“Chicken shit!” I muttered at the text I’d just received.
I couldn’t blame Frank for texting. A conversation would have been worse and we both had our careers and sometimes those priorities took precedence, but I had been looking forward to this afternoon and this evening.
Careers and kids! Our secondborn had just gone off to college and for the first time in two decades, we had the house to ourselves. Within hours of Louise driving off our sex life had improved and was no longer limited to the bedroom. How much I’d missed being fucked on the kitchen table! And Frank had been dropping hints, reminiscing about those B.C. (before children) days when we had been so much more adventurous. I smiled at the old, ‘odd’ kitchen chair that stood in the corner with those telltale scratches from so long ago.
The kids had asked and we had deferred. The chair meant so much to Frank and me as his history and, to this day present, as a Pornographer!
We’d gotten our ‘forever’ house complete with a pool, even if it needed a complete overhaul and a retractable winter shelter. The jacuzzi was added a few years later with a publishing deal and then just five years previously when I had gotten tenure, we (I) treated ourselves to a tennis court. All of this had been possible as Frank had taken the brunt of raising the children while I had concentrated on my career. And the truth was that maybe I had concentrated too much on my career and had let our relationship slide a little into the doldrums.
Still, I had thought I was on an unspoken promise of an afternoon and evening of excessive debauchery.
<Sorry, shit at work. Going to be stuck here for at least five hours. There is a consolation on its way. Sorry, Frank. X.> “Fucking text message, you chicken shit,” I repeated.
I’d spent the morning pampering myself, preparing myself completely for what I hoped lay ahead and even though I’d given up wearing some sexy panties, simply because I had already soaked two pairs, I hadn’t touched myself at all, denying myself release until Frank got home. Well, I had visited the attic and retrieved some of our old toys and now they were going to be put to use! At least I’d had the forethought to get in a stock of batteries and lotions and lube.
“Fuck!” I almost screamed as the doorbell rang. I looked up to the heavens through the ceiling, “Does somebody up there hate me?” I asked a deity I didn’t believe in.
I was tempted just to ignore the doorbell and head straight up to our bedroom and my newly retrieved, cleaned and prepped toys but it would mean passing in front of the glazed panels on either side of the front door. “You better not be a religious nut!” I muttered before I opened the door.
“Hmm…” I mused as I saw the delivery man before me looking down at his clipboard and a rather large cardboard box on a wheeled trolley.
He looked up about to reach for the doorbell once again. “Oh… sorry,” he began and re-checked his clipboard. “Mrs V. Fagin?”
“Yes,” I answered curtly. He looked up at me again and I couldn’t help but notice his startling blue eyes beneath his peaked cap.
“I’ve got a Dishwasher here for you,” he replied with a smile.
“A… dishwasher,” I answered with a silent ‘fucking’. Seriously, Frank… I know we needed a new one, but, not really much of a consolation gift I thought to myself. “I guess you better bring it on in… Daniel,” I said aloud glancing at his ‘Happy to help’ badge.
I pulled open the front door and allowed Daniel in. You’re getting the strap-on tonight, Frank I thought as I led the delivery man through to the kitchen.
I leaned against the kitchen table as Daniel unwrapped the new dishwasher. I wasn’t sure that I could describe him as a ‘man’ or ‘boy’ as I reckoned, he might just be twenty years of age. Those eyes and, what seemed to be a fit young body, were giving me food for thought for my masturbation session I was planning for when he left. Frank was definitely going to pay for his absence!
I watched as the young man began to slide out the old machine. “Are you fitting it as well?” I asked, impetuous to be pushing him out of the door so I could use my toys on my dripping quim.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered, “Premier service!”
“Ma’am… call me Val, Daniel, please,” I requested.
“Yes, Val… Danny please... only my mom calls me Daniel,” he agreed.
“Would you like a drink, Danny? Coffee, tea, juice?” I asked.
I turned away hiding my smirk. Danny! My first boyfriend… well my first boyfriend who took my virginity, I thought.
“Water would be fine, Mrs… err… Val,” he agreed as he slipped beneath the counter to disconnect the old machine. I lifted a glass from an upper cupboard and had to straddle Danny’s legs to fill it from the tap, the chilled water from our fridge ignored. I was fully aware that there was no chance that Danny could see far enough up beneath my dress to know I had no underwear but the thrill was there as I felt my juices ooze from my slit.
It's a fucking porn film I said to myself silently as I squatted down, one foot between Danny’s thighs and one outside. I couldn’t help myself as I spread my thighs and all Danny had to do was lower his eyes and he’d see my naked, well-trimmed pussy on view.
Even before those gorgeous blue eyes came into view a jet of water erupted from beneath the kitchen top and soaked me, (more than I already was) and I jumped back dropping the contents of Danny’s glass all over his legs.
There was a thump from beneath the counter, “Oh, fuck… oh shit… I’m sorry Mrs Fagin… err… Val!” Danny exclaimed, the jet of water ceased and a red-faced Danny peaked out from under the counter.
“Oh, Danny,” I replied and couldn’t help but remember my first lover and his apologetic manner when he came inside me before I had ‘cum’. “Accidents happen…”
Fuck you, Frank! I thought.
To be honest, only my left thigh had been soaked by the deluge but other parts were already soaked anyway. Danny looked up at me, my eyes were fixed upon an obvious swelling in his cargo shorts.
“Miss… err… Val?” Danny questioned.
I returned my eyes to those piercing blue ones. My pussy gave an involuntary muscle twitch and I felt more of my juices run down the inside of my thigh. “Did you hit your head, Danny?” I asked as I offered him a hand up.
“A little,” he answered and I guided him to a kitchen chair.
“Let me see,” I urged and leant forward. At some point I had undone a couple of buttons on the front of my dress, I had no recollection of doing it but I was going to put it to use. I ran my fingertips over the young man’s head searching for a bump or a cut in the full knowledge that he was looking down my top at my full cleavage.