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Anticipation

What was once a disturbing idea to her has now become the ultimate pleasure.
I've been ready for this. Ready and waiting anxiously allday. Since my lunch break when He said, “You up for it, tonight?” Planted smoothly after some drab political joke and comment on the weather. The warmth of His voice emanating that casual coolness. That laid back tone and easy going demeanor. A crisp, deep vocal hue that could put a rabid dog to sleep. Lulling and calm.

Deceptive.

This is the excitement of it. The multi-layered illusion of our sex-life. To anyone else we could have be talking about - anything. We could have been talking about going to a movie, there’s a really good new rockumentary out now. Or folding the laundry that we were too tired to finish last night after getting home from late evening church. Even repairing the cracked tiles in the kitchen floor where the joist needs to be sistered and the floor has dipped.

But we weren’t.

Oh God we weren’t talking about any of those things.

“Of course I’m up for it.” Was my answer but I really want to groan out, “Oh fuck yes, Baby, I’m up for it,” but I don’t because that violates the illusion. That takes away the unspoken knowledge and naughtiness that’s spread on the top like icing on a cake and buried deep on the inside like a cream filled puff pastry.

Surrounded by employees and coworkers and all that office packaging I can’t tell Him how wet it makes me. He already knows. He knows - that’s why He brings these this up at inopportune times. One time He even called me during a meeting knowing that my station was just on the other side of the glass. Any body language other than my collected business demeanor would have been shamed even when he set my skin on fire and a violent rush of slickness to my pussy.

He toys with me and how excited I get, which only gets me more excited. I’m like a wind-up play toy. The tighter I’m twisted the longer I go.

He loves that, Oh God He loves that so much about me. We’re perfect for each other.

I’m not the only one, and I know that. He’s likely fighting a painful erection, thankful for a jacketed business suit. Oh, I know He is. I know it. That makes it all the more worthwhile to me. I’m not the only one.

He knew what He was doing. I had a booked afternoon. While it should irritate me that He plays with my libido this way it never does. Not in the slightest. The fact that I had eight hours to go, two group meetings, one teleconference, and one newspaper interview, the ride home, some light cleaning and dinner to prepare only seemed like a series of obstacles to maneuver around. Hurdles in the path.

Wet, slippery, distracting obstacles.

Nothing is as wet as my pussy by one-o’clock, not the condensation on the water cooler of the inside of the bathroom sink as I try to dissipate the flush that's raced to my cheeks. I’m fighting the urge to skip into the stall and masturbate to relieve the tension. He’d know. That would destroy the fun in all of this. Heavens knows I want my reward at the end of this very long day.

Instead, I plaster my business smile on my face, thrust myself into the world of acquisitions and legal ramifications. I answer questions, push my view and state my case. All throughout this; my intense and painful arousal only makes me feel acutely alert of everything going on around me. Like a drug to my system. It heightens my senses. The gurgle of the water cooler through the closed door. The distant buzz of the air-conditioner.

My pulse begins to race during my second meeting. My secretary has the habit of twirling her fingers through her hair. Though we’re separated by twenty feet and a wall of glass and several ferns - its most distracting. She’s actually quite attractive, I always felt she was so much more together than I ever was. Her long caramel hair so smooth and together. Gliding delectably through her fingers as she winds the strands around and around. It’s moments like that when I wonder why I’m not a lesbian, as she twirls and bobs that black stiletto off of her toes.

Once I realized I was too lost in thoughts of what she would taste like I pulled myself back. Back to the meeting, back to work. It’s OK that I think those thoughts, He likes to hear about my fantasies and I imagine it thrills Him entirely that I never fancy to let my lustful mind wander to the other men at work.

Why would I? They couldn't possibly offer me anything that He does – such as tonight. Oh, the promise of tonight.

The afternoon dragged on, fielding the unknown and unplanned. I try not to think about it but the lewd way that my now slickened thighs are rubbing together makes that entirely impossible.

It’s beyond pain by four-o’clock. It’s practically torture to have my breasts hoisted and confined in this ungodly brazier. When I get up to gather the day’s reports from my printer and file them away my knees are shaking. These too-high heels add five-inches to my petite 5-foot height. Yet they don’t help me at all once I start to become unhinged like this. They turn walking gracefully with the right about of sway into a difficult task.

I’m relieved to finally make it to my car. The walk was cruel and unusual punishment, the slickness between my thighs having worked its way down my legs. My muscles having grown weak and shakey. That’s what He wants, though. He wants to see it all, smell it. The evidence.

In the car I fight the urge to squirm. Forever trying to keep it contained, to dull my body’s senses. The leather of the seat doesn't help. Neither does the DJ’s voice on the radio as he drones aimlessly on about some under-appreciated symphony.

Dinner tonight is sweet onion stew. His favorite. It’s simple. Simple but the way His eyes light up as He takes the first bite I know He’s finding its simplicity to be heavenly. I don’t fish for compliments and comments, it’s unnecessary. All that I never need is to look at his response, His greed, and know I've pulled it off just right.

We’re the same way.

All throughout dinner we say nothing of the end of the night. It’s nearing seven-o’clock and having Him, His smell, His presence so close to me has sent a tingling current under my skin. Like I've been plugged into an electric outlet and I’m radiating waves of energy. My heart is racing, my skin is flushed and hot. The steam from the soup isn't helping to tamp it down, it's just bringing it to the surface. The flesh of my cheeks are now moist from the humidity of it, my tongue stinging slightly from the spices. My entire body is tense, my pussy is so swollen and throbbing that if I just squeeze a little and rock slightly in my chair I could get myself off.

So I don’t.

Oh no. Because I want Him to do it with what I know He’s going to do. Because He’s going to do it so well.

Then, it’s nothing but a spike in anticipation and a sweet tang of relief when He says, “I’ll clean up. Why don’t you take it easy?”

That earns him a modest peck on the cheek and a sweet thank you. We’re two casual, simple lovers in a traditional, respectable relationship. Others could likely imagine that we were entirely celibate with how well contained we are.

He always keeps up the illusion. It’s part of the fun. Only letting the façade slip once we’re in our room together and the door is shut. Knowing what’s to come drives my excitement even higher. My hands are shaking as I fumble for the doorknob. Once inside I immediately kick off the tortuous heels and undo my zipper, wriggle my bra off and flop down on the bed. Stretch my limbs and flex my toes.

I can’t stay like this, though.While He’s clearing the table and washing the dishes I do have a small bit of time to let loose and smooth out the uncomfortable kinks that have worked their way into my body. Only, there’s no real salvation from this. I’m cooking on the inside. Simply cooking and boiling away in my own rude little trollop stew. Creamy, wet and well-seasoned. I know what He’s going to do with that, too. He’s going to enjoy me like I’m some sort of after dinner desert, all perfect to look at. So perfect He'll deny a taste, He'll just enjoy the sight of a dish well prepared and served properly.

Shaking legs and frantic fingers. It’s a struggle to lay still.

By the time the faucet shuts off my shoes are back on my feet, re-zipped, and I’m laying on my back - prone on the bed. Already breathless and wrung out like I've run a race.

The soft thud of footsteps echo down the hallway, I’m shaking violently now. I’m on the edge of it being almost too much. Too intense. Too difficult.

I've been ready for this. Ready and waiting anxiously all day. Since my lunch break...

I don’t know where my fear comes from but when He finally opens the bedroom door I have to snap my eyes shut. I can’t look at him. It’s too unnerving, seeing Him while I’m so out of control. It’s like our familiarity has dissolved and we’re strangers meeting for the first time.

Or two horny teens fucking frantically for the first time. Sloppy, messy and entirely ignorant and out of control.

I don’t need to see. I can sense Him in the air, feel His breath and hear His racing pulse. He needs this just as much as me. Fuck, I can taste Him on my tongue. A musky boldness, spiced vanilla and skin.

My body’s tensed and on edge. My mind full of needless curiosities. What is He going to do? Though I already know. What does He want? I already know that, too. No matter how many times we've done this exact thing it still feels like the first time. It’s nothing I've ever gotten used to. Knowing what comes next might actually make the anticipation worse. I know it’s coming, I just have to get there.

I can hear Him shifting as He walks to the foot of the bed. Even though I know it’s coming I can’t stop the shaky gasp that slips from my lips as his warm, firm hands touch my calves.

It’s an innocent touch. One that an old lady might give to her best friend while helping her hike up her stockings. Yet His touch isn't that of some old spinster. His touch is soft only when He wants it to be soft. Teasing and light only when He wants it to be. That makes it all the more exciting, then, when He slowly runs the palms of His hands up my calves, over my knees, and so … so slowly over the meat of my thighs.

I know He feels it, now. An almost inaudible groan rattles in His throat. My soaked pantyhose are on display now with the bright, slickness showing so lewdly. It’s probably already worked its way down to the bedspread underneath me, leaving a puddle. Stained into the fabric.

It’s all His fault and He knows it.

I’m shower wet purely because He asked if I was up for it tonight.

His hands finally make their way to the top of my pantyhose, just under the band of my skirt. He grips lightly and slowly peels them downward. His fingernails scraping lightly against my skin, sending a strange mixed signal to my brain of a tickled pain.

He stops as they're bunched just under my knees. That’s all He wants, all He needs. It’s not all, it’s just enough. It’s on the edge of being discrete, like a quick frantic fuck over the office desk – no time to get undressed. No reason for it. Just enough.

Slowly, I turn myself over, hiking my skirt up around my waist, baring myself to him. My ass cheeks nice and round, arching my back to press my tits into the mattress, scooting my knees forward to angle my ass into the air. The cool air rushing over my wet heat, the sensitive swollen flesh of my pussy can’t handle much of this. He reaches out with one hand and gingerly strokes the round of my ass as He makes his way up towards me on His knees. I can feel the bed sink and dip with His weight.

My legs are shaking, my entire body is quivering.

He lightly cups my soaked sex with his hand, a gentle pressure. Avoiding my clit entirely, just rubbing his hand around in a little circle. Spreading my juices over and between his fingers. The sound in this quiet room of ours is so loud and intrusive. It echoes like a voice. Slick wetness - almost offensive. It only turns me on even more. It turns us both on. He waves his hand in the air to cool the wetness before quickly sliding two fingers in my aching pussy.

It’s glorious but still just a tease. He has a lot to do to get me ready. The night has only just started.

I clench tight around His fingers to feel their size, the roughness to His knuckles and invasiveness of their length. He spreads His fingers, twisting and twisting as He thrusts them in and out with a steady, slow rhythm.

Things will only get more intense but I moan out for Him, anyway. It feels too good to pretend otherwise as He slips a third finger in, twisting and twirling, curling and stroking as He pumps slowly in and out.

When His fourth finger slips in I grip the pillow. My moans getting louder, more sporadic. His breath is quick and uneven, now. He’s imagining what He’s going to do next, getting Himself worked up in His mind.

A gentle snap sounds out in the room; the lid of the lubricant popping open. A moment later a cold trickle seeps down between the cheeks of my ass, biting coldly at my pink hole. The hot and cold contrast makes me hiss and groan. My arms are shaking, my stomach is now pressed firmly into the mattress, my ass now raised like a mountain of flesh. A ripe, round fruit.

He gives my pussy one last firm thrust of his fingers before pulling them out slowly. So slow. Like a torture. I need them. I need them in me, filling me, spurring me on. God, I need them in my ass so much it hurts to want and want and not have.

He’s silent for a moment, He wants me to beg. Until I do He’ll sit there, eyeing my lush asshole as I shake and shudder underneath Him.

I tried to wait Him out once before and it was pointless torture. I give Him what He needs quickly, what I need quickly, “Fuck my ass with your fingers, baby. Please.”

“Just my fingers?”

“No!” I cry out, my need becoming frustration with Him as He lengthens out this part of the game.

“Fist me! I need you to fist my asshole to make me cum! Please!”

“That’s my girl. That’s what I need to hear. You like my fist in your ass?”

“God, yes!” I cry out as He sinks one single wet finger into my ass.

“Tell me, I want to hear you,” His voice now taken with pleasure. He loves this as much as I do, watching as the puckered flesh of my ass is slowly stretched until it’s smooth and slick.

“I love the way your finger feels sliding in and out of my ass.”

In reward I’m given another finger, He twists and scissors them inside my ass, loosening me up and stretching me little by little. With every thrust forward He brushes my pussy with his other fingers, just a slight touch that makes me clench every time.

“That feels so good, your fingers in my ass with the other ones on my pussy. Stretching me just little.”

He pulls his fingers out before sinking in three. A tight little triangle intruding into my rectum. It’s so lewd and inappropriate I should be ashamed. He should be, too, but we’re not.

He pumps them in and out just a bit faster, giving me a little bit more of what I always need. Once all the way in He give me a few slight, quick pushes with His hand fully pressed against my stretched skin.

“Fuck, baby," I rasp out between clenched teeth, "That feels so incredibly fucking good. You like that? You like my hot, tight asshole wrapped around your fingers?”

The shakiness in my body and voice is replaced with urgency, a desperation to take all of him in and get off. Get off while He gets off watching me come undone.

“Please, I need it. I can’t wait anymore.”

He ignores me this time, though. Continuing his pace, the rhythmic piston pumping in and out. My legs begin to sting from the burn of holding myself like this or too long. My chest is aching from the dry, heaving breaths that are sawing through me. But my physical discomforts are nothing. Nothing at all compared to how it feels.

So wrong. So viciously wrong to need and want it this much. But I do, oh, God. I do. I love it, want and need it so much it’s impossible to describe.

I imagine what I look like now, what He sees as He shifts, pressing his solid cock against my hip, a scandalous, deep groan escapes from Him again. His other arm wrapping around my lower back to hold me in place. Soon, I think, soon He’ll give me what I really need.

I envy the view He’s getting of my round ass spread wide, him driving his fingers into me. My greedy body sweaty, pulsing but needing more. So much more.

Finally, it’s a relief when finally He slip his fourth finger into my loosened ass. The slickness of my pussy dripping to his thigh that is now firmly planted between my legs. Not quite yet making contact with my drenched pussy but He will. Soon enough. I know it’s coming but that doesn't stop me from begging for it.

“Please? Please. Please, please please…” I chant it as if it’s going to compel him to hurry to the best part. It doesn't, though, it never does. He’ll get there when He gets there.

“I can’t yet, Baby, you’re not ready for me, yet,” He says with that deep rasp He gets when He’s closing in on His own peak.

I know I am, though, I can tell I’m ready. He’s almost there. Just His thumb and them His palm... I can see it in my mind, my hole stretched impossibly wide, nice and red from so much use just as the thick of His palm passes through. Then my ass will slip tightly closed around his wrist once He’s all the way in.

I grip the pillow tighter in my fists, biting on the fabric, now. I spread my legs a little to try to bring myself closer to his waiting thigh. When I do I’m rewarded with the glorious pressure of His thumb now slipping in with His fingers. He quickens His pace. I’m so close now, I can feel it. I’m almost to the edge of my orgasm.

“Fuck, Baby," I whine out with need and want and urgency, "Fuck me all the way. I’m so fucking close. So close. Don’t stop.”

I say that as if He will but He never will. He would never stop and leave me unsatisfied.

Then, oh then it’s the most amazing sound ever. I can’t see it but I know He’s doing it. I can feel it with His change in posture and rhythm of his fingers in me, hear it in His erratic breathing. He’s now stroking His long hard cock. From base to tip, base to tip, in time to His hand as it slips almost all the way in my ass before He pulls it back out.

“I need it, all the way! Please!”

I’m desperate, beyond desperate. It’s all I can think of.

“You like that, me stretching your asshole out?”

“Yes, Oh God, Yes, I fucking love it when you stretch me out. You fuck me so good.”

He slows now as He puts gentle pressure with each thrust. I relax and push my muscles against Him. He twists and pistons His hand again and again, stroking his cock to His new rhythm as he works His hand deeper inside.

A sharp but slight pain radiates out from the flesh of my ass. That’s what I needed, that stinging twinge, as the wide thickness of His palm passes through the ring of my sphincter. It's a pain, a delicious pain that's wrong but at the same time it feels so fucking good. My ass clenches hard onto His sweaty wrist once he's inside.

“Yes! Fuck! That’s it, Baby! Fuck me with your fucking fist up my ass!”

He quickens his pace, again, a frantic thrusting jutting rhythm. Each time He plunges into me He twists His hand inside me. Rubbing and hitting my tender flesh on the outside with the girth of his forearm. He’s driving deeper, now. Pumping and filling me in ways that shouldn't be pleasurable but they are. I can feel it in my belly, so rude and intrusive. It makes me wild. I can only imagine what He’s seeing, the flesh of my ass as it grips, tightens and fights against His withdraws to keep Him from pulling out completely.

The sound of His hand gripping his cock increases, a wet, rude cadence echoing off the walls of the room. He shifts suddenly, bringing His thigh into contact with my messy, sloppy, pussy. God, it’s so messy it’s almost vile. I rock and rut my slit against his slippery leg. Creating a new rhythm. As I move He has no problem keeping up with His hand that’s now roughly pumping in and out of my red hole.

He continues on, breathing so erratic I always worry He’ll pass out. My breathing is so erratic I know I could at any moment. Grinding my face into the pillow has angled my neck sharply, breathing is difficult but I only consider it briefly.

He now thrusts His thigh against me roughly as I rut back against Him. The motions, all the sensations, the awareness of Him pumping His hand vigorously over His cock. His thickness grasped between wet fingers, pre-cum spilling over the crown of His head. His hand pistoning up and down in that mystifying rhythm. All of this finally pushes me to the brink of orgasm.

“I need to cum!” I shout out.

It’s like a shot of pleasure streaks through Him when he groans and ruts his cock against my hip, “Do it! Come with my fist in your ass. Cum all over my leg with that slick, juicy pussy of yours.”

…So I do. Like a good dirty little as fisted slut. Oh, I cum…my toes go numb between flashes of hot and cold, my legs shake uncontrollably…and I cum. Again and again. Like never-ending rippling orgasms as I grunt and scream out incoherently. Mid my orgasm streak I feel His hand fist tightly inside me, he pulls it to my entrance as He watches my red flesh stretch tight. This is what sets him over the edge. My hole stretched to the brink as he pulls against the flesh. He yells out and I feel the amazing sensation of hot ribbons of cum as He releases Himself onto my ass and back. His own harsh grunts echo through the room with mine.

Oh, it’s so good. Like a sex symphony.

He slows His pace as His orgasm wanes. He takes gasping, shaky breaths as He struggling to breath more slowly. He slumps over the flesh of my ass, resting His cheek on the curve of my spine. His hand still inside me moving slowly as I come down from my rush. Once the last jolts subside and I lay still He slowly withdraws from me.

“Fuck, sweetie,” His voice tired and spent entirely, “I think every time we do it it gets better.”

After a moment I laugh breathlessly, “I think you’re right.”

Because it is. Oh fuck, it’s so intense now. Something so taboo and horrific when He first urged me, begged me and pleaded with me to try it and now I can’t get enough.

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