Derby Line Marriage Ch. 04byjtuf©
Francis hugged Patrick from behind as he stirred the oatmeal. Then she spun around to show off her pants suit. "How do I look? I have to take depositions today and I want the opposing council to know I mean business."
Patrick turned his head to evaluate his wife's attire. "Your outfit is positively unisex. At least take your hair out of that bun."
"It's the style," Francis shrugged. She set the bowls out on the table and sat in her spot by the door to the fire escape. Patrick dished the oatmeal out from the pot and went to wash it in the sink. "Honey, that can wait for later. I have to be at work early today. Hurry up and eat with me." Patrick sat down and poked at his breakfast. Francis devoured hers.
After Francis had left, Patrick closed the living room curtains. It was a relief to be alone. He thought back to his Tuesday off. Was a blowjob that much to ask for? The clock told him he had an hour to spare before he had to walk to the lab. Opening his browser, he googled "blowjob". A few clicks later he was watching a video of a woman kneeling before two well endowed actors. His right palm pressed on the crotch of his pants. His fingers of his left hand slipped under his shirt to spread across his six-pack. He squeezed his balls through the pants fabric, causing his cock to rise. His left fingers were there to greet his cockhead once it emerged from his waistband. Patrick inserted his pointer into his foreskin to tease his piss hole. The flap of skin retracted as his member reached its full 10 inches.
Soon, his shirt and pants were on the floor. Patrick spat onto his fingers and spread the slick saliva onto the front of his dick just below the cockhead. Tracing the sensitive nerve running down the pole, he imagined the feel of his wife's tongue. Intense delight flowed through his body as he continued to stimulate that pleasure point. Patrick tucked the waistband of his boxers under his nuts so that his entire package was available for playing. He rubbed his cock with his palm while kneading his balls with his fingertips. One hand glided down to cup his stones while the other moved to the computer keyboard.
A bit more searching brought up pictures of a woman sucking on a man's swingers. Patrick grabbed the hand lotion on his desk and drizzled a generous portion onto his sac. He gripped his lubed cum factories, squeezed, and tugged. Another squirt of lotion went to his dick. He spread it with his other hand. Picturing it in his wife's willing mouth, he wrapped his digits around the shaft. He pumped that rod hard while pulling more forcefully on his cods. A familiar tingling started in his cream-crackers. Patrick released his package. Breathing like a Lamaze instructor, he rested his palms on his thighs. Slowly, the urge to cum subsided. He knew he had to save his load for Francis's nightly dose.
Patrick tucked his shrinking manhood back into his boxers. In short order, he was dressed and walking to work. A large collection of samples to sequence awaited him at the Centre for Structural and Functional Genomics. It was time to make up for taking Tuesday off. Patrick sighed. His passion was hydroponics, but the funding was in genomics. A friend interrupted his silent lament.
"Good morning Romeo. How is the misses?" It was Dr. Sam Shatz, a visiting professor from the States. "Are your efforts bearing fruit?"
"Not yet. Honestly, if she doesn't conceive by December, I might give up and let you have a go," Patrick offered.
Sam looked him directly in the eye. "I'm happily married. Besides, I will probably be back in India next semester to investigate the Nothapodytes nimmoniana again."
"I was only joking."
"Of course you were. I just wanted to make things clear. Anyway, there is a Montreal International Jazz Festival performance tonight. Let's go to it."
"Francis is expecting me home this evening for, well, you know."
"Take it from someone who has been married 8 years. Sometimes a man needs a night out with the guys."
"Good. The show starts at 8 pm. Let's meet in the cafeteria at 6:30 pm for diner and then take a cab there together."
Patrick passed the rest of the day mechanically mixing reagents and loading PCR machines. Lunch was a tuna fish sandwich eaten at his desk. By evening he was staring at spreadsheets of data, numb and exhausted. A knock on the door jarred him.
"Patrick, it's 7:15. I gave up and ate without you. Two friends are waiting by the vending machine. Are you coming or not?"
Patrick looked up at Sam. "I'm sorry. I lost track of time." He closed out the statistics program. "Let me just email Francis to tell her I'll be home late."
"OK." Sam looked out the window. "The weather is holding out. It should be a great performance."
"I hope so." Patrick gathered his things. "Common. Let's go."
The cab ride was a bit crowded with one guy in the front and three squished in the back. As the driver made a right onto rue Jeanne-Mance, Patrick could see a bunch of concert goers emerging from the metro. Their hemp backpacks and denim jeans brought him back to a less stressful time. He tried to push the burdens of marriage and fertility troubles aside so he could enjoy the night.
Inside the venue, Sam spread out the blanket. Patrick excused himself to find a food vender. On the line to the hotdog cart, he noticed the same group of college students he had saw before. They approached a muscular black man who was working on the electronic equipment backstage. The man must have said something rude, because the students left in a huff. A white man with a full beard came backstage to tape down the wires. The black technician looked up from his control board to watch the new arrival.
Patrick noticed the muscular stud grin as the stage hand bent over to apply the tape. The dark hunk sauntered up to the bearded stagehand and said something. The stagehand seemed confused by the technician's words. The technician grabbed himself in the crotch and spoke some more. This time, the stage hand looked down shyly. Then he turned and wiggled his bottom at the technician. Encouraged, the technician wrapped his arms around the stagehand's waist to pull that bubble butt up close to him. The stagehand arched his neck and pointed to the lighting booth above the crowd. The two men climbed up the ladder to the booth together.
From his viewpoint, Patrick could only see the black man's torso and head through the window. The stud's massive muscles rippled with motion. Wow. His pecs are bigger than the breasts of some women I know, thought Patrick. He watched in wonder through the booth window as the technician thrust forward forcefully. He saw a bulging arm swing down to slap the hidden bottom. The confidant top snarled while breeding the willing prey. Patrick lost track of his surroundings, mesmerized by the endless pounding.
"Sir. Hey, Sir," the food cart vendor snapped at Patrick. "What type of hot dog do you want?"