn't be very proper, would it?"




Grant Me A Wish



It didn't take Grand long to figure out that the task he had set out to accomplish was going to be a lot bigger job than he had anticipated, Bridget had no interest whatsoever in waking up enough to walk up the stairs under her own power. But she did find it a bit exciting and even a little romantic when he took her in his arms and lifted her out of her chair.

She nuzzled her face against his neck and even gave him a little kiss on the cheek as he carried her semi-nude body from the family room in his arms.

"Wait a second," she whispered in his ear. "My panties are in there on the floor somewhere."

"No they're not," he replied. "They're already up stairs."

"How'd they get up there?" she whispered, placing a tiny smooch on his ear.

"I took a couple things up stairs first," he lied. "Then I came back down to get you." He didn't want to tell her the truth. He couldn't let her know he'd been downstairs watching her make love to herself in the mirror. Nor could he let her know that when he had left the family room nearly two hours ago, he had taken her panties with him. And he definitely couldn't let her find out what he had done with them. If she ever found out he had put them on his pillow and snuggled them up under his nose as he tried to get to sleep, he'd never hear the end of it.

By the time Grant reached the top of the stairs, carrying Bridget, his body was painfully reminding him that he was not as young as he once was. It took everything he had left in him to make it up the last few steps.

"Why don't you put me down?" Bridget suggested, noticing the obvious strain in his body. "I'm awake enough now to walk." She was also awake enough to realize that her body reeked with the sweet aroma of female sex. She was praying Grant hadn't noticed it.

Even though he wanted very much to do as she had suggested, his male ego, a condition Grant rarely succumbed to, kicked in, and would not allow him to do so. "When a brave knight rescues a fair maiden in distress, he is obligated to carry her in his arms to the safe haven of her bedchamber."

"That may be true for a brave knight in the days of old, but this fair maiden thinks her brave knight has been reading far too many stories about the Knights of the Round Table."

"Tis true, tis true, milady," Grant agreed. "But what must be, must be, and what must be is to see this fair maiden safely in her own bed."

"Oh, how exciting!" Bridget giggled. "And what, pray tell, oh brave knight, will happen to this damsel in distress once her wonderful knight has placed her safely in her bed? Would her brave knight perhaps be seeking a special reward for his services?"

"Right now, the only reward I want is some sleep," Grant was quick to reply, sensing a trap about to close on him. "This rescue stuff's a lot of hard work."

Bridget could almost feel the sweet, playful side of her husband, slipping out of him. This was the Grant she had fallen in love with, but he was also the Grant she had seen so rarely over the last decade, and until tonight, had not seen at all in the last year or so. "Well then, perhaps my knight should rest until his full strength has returned," she cooed, hoping to pull his playful side back around him. "I shall stand guard over thee until the sun is well up to protect thee from disturbance."

"Yeah, you do that," Grant replied. The playfulness and the brave knight were both gone from his voice.

#

A few moments later, Grant had lain Bridget on their bed and pulled the covers up over her shoulders. He had placed her on her side, facing away from his side of the bed. Hurrying around his side of the bed, he grabbed Bridget's panties from his pillow, and stuffed them under it.

Sliding into the bed behind her, Grant did something he hadn't done in years, he snuggled in behind her. Putting one arm around her waist, he pulled her body tight against his.

This had always been Bridget's favorite sleeping position and she missed it sorely. On rare occasions, being in this position had even led to a few of their better sexual encounters. She wiggled her behind tighter against him. She could feel his deflated manhood pressing against her buns. She wiggled again, nothing. No life whatsoever. Maybe another wiggle will wake up his little friend, she thought.

"Would you be still so I can go to sleep," Grant barked.

Oh well, it was a nice thought anyway, Bridget thought to herself, realizing the old Grant was back and the possibility of sex was totally out of the question.

Bridget slowly drifted back to sleep, pleased in one fashion, but disappointed in another. "Good night, Leslie," she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

"What'd you say?" Grant asked, thinking she had said something to him.

Bridget thought fast, realizing what she had said. "I said, 'Good night. Let's get some sleep'," she lied.

"Yeah, good night," Grant said, pulling her a little tighter against his body.

#

The following Friday was Bridget and Grant's twenty-second anniversary and the beginning of one of those rare weekends that the children would be at their grandmother's house for a few days. Bridget and Grant had the whole weekend to themselves. Bridget had decided she would get what she wanted this weekend or die trying.

Grant was downstairs entertaining himself by watching reruns of his favorite TV show, I Dream of Jeanie. Bridget knew it wasn't the show he liked; it was that damn Barbara Eden and the sexy costume she always wore.

Bridget had decided it was time to prepare for an evening of amour. This was to be a weekend Grant would never forget, and if things went right, neither would she. She was a bit worried about something she had done earlier that evening, while preparing a special anniversary dinner for Grant. She had hidden a crushed-up Viagra pill in his food, and covered it with a large pad of butter and plenty of gravy to be sure he didn't taste anything unusual about his favorite food, mashed potatoes. Well, actually, it was two pills. She had done some pretty thorough research into the medication, its possible side effects, and who should not take it. Grant seemed like the perfect candidate for Viagra, but considering his past history of non-existent sexual drive, she figured two pills would be required to achieve the desired effect. She watched as he ate all of his potatoes and heaped on more.

She had gone upstairs to get ready. She began by laying out a sexy outfit she was quite certain would capture her husband's attention and hopefully, his imagination. It was an exact copy of the one worn by the provocative Ms. Eden when she portrayed the genie on the program. There were only a few minor differences in the two outfits; such as the halter-top and shorts the TV genie wore under her ultra-thin see-through costume were missing from Bridget's costume. She had even gone as far as to buy a blond wig and a cute little hat similar to Jeanie's. She had also added a light-pink, satin sash, which rode low on her hips and did an excellent job of concealing that pesky little tummy pouch Grant seemed to hate so much.

If a genie's what Grant wants, then by all means, she'd give him one. Bridget wasn't normally the submissive type, but she had reached the point to where she was willing to try just about anything if it would turn her husband on enough to get a little sexual satisfaction for herself out of the deal. She would pull out all the stops tonight. She had made up her mind that this would be her final effort to get what she so desperately needed from her husband. If she failed this time, she would be forced to seek satisfaction elsewhere, and this was something she didn't like the idea of even thinking about.

After a final check in the mirror to be sure all was in order and a quick scan of her nails to make sure there were no chips in the soft-rose-pedal-pink polish she had applied earlier that morning, she headed downstairs with but one thing on her mind. She was on a mission. Whether by hook, crook, seduction, or rape, she had every intention of getting her brains screwed out before the night was over.

#

Gliding down the stairs, Bridget brushed her fingertips lightly over her nipples. She wanted them standing hard and proud when she confronted Grant. That little bit of finger action wasn't necessary, her nipples were already concrete hard from the anticipation she was experiencing over the long-awaited pleasures she hoped she would finally be enjoying shortly. Her body and her heart wanted to rush downstairs, race into the family room, and jump into Grant's arms. But her mind stayed in control, it knew a more subtle, calculated approach was called for in this instance. With the stealth of a kitten stalking a butterfly Bridget silently slipped through the doorway into the family room.

She stopped cold the second she spotted Grant's reflection in one of the big, wall mirrors. He was laid back in his recliner, watching an episode of I Dream Of Jeanie Bridget was certain had never been aired, at least not on any regular television channel. Bridget stared wide-eyed at the TV screen in near shock when she realized what Jeanie was doing to Colonel Nelson. Finally Jeanie's head raised out of the Colonel's lap and Bridget could see that it wasn't Colonel Nelson's regular Barbara Eden genie, but rather someone trying hard to look like her, almost as hard as Bridget. When the girl's head dropped back into the Colonel's lap and his hard manhood disappeared deep into her throat, his head tilted back and Bridget could see this wasn't the regular Colonel Tony Nelson either. But he was a damn-close look-alike.

Once Bridget was able to force her eyes away from the action on TV, she looked back at Grant's reflection in the mirror. What she then saw was an even bigger surprise. Grant's pants were open, and his hand was slowly working up and down in his lap.

The first thought that popped into Bridget's mind was, talk about beating a dead horse. Then she realized the horse he was beating was a long way from being dead. She had never seen Grant's manhood look so hard or so large. She tried to stop herself, but the words flew from her mouth before she could stop them. "Oh my God!"

Grant bolted upright in his chair like he had just been hit with a thousand volts of electricity. Unsure at the moment whether Bridget's exclamation had been because of what she had seen on the TV or what she had caught him doing, Grant quickly, but nonchalantly as possible, tried to fix his clothing. Maybe he had gotten lucky and she hadn't noticed what he had been doing. Maybe it was what Jeanie was doing that had surprised her. But Grant's embarrassment was very obvious as he tried to cram his still-rigid member back into his pants and it was emphatically refusing to cooperate.

Bridget was enjoying watching him in this predicament, but at the same time, wanted to rush to his rescue. If that little monster of his was that determined not to be denied his due, maybe it was time for her to make her move.

Grant was still trying desperately to get his swollen manhood tucked safely back inside his pants. He couldn't figure out why he was still so hard. Normally, after such an embarrassing incident, his Big Buddy, as he liked to call his penis, would have instantly shrunk to near invisibility.

Bridget slowly walked around in front of Grant's chair and looked down at his lap, then up to his eyes. For the first time in all their years of marriage, she found Grant at a loss for words. He just sat there, staring up at her, his still-hard organ in his hand, refusing to be put away. The look on Grant's face was priceless.

"What the hell are you staring at?" Grant finally barked.

"I am assessing my master's situation," Bridget chirped, with a well-rehearsed imitation of Col. Nelson's cheerful genie.

"My master's sit…" Grant repeated in question, but Bridget cut his question short.

"Perhaps my master would like Jeanie's help," Bridget chirped as she knelt on the floor in front of him.

"Help?" Grant questioned.

Bridget took the question as a plea for help rather than as a question of what kind of help she intended to administer. As she gently pulled Grant's hands away from his lap, Bridget glanced over her shoulder at the TV. She had every intention of doing for her master everything the genie in the movie was doing for hers.

Bridget swallowed hard; oral sex had never been very high on her list of pleasant things to do. But, she repeated her earlier vow, silently in her mind, I'm pulling out all the stops. No holds barred tonight.

In Jeanie's innocent voice, Bridget said, "I think my master's friend is too full to go back into my master's pants. Jeanie would be delighted to empty it for her master."

Grant gasped as Bridget slowly drew his hardness to the very depths of her mouth, just like the genie in the movie was doing to her master. Turning her head only slightly, Bridget could see what was happening on the TV in the mirror beside of Grant's chair. Jeanie slowly drew her head back until Col. Nelson's swollen member almost slipped from between her lips. Then her lovely face sank slowly back into the Colonel's lap until her lips were almost touching his balls before her head started its long, slow return trip back up out of his lap.

As close as Bridget was to Grant, she couldn't actually see just how large his big buddy was at the moment. But from what she could feel of its head in her mouth, and the portion of its shaft her hand was wrapped around, it was huge! She thought about how big and hard it had looked when she had first seen Grant trying to cram it back into his pants a few minutes earlier. She wasn't sure she would be able to take its full length into her mouth like the genie on TV was doing.

How does she do that? Bridget wondered as she felt the large head of Grant's shaft pressing against the back of her throat. And she still had a long way to go to get the whole thing in her mouth. This was going to require a little time, a little practice, a little gagging, a lot of desire to please her man, and a ton of ambition on her part. But determination and desperation were her greatest assets at the moment. After several unsuccessful attempts, Grant's Big Buddy finally broke through the barrier and slipped effortlessly, almost painlessly, deep into Bridget's tight, virgin throat. She thought Grant was going to climb out of his chair when her lips reached the base his fully erect shaft.

"Oh God! Oh shit!" Grant groaned as Bridget's tongue danced around the sensitive glands under the enlarged head of his penis as it slowly slipped from her mouth. Her long, graceful fingers glided up and down it's wet length while the tip of her hot tongue flicked its way down its thick shaft to his excited balls, just like the genie on the TV was doing to her master. Then the Colonel's penis disappeared deep into the genie's throat again. So did Grant's.

Bridget's eyes widened when she saw Col. Nelson's body become rigid as his hips arched from his chair. A deep groan, almost an animal-like growl, rumbled from his throat as he grabbed Jeanie by the back of her head and pulled her tighter into his lap. Bridget could hear soft moans coming from the genie, whose head was now absolutely still, her face buried tight against the Colonel's stomach. The only movement Bridget could see from the TV genie was the frequent contractions of her throat each time the Colonel's body would spasmodically jerk against her.

Bridget became a bit apprehensive when she felt Grant's body rising up to meet her face. She braced herself what she knew was about to come. She wasn't so sure now that she could do this. Plus, there was the fact that she had not yet received any sexual satisfaction for herself. She started to pull away; to try and stop Grant before it was too late.

It was already too late. Grant slipped his strong fingers into her hair and pulled himself deeper into Bridget's throat. "Son-of-a-bitch!" Grant growled as his first jet of hot cum shot deep into Bridget's constricting throat.

Fighting for courage, Bridget automatically swallowed as each massive pulsation from his dick shot another warm jet of his juice into her throat. Each tight contraction of her throat created another pulsation from him, and another contraction from her throat.

Their reciprocating pulses and contractions continued for what seemed like forever to Bridget. But now, she had relaxed and was actually enjoying the pleasure she knew she was giving her master. She was also pleased by the fact that even though each successive pulsation in her throat was growing smaller and weaker, Grant's big buddy was still as big and hard as it had been when it first slipped between her lips. And if Viagra pills were half as good as advertised, he would stay that way for quite a while to come. (Pardon the blatant pun) Definitely long enough for a little satisfaction of her own. She had Grant right where she wanted him now, and she wasn't about to let him off easy. She had waited far too long for a night like this. Mr. Grant and his big buddy had better be ready to put out tonight, and she meant, put out until she was completely satisfied, no matter how long or how many orgasms it took from either of them. Tonight was going to be her night. Grant, his big buddy, and their two nutty friends had better be hanging on for dear life, because they were in for one helluva rough ride tonight.

Grant's body relaxed back down into his chair as Bridget, inch by tantalizing inch, eased his still-hard member from between her lips. His breath seized momentarily in his chest when the tip of her searing tongue flicked its way around his inflated penis head a time to two, just to make sure she still had his full, undivided attention.

"Jesus Christ, Bridget! Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

Bridget said nothing, but a sexy smile and a thumb over her shoulder toward the TV answered his question. She knelt there before Grant for awhile, slowly stroking his still-excited manhood. Grant seemed to be enjoying her continued attention.

Sensing it was time for a little more role-playing, Bridget gently squeezed the puffy head of his penis. Grant groaned softly.

"What is wrong?" Bridget-Jeanie whispered. "Did I not satisfy my master? His big buddy still does not seem to wish to be put away."

"Oh yes, you satisfied him just fine," Grant replied. "But for some reason, he doesn't seem ready to give up yet."

Bridget knew the reason, but she wasn't about to tell him. There was no telling what his reaction might be if he ever found out she had secretly fed him Viagra, especially a double dose.

"What does my master wish me to do now?" Bridget-Jeanie softly asked.

The answer to that quickly became very apparent when, without words, Grant jumped up from his chair, grabbed her around the waist, and almost slammed her facedown across the arms of the chair. Her face was only inches from the mirror; too close to see the reflection of the TV in it. But she didn't need to see what was happening on the TV. She had a pretty good idea what was happening when she heard the TV genie squeal and a moment later, felt the lower portion of her costume slide down over her legs and feet. A second later, she felt Grant suddenly sink up to his balls between her widely spread thighs.

The look of surprise and sudden, unexpected pleasure on the face of the woman in the mirror right in front of Bridget's eyes was wonderful. Bridget gasped for breath as Grant withdrew and quickly slammed even deeper toward the very center of her being. The look on the face of the woman in the mirror grew sexier with each successive stroke rammed into her.

"We got 'em now, Leslie," Bridget whispered.

Leslie's only replied was a sweet moan each time the man standing behind her slammed his big, swollen member deep into her, matching Grant stroke for stroke into the depths of Bridget.




Grant Me A Wish



Grant's hands gripped Bridget by her shoulders, holding her body tight against his gyrating hips as he pushed himself as deep and as hard as he could into her begging womanhood. Leslie's lover was holding and pounding into her the same way.

Bridget saw Leslie's mouth fly open and heard an unrestrained, out-of-control scream in the same instant the entire world exploded deep inside of her own body. Grant's hands slid down to Bridget's narrow waist, holding her behind tight against his groin. The movement of his powerful hips had come to an abrupt halt. His hardness was pressing deeper inside of her than she could ever remember it being. And it was blasting round after round of his wonderful hot juices straight into her very soul. Each time his long shaft would jump and shoot another round into her, her insides would respond with another wave of pleasure radiating throughout her convulsing body.

The beautiful Leslie seemed to be suffering the same delightful fate. Bridget desperately wanted to kiss Leslie's warm, pink lips as their masters were exploding inside each of them and their own bodies were erupting in response. Grant could hear Bridget whispering, "Leslie, I love you," as he watched her straining her neck to reach her reflection in the mirror. He eased her forward slightly, and came again with renewed vigor as he watched his wife softly kissing the girl in the mirror, their tongues slowly dancing together against the cold, hard glass.

Grant had no clue what it was all about, except that it really turned him on to watch Bridget and whoever this Leslie girl was she was seeing in the mirror.

Bridget tilted her hips upward slightly to allow better penetration when she felt Grant moving inside her again just before he sent her screaming into Leslie's open mouth as another round of ecstasy racked her insides. Huge waves of pleasure crashed against each other all through her body as Grant and her merged together in orgasmic bless the likes of which they had never before achieved.

Bridget's arms flew out to embrace Leslie as their moments of pleasure peaked at nearly unbearable heights. Leslie's hands met Bridget's halfway. Their lips met again. Their tongues slipped around each other. The two women remained in their handholding embrace, moaning and groaning, until Bridget saw the man behind Leslie collapse on top of her. She suddenly felt Grant's weight ease comfortably down over her own body.

Bridget could tell Grant was exhausted and spent. But she could also feel his Big Buddy still deep inside of her, and he definitely didn't seem interested in calling it a night yet.

She looked up at Leslie in the mirror. "Whataya think, Leslie. Can we get one more good run outta these guys before they pass out from exhaustion?"

Leslie just smiled. Enough said. Bridget smiled back.

Grant rested atop his wife, wondering who Leslie really was and why Bridget was talking to her in the mirror. But at the moment, he really didn't care; he could feel his desire returning with renewed energy. He wasn't sure if the rest of his body was going to be able to handle it or not, but his Big Buddy was more than ready to finish the job properly.

Grant tried to get up off of Bridget, but his body wasn't quite ready to comply with his wishes.

Bridget smiled at Leslie again. "I guess it must be our turn. The boys seem to be a bit worn out."

Leslie grinned in agreement and both women began squirming their way out from under their respective man. Both groaned with disappointment when they felt their lover's still-hard shafts slipping out of them. But they both knew, it wouldn't take them long to get those nice big, excited things right back where they belonged, deep in the heart of the matter.

#

Once Bridget was out from underneath him, Grant collapsed into his chair and rolled onto his back. Through tired eyes, he looked up at his smiling wife. "What the hell's going on?" He mumbled. "I've never been like this before. I'm still hard as a rock and horny as a three-dicked dog. I don't understand what's wrong."

"Don't worry about it, Master. Your genie will take care of it for you," Bridget-Genie cooed, as she started to climb onto his lap.

"Wait a second," Grant mumbled. "The chair."

Bridget stopped. "What about the chair?"

"It's the wrong way," Grant replied.

"What do you mean?" Bridget asked.

"You won't be able to see Les…" Grant caught himself just in time. He still had no idea who or what Leslie was. And at the moment, he didn't want Bridget to know he even knew she existed. "I mean, I won't be able to see us in the mirror." Grant lied.

"You like watching us make love in the mirror?" Bridget asked.

"Yes, it's very exciting." This time he wasn't lying, except by the word "us," he meant Bridget and Leslie, not Bridget and him.

Bridget climbed from his lap and struggled to turn the big recliner toward the mirror with Grant still in it. But, as earlier stated, determination was on her side tonight and she managed to get it turned so its extended footrest was only a few inches from the mirror. Before she climbed back onto Grant's lap, she carefully pulled the top of her costume off over her blond wig. The cute little hat tumbled to the floor, but the wig stayed put.

Climbing over the arm of chair, Bridget stood above Grant on her knees, straddling his hips, wrapping her fingers around his already-ready-to-rock penis, she began guiding it to its intended target.

"No, no," Grant found the strength to speak.

"Don't you 'no, no' me, Buster," Bridget snapped. "Your big buddy has one more mission to accomplish tonight before you're done!" She continued to ease herself down onto him as she spoke. She gasped when his hardness suddenly sank all the way inside of her wet, slippery, hot tunnel.

"No, no," Grant begged. "I mean, you need to turn around so you're facing the mirror. I want to see your face in the mirror."

"Oh!" Bridget agreed. She tried to turn around without allowing him to slip out of her. It didn't work, but it was no problem to guide him back home as soon as she got turned around. Again Bridget eased back down on his long hard member. She gasped again the moment it passed that little point of restriction and suddenly dove nearly to her heart. At least, that's how deep it felt to Bridget, and isn't that all that really mattered at the moment.

She began to slowly gyrate her hips back and forth. The sensation this movement created in her was fantastic. It felt so wonderful, she could hardly breathe, for the first time in their marriage, Bridget was glad Grant's big buddy was no larger than he was at the moment. She was certain she could take no more. The head of that beautiful monster was gently pressing against the deepest portions of her body as she slowly rocked back and forth.

Feeling her passion rising again, she began to move faster. She smiled at Leslie when she saw Leslie's lover's hands slide over her tummy and gradually work their way up to her breasts. Bridget gasped when she saw his hands gently cup both of Leslie's heaving breasts and tenderly squeeze her swollen nipples between his large fingers. The look on Leslie's face was exquisite. She seemed to be experiencing total pleasure, just like Bridget.

Bridget thought she was as satisfied as humanly possible until the throes of the most intense orgasm she had ever known, suddenly, without warning, raged through her soul. She heard Leslie's wonderful scream, but was unable to force her eyes open enough to watch her during such a powerful moment. Bridget's own moment was just as powerful. This one, she was going to enjoy alone, with Grant. Leslie would just have to enjoy her own excitement for now.

Bridget's attention was completely focused on what her wonderful husband and his delightful big buddy were doing to her body at that instant. And they were doing some delicious things to her. She felt Grant's hands drop from her excited breasts and grab her gyrating hips. She felt his body tighten under her and his hips trying to rise up to meet her. She could feel his hardness deep inside of her, growing even larger and pressing deeper. "Oh my God!" Bridget screamed as their bodies became one. She felt his first spasm jerk so forceful inside her that she couldn't tell how deep it actually was. But she was certain she could feel his hot juices splashing against her heart.

Her heart quickly responded by sending a deluge of her lady cum down over his pulsating member, her straining thighs, and soaked him from waist to thighs. Bridget tried to raise up off of him a little. He was actually too deep inside of her. But Grant held her tight by her now frozen hips. She couldn't move. Her entire body was totally encased in the raptures of Heaven and Earth. Her juices flowed from her in complete abandon, as Grant's big buddy continued to blast away at her heart.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Bridget's body went limp and collapsed back against Grant, who gently cuddled her in his arms, and softly kissed her ear. He took his arms from around her long enough to recline the chair back the rest of the way. As he slipped his arms back around her motionless body, he could feel the final, weak pulsations in his lions and the slow, gentle contractions of her relaxing insides greeting those final spasms.

Grant kissed her cheek as she slowly turned her head to snuggle it against his sweat-covered neck. "I guess you and Leslie have finally had enough," he whispered as he kissed her soft cheek one last time. He wondered how she could lay there on top of him with her legs folded up under her at the knees like that. But she seemed happy, comfortable, and satisfied.

As far as Grant was concerned, he was absolutely delighted. He couldn't move from the wonderful position he was in even if the house caught on fire. He looked at Bridget's beautiful reflection in the mirror. "I hope you're satisfied too Leslie, whoever the hell you are. But I promise you this; mark my words. I will get to know you better. And soon. I think you're the key that will save this marriage. Thank you."

Grant quickly dropped off to sleep, still holding Bridget tight, still deep inside of her.

#

Grant awoke the next morning to the wonderful smell of fresh coffee brewing and bacon frying. He lay stark naked in his chair. He couldn't remember taking his clothes off, nor could he remember his genie doing it for him, and she was gone. His clothing lay in a heap on the floor beside the chair.

Looking down at his now-not-so-big buddy, Grant wondered, had it all really happened, or had it just been some kind of wild, fantastic dream?

When he got up from the chair and started putting his clothes back on, he discovered his body ached all over and his poor, sad-looking, now-shriveled big buddy was as sore as a whipped puppy. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to walk down the hall to the kitchen and those delicious aromas.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he froze in place. A sexy genie-type woman stood at the stove preparing breakfast. He thought to himself with a huge grin, nope, it wasn't a dream!

Easing quietly up behind Bridget, he slipped his arms around her slim waist, gave her a gentle hug, and a light kiss on her exposed shoulder.

Bridget glanced back. "Well, good morning, my handsome master. I was just about to wake you for breakfast. I figured you'd probably be pretty hungry this morning."

"Hungry isn't the appropriate word for how I feel right now," Grant replied.

Bridget snuggled back against him. She was really enjoying the comfort of having her husband's arms around her in such a cuddly manner. It had been years since he'd slipped up behind her and hugged her like this. "Oh, so you're way past hungry and well on you way to malnutrition," she teased.

"Well, I am hungry, but that's not what I was talking about," Grant replied, squeezing her a little tighter.

"Are you feeling okay?" Bridget asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder again, praying he wasn't having some kind of reaction or side effect from the Viagra she had slipped him at supper the night before.

"Oh, I'm feeling fine," he answered with a smile, as his hands slid up to tenderly cup her breasts. "In fact, I'm feeling even better now."

"Oh my!" Bridget exclaimed, pressing her breasts firmly into his gentle, kneading hands. "What's gotten into you?"

"I haven't a clue," Grant replied. "But, I sure hope last night wasn't just a one-shot deal."

"Oh no, you don't have to worry about that," Bridget teased. "I think you probably shot at least three or four times last night. They were all pretty darn good shots too! And I'll tell ya something else, buster, you keep tweaking my nipples like you are right now, I'm gonna demand a rematch, and soon!"

Grant hadn't even realized he was gently rolling her blooming nipples between his fingers. His hands quickly dropped from her breasts.

She grabbed his hands and pulled them back to where they had been. "Hey! I didn't say you had to stop everything! What's wrong, you afraid of a rematch?" Bridget teased.

"I'm not, but I think my big, I mean, my little buddy's plum tuckered out this morning. You gave him one helluva workout last night," Grant answered with his best poor-pitiful-me look.

Bridget turned around in his arms and tried to bend down. "Does my master wish me to kiss it all better for him?"

Grant allowed her to turn around, but at the moment, he wasn't ready for anything she could do while bent over in front of him. He pulled her into his full embrace and pressed his lips to hers. Her arms snaked up around his neck. Her lips parted for his insistent tongue. It was a warm, passionate kiss, reminiscent of the old days when they had first started dating. His tongue slowly explored every inch of her eager mouth.

She finally pulled away from his kiss; she needed air. But more than air; she needed her body to cool down a few hundred degrees. Even though she was quite sore from the fabulous, nearly non-stop pounding he had given her the night before, she quickly found herself aching for more. Also, she didn't want to push Grant too far and ruin the fantastic progress they had made in the last twelve hours. Last night's sex had been even better than it had been on their wedding night, or any other night for that matter.

"You'd better stop that," she joked. "You're gonna cause me to burn your bacon."

"I think you pretty much burnt it up last night," Grant replied, trying to sound serious.

Bridget's hand gently slid up Grant's crotch. "It might have gotten a little over done last night, but I don't think there'll be any permanent disfigurement or scarring."

He grabbed her hand, but didn't pull it away. "Careful there! Big Buddy had a headache this morning."

Bridget could feel a bulge starting to expand in Grant's crotch. "That may by true," she cooed. "But he doesn't seem to mind. Besides, I have some special aspirins just for him. " Her tongue slowly glided over her upper lips.

"Ah, geez, Bridget! Don't do that!" Grant begged.

"Yes, Master," Bridget-genie replied, slipping back into her genie roll.

"And don't start with that, 'yes master' stuff either," Grant ordered.

"Yes, Master. I mean, no Master. Whatever my master wishes," Bridget-genie teased as her hand tightened around the growing bulge in the front of his pants. I think my master is developing a very serious problem."

"Yeah, and the problem is, he's out of ammo and too damn stupid to realize it," Grant replied.

"I don't know," Bridget cooed, "his barrel sure is getting bigger."

"Stop that!" Grant snapped, pulling her hand away.

"Does my master not wish me to check to see if he has ammo or not?" Bridget-genie asked with a sexy grin.

"No, I do not," Grant replied. "Right now all your master wishes to do is eat."

"Yes, Master, right away," Bridget-genie said. Pulling a chair out from the table, she slipped the bottom portion of her genie costume down around her ankles, sat down on the chair, and spread her legs for him. "Okay, your genie is ready now, Master. But please be gentle, Jeanie is very sore down there this morning."

Grant just stood there staring at her for a few moments, his mouth hanging open. "Bridget, quit fooling around. I'm starving."

"I am sorry, my master. Perhaps my master wishes to save this for dessert," Bridget-genie replied as she pulled her costume back on.

"Bridget!" Grant snapped.

"Okay, okay! I was just having a little fun with you," Bridget replied and quickly went about getting their breakfast on the table.

#

A few minutes later they were sitting across the table from each other enjoying breakfast. Grant was finding it difficult to keep his eyes off of Bridget.

"I have to admit, I really like you in that genie outfit," Grant said, sipping at his coffee after he had finished eating. He knew in his heart there was more to it than just the outfit, but he had no idea what it was.

"You just like the idea of being the master," Bridget said.

"Yeah, that's it," Grant agreed with a big grin. "I like being in charge and in control of everything."

"Oh yeah? And just how much do you think you were in charge last night?" Bridget smiled back at him, her eyebrows rose high in question. "I believe, if you think about it, the only one in control, of anything last night was that little friend of yours between your legs."

Grant sat in silence for a moment before he looked down into his lap. "Yeah." He shook his finger at his crotch. "Bad Buddy, bad Buddy! You've got to learn to behave like a gentleman."

Bridget jumped up, ran around the table, knelt beside Grant's chair, and began petting the bulge in the front of his pants like it was a little puppy. "Don't talk mean to him like that," Bridget snapped, looking up at Grant. "He's a nice Buddy. You leave him alone. I like him just the way he was last night." Her eyes turned down to the rapidly growing bulge under her hand. "Don't you listen to him. He's just a mean old man. You just keep acting like you did last night and we'll get along just fine. You'll be my big buddy from now on."

"You know something lady?" Grant said, looking down at his wife. He put his hand under her chin and gently turned her face up toward his. There was a gleam in his eyes Bridget had not seen in many years. "I think you're about half crazy." Leaning forward, he gave her a tiny kiss on her forehead.

Bridget smiled and squeezed the hard bulge in her hand. "I think this big fella drove me way past half-crazy last night."

"Well, if you keep doing what you're doing, you're gonna have to deal with him again this morning," Grant said. He had that look of desire on his face that had been there so many years ago.

"You've got to be kidding," Bridget said. "I thought you said you were sore."

"I am, but he doesn't seem to care. I tell ya the truth; that little bastard has no conscience whatsoever. He wants what he wants when he wants it," Grant replied. "And right now, he seems to want anything you've got for him!"

"I've been trying for years to get that kind of attention from you, and him too," Bridget spoke so softly that Grant could barely hear her as she continued rubbing the ever-expanding bulge in his pants.

"Well, I don't know exactly what you're doing, and to tell the truth, I really don't care at this point. But whatever it is, you've most definitely got our attention," Grant replied.

Bridget said nothing. She knew what she was doing, but she wasn't stupid enough to tell him. She just smiled up at him and continued her gentle massage of the now-full-size protrusion in the front of his pants.

"Would you please stop that?" Grant snapped. "I have a few important matters to take care of today and I can't very well get them done with you hanging on to me like this!"




Grant Me A Wish



Bridget's insides did a flip-flop. The old Grant was back. She had pushed her luck too far and destroyed everything she had worked so hard to accomplish. "Do you really have to leave" she asked, almost pleading. "I thought you were off today."

"I am," he replied. "These aren't work matters I have to take care of. They're personal things I want to do today. I'll only be gone for an hour or so. Then I'll be right back here with you."

"What kind of personal things?" Bridget asked, releasing her grip on his crotch and slowly rising to her feet.

"Just things," he replied. "Nothing you have to worry about."

"But I wanna know," Bridget pressed on.

"You'll know as soon as I get back," Grant replied.

"But…" Bridget started.

"But, nothing," Grant cut her off. "Why don't you get this mess cleaned up while I go get dressed?"

"Yes, my master," Bridget-genie replied with the little curtsy she had seen Jeanie use so many times on TV. "As you command." She began cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

"That's better," Grant chirped as he headed out of the kitchen. "I think I like this master and slave stuff."

#

Several minutes later, Grant returned to the kitchen, wearing a new pair of slacks and a shirt Bridget had bought for him months ago. He had refused to wear them because he didn't like them. He had said she was simply trying to make him look like some kind of young stud or something. He doesn't dress like that. Those hadn't been his exact words, but that was what he had meant. His actual words had been more along the lines of, "You've got shit for taste when it comes to men's clothing. Don't be wasting my hard-earned money on crap like this. If I'm gonna be wearing it, I'll buy it, thank you very much!" He had thrown them at the trashcan, which he had missed by a country mile, and stormed out of the room.

But now, there he stood, wearing the clothes Bridget had picked up from the floor, pressed, and hung in his closet. They had remained there until today.

"Wow! Don't you look sharp!" Bridget exclaimed.

"They do look kinda nice on me, don't they," he agreed.

"Yes they do," she chirped. "I told…"

"I guess I owe you an apology," Grant cut her off.

Bridget stood staring at him. This was a first; Grant Mallory had never in his life apologized to anyone for anything, especially her. "Say what?" she asked. "I know I didn't hear what I thought you just said."

"I'm sorry, Baby, I've been such an ass over the last couple of months," Grant spoke in one of the softest, most-sincere voices Bridget had ever heard him use.

Once she regained herself, she started to say; don't you mean, "years"? But she kept her mouth shut. She wasn't going to be dumb enough to ruin a beautiful moment like this.

Stepping up to her, he gave her a hug and a brief kiss. "I'll be back in an hour or so," he said, turning to leave.

"You can't go out of the house looking like that. You're ruining the lines of those slacks some poor designer spent hours trying to get just right," she said, trying to conceal a giggle as she pointed down to the huge bulge still protruding in the front of his pants.

"Damn, Big Buddy!" Grant barked. "What the hell's wrong with you? Ain't you got no respect for a lady?"

Bridget couldn't restrain her giggles any longer.

Grant looked back at her. "I don't understand," he sounded so confused. "He shouldn't be acting like this. His stupid ass should be dead today. But it's like a magnet every time I get near you. "Boing!" I can hear the little bastard panting for you! What am I gonna do?"

Bridget, in her best obedient-genie manner, slowly knelt in front of Grant. "Nothing," she replied as she eased his zipper down and relieved his slacks of their burden. "A problem like this requires the magic touch of a genie. Does my master not know this?"

Grant gasped as the tip of Bridget's tongue swirled around the tightly closed orifice in the end of his aching manhood. "God, that feel's so nice," Grant moaned. "But be careful. He's pretty sore from last night."

"Yes, Master," Bridget-genie whispered just before her tongue slowly slid over the sensitive nerve under the swollen head of his excited shaft.

"Oh, Christ!" Grant gasped. "That's fantastic!" Another gasp followed the first as her tongue past over that nerve on its return trip.

Bridget stopped long enough to make Grant step back a few steps so he could lean back against the kitchen counter. His legs had already become wobbly with pleasure. But as he moved back the two or three steps to reach the counter, Bridget walked on her knees toward him, refusing to relinquish the tight grip her right hand held around the base of his hard shaft. The moment he leaned back, her tongue resumed its slow, nerve-racking pace back and forth over that special nerve.

Gradually, she allowed just the head of his penis to slip between her lips. But the tip of her tongue continued to tease that nerve.

"No, No!" Grant gasped. "Just your tongue! Keep doing that thing with your tongue!"

Bridget pulled back enough to allow the head of his hardness to slip from her lips. Her searing tongue curled around his shaft and continued sliding up and down that delicate spot. With nothing but her fingers wrapped around the base of his manhood, and her tongue dancing under its enraged head, Bridget felt his body began to tremble. His moans became louder and deeper. His hips began arching forward. Bridget knew he was about to erupt. She quickly sucked the head back into her mouth and braced herself for what she knew was about to come.

Grant suddenly jerked his hips back, pulling himself out of her mouth. "No, please! Don't put it in your mouth. Just use that wonderful tongue of your! That feels unbelievable!"

Bridget's grip tightened around the base of his shaft and her tongue swirled in tiny circles around that one little spot under its engorged head.

Grant's hips arched toward her again. His legs began to shake. His body began to tremble. "Oh my God!" He groaned in deep, barely understandable words. Bridget wasn't sure what she should do at that instant. She started to move her face out of the line of fire.

"Oh God no, honey! Don't stop, please don't!" Grant begged as the first spasm caused his hard shaft to jerk in her hand. It also caused the first jet of his hot cum to shoot over her still busy tongue and deep into her open mouth. The second jet splashed against her cheek and slowly oozed down her face.

This all seemed to excite Grant just that much more. As the third jet sprayed across her chin, Bridget grabbed the top of her genie costume with her left hand and pulled its wide, elastic neckline down under her breasts. She quickly wrapped that hand around his erupting manhood where her tongue had been. She gently stroked him while she aimed his next jet of cum directly against one of her hard nipples. Her breath seized in her lungs as Grant's hot jet hit her nipple at point blank range. His next spurt blasted against her other nipple.

Bridget smiled up at her husband's pleasure-stricken face and continued gently stroking his pulsating shaft, allowing his thick, warm juices to splatter across her excited breasts. A narrow ribbon of his cum trickled its way down between them.

Releasing her grasp from around the base of his still pulsating shaft, Bridget idly toyed with the thick wads of cum clinging to her sensitive nipples. But her other hand continued its slow gentle massage over the spurting, enlarged head of his shaft.

When she felt the spasms of his manhood finally diminishing, Bridget's fingers left her sticky nipples and slipped into her mouth. Once they were cleansed, they slipped across her chin and up her cheek, gathering more of Grant's deposit as they went. Her fingers required another cleansing in her mouth after that.

Grant could not take his eyes off of Bridget as she carefully licked her fingers clean of his juices. He had never seen anything so erotic. Well, that was until she took his now-flaccid, cum-covered manhood into her mouth and gently sucked it dry, milking it for every last drop. She then licked him completely clean, while he rested against the counter, ready to collapse into a pile in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Once Grant's now little buddy was clean, Bridget gently placed it back inside Grant's pants and carefully zipped them up. As she rose from her kneeling position in from of her spent husband, Bridget gave his crotch a little pat. "There now, that should keep him happy long enough for you to go do whatever it is you've go to do." Bridget grinned. All Grant could manager to say was, "That was incredible."

Bridget picked up a dishtowel, handed it to Grant, and pointed down at her cum-splattered breasts. "I think, since my master made this mess, my master should clean it up."

Grant cautiously cleaned the result of Bridget's activity off her still-excited breasts. He took extra care to be sure her hard nipples were clean. Once his mission was accomplished, he leaned over and gave each of them a tender, but brief kiss.

"Maybe I'll give them a little more attention when I get back," Grant said with an almost evil grin as he gently pinched them both.

Bridget let out a soft moan and whispered, "Maybe that's a good idea."

"Dammit! I've gotta get outta here!" Grant snapped. "Big Buddy's on the rise again, for Christ's sake! I'll be back as soon as I can."

A quick smooch and Grant was out the door. Bridget stood staring at the closed door for several moments. Her mind raced over the past twenty or so hours, and all the fantastic sex she and Grant had shared in that small span of time. But the biggest thing on her mind was the unbelievable change that had suddenly come over Grant.

After fixing herself a cup of coffee, she sat down at the table to think things over. She hadn't noticed that her breasts were still exposed until she saw her reflection in the chrome toaster sitting on the table. Looking down at her chest, she started to pull the elastic neck of her top out from under her breasts. That's when she saw the shiny trail Grant's cum had made as it oozed down between her breasts. At the end of that trail, where her cleavage met, lay a small glistening pool of creamy-white cum, stuck to her breasts. Reaching for a napkin, she started to wipe it off, but the taste of his juices lingered in her mouth. Her hand stopped just before the napkin reached its intended target. She suddenly realized that for the first time in her life, she found the taste of it pleasant and even a bit exciting. She had never enjoyed it on the few rare occasions during the first year or so of their marriage when she had let him cum in her mouth. And she had never, before last night, swallowed it. Of course, last night she'd had little choice but to swallow it since he had been so deep inside of her throat when he came. And she hadn't actually tasted that, other than a little as he slowly withdrew from her mouth, leaving a few drops on her tongue in the process. She remembered liking the taste suddenly and swallowing it. She also remembered wanting more.

During this morning's encounter in the kitchen, she had brought him off strictly using only her tongue. His first ejection had been a massive jet right onto her tongue and deep into the back of her open mouth. She had found both the taste and the sensation delightful. That was why she had licked her fingers clean after using them to wipe Grant's sticky cum from her face. And then she had even used her tongue to clean Grant up after he had finished spraying his hot juices all over her.

The napkin fell from her hand and fluttered to the floor. A moment later, her fingers were carefully scooping at the sticky pool laying in her cleavage. Her fingers made several trips from the disappearing pool to her eager tongue.

When Bridget had completed her delightful task she started to take a sip of her coffee as she reminisced over how that tasty little pool of Grant's cum had gotten between her breasts. A shiver raced up her back when she thought again about Grant's first shot blasting against her tongue.

The coffee cup ended up sitting untouched on the table. Bridget forwent the coffee in favor of the salty taste of Grant's juices still tantalizing her taste buds.

Finally, the taste of cool coffee rushed across her tongue. She looked at her reflection in the chrome toaster and whispered, "Don't worry Leslie, we'll get more tonight." She watched Leslie's tongue slide over her upper lip. Bridget could almost hear Leslie reply, "Yeah, I bet there's plenty more where that came from."

"He darn sure don't seem to be running dry," Bridget replied. "And can you believe how horny he is? It's like he just can't get enough."

"Maybe he was just trying to make up for lost time," the reflection said.

"Can you believe two little pills could've had that much effect on Grant?" Bridget asked her reflection.

"We should've done this a long time ago," Bridget heard from the toaster.

"It sure wouldn't made life a lot better," Bridget agreed.

"Don't you think you should cut the dosage in half?" the reflection in the toaster suggested.

"Are you nuts?" Bridget snapped. "We've never had it so good! The man can't seem to get enough!"

"My point exactly," Leslie replied. "Either the boys are gonna end up in the hospital from complete exhaustion and probably dehydration, or we're going to end up in a wheelchair because we're gonna be too damn sore to walk."

"Spoil sport," Bridget barked at the toaster. "Didn't you enjoy all of that fantastic sex?"

"Of course I did. It's been a long time," Leslie replied. "But you really can get too much of a good thing, and I think two pills are too much."

"We'll see," Bridget agreed. "Maybe I'll just slip him one next time."

"Maybe you shouldn't give him any for a while," Leslie suggested. "Let's see how long it takes to get it all out of his system."

"But I don't want it completely out of his system," Bridget said. "I like him all hot and hard all the time."

"Last night, the boys weren't just hot. They were on fire," Leslie said. "And they were still that way this morning."

"Okay, I get the message," Bridget said. "I'll take it easy until we get this all figured out right.

#

Grant was gone for almost four hours. Bridget, fresh out of the bath, sat at the kitchen table in her terrycloth robe when he came in the back door laden with several large bags and packages.

"What on Earth is all of this?" she asked as she helped Grant with his burden. "Just a few things I picked up while I was out," he replied.

"A few things?" Bridget snapped. "No, this isn't just a few things! A few things, to you, can be carried home in one bag. This looks more like one of my spending sprees."

"Well, you're sort of right," he agreed. "Actually, all of this stuff is for you."

"What?" Bridget gasped in surprise.

"Well, it's kinda for me too," he corrected. "Here, let me show you," he started opening the packages.

By the time they had finished opening everything, there was a wide selection of female super hero and fictional TV character costumes strewn about the kitchen. He had bought almost every character outfit Victoria's Secret had to offer. There was an outfit from every female from Amazon Woman to Xena, the Warrior Princess, which happened to be the one he was holding up when he said, "Here, go try this one on for me."

"So! That's it!" Bridget exclaimed, taking the Xena outfit from him. "It's the fantasy part of it that's turning you on so much."

Grant stood quietly staring at Bridget for a few moments before he replied. "Yes. I guess I would have to say part of it is. But there's a lot more to it I just simply don't understand. I suddenly find myself unable to get enough of you. The moment I enter a room you're in, Big Buddy gets harder than the pecker on a wooden hobbyhorse. All I wanna do is jump your bones. And I also have to admit that I found the Genie and Master thing very exciting. But there's a lot more. I just haven't figured it all out yet. Now would you please try that costume on for me?"

"Sure thing, Stud Muffin," Bridget teased. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Would you mind putting all these outfits back in their boxes while I change? I have a feeling that by the time we're finished this evening, neither of us is gonna have enough energy to pick it up." Bridget flashed her sexiest come-hither smile and pranced out of the kitchen, carrying her new Xena, Warrior Princess outfit.

#

When Bridget strutted back into the kitchen a short time later, she found Grant sitting at the table with all the packages repacked and neatly stacked on the table. "Wow! That's hot!" Grant stared wide-eyed. "Me like!"

"So you like the idea of a little fantasy in our life, do you?" Bridget said, strolling right up to him.

Grant sat; quietly eyeing her scantily clad body up and down. The outfit she was wearing was cut like, and fit better than the costume worn by Lucy Lawless on the TV series, Xena, Warrior Princess. The main difference was the thinner, more-clingy fabric Bridget's was made of. It was definitely much more revealing than the one worn by Lucy Lawless. Grant could feel his Buddy between his legs already taking notice of the sexy creature standing before him.

"Did the wonder-bra bustier come with this outfit, or was that something you added?" Bridget asked, looking down at her now-bulging cleavage.

"I think it added a nice touch," Grant replied.

"How on Earth did you come up with the right sizes?" Bridget asked.

"That was the easy part," Grant said, obviously pleased with his ingenuity. "As soon as I mentioned the fact that you were always ordering stuff from their catalog, it was simply a matter for them to pull up all your sizes on their computer."

"Well, ain't you the smart one," Bridget teased.

"That's why I get the big bucks," Grant replied.

"I thought you got the big bucks because you're the boss," Bridget said.

"Well, that too." Grant grinned.

"Well, let me tell you something buster! That ain't the way things are around here," Bridget barked.

"Huh?" Grant was taken back by the sudden change in Bridget's attitude.

"Don't 'Huh' me you little weasel," Bridget snapped. "I ain't that little wimpy Jeanie bitch you were humping and humiliating last night and this morning. This is Xena, Warrior Princess, you're screwin' with now, you worthless piece of cow dung. You don't speak until you're spoken to and you'll do exactly as you're told! Is that understood?"

Bridget had a hard time keeping a straight face. The astonished look on Grant's face was worth a thousand bucks. His look said everything from; this is not what I had in mind, to; you've got to be kidding! Finally he mumbled something she could barely hear.

"Speak up dirtball! I can't hear you!" Bridget barked.

This time, he mumbled a bit louder, "Yes, my Princess."

"Don't look at my face when you talk to me," she barked. "You are not worthy of that privilege. You will look no higher than my cleavage. Is that also understood?"

"Yes, my Princess," Grant mumbled, staring at Bridget's stacked cleavage.

"Good. Then as long as you obey all of my rules, we'll get along just fine," Bridget said, standing with her feet apart and her hand on her hips.

"Are there any other rules I should be aware of?" Grant quietly asked.

"How dare you look into my eyes, you worthless bag of crap! I'll cut your eyes out!" Bridget barked.

Grant's eyes dove back to her chest. "Yes, my Princess."

"There is only one main rule; you'll do as I say, when I say, and exactly as I say. You will obey my commands without question and without hesitation," Bridget-Xena stated. "Any other rules will be made up as the need arises. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"