tagErotic CouplingsJaloux et Excité

Jaloux et Excité

bybellydance©

I remember once waiting for my wife - of that time - to return home.

It was past midnight. I'd been working on a novel most of the day and far into the night. Some time between eleven and twelve I'd done as well as I thought - for the moment at least - I was capable.

The achievement relaxed me and made me think about what might be an adequate reward.

One of the chapters had been about a night at a club called the Mogambo in equatorial Africa. The dancing was wild, the sweat ran down the backs of the dancers and trickled between their legs. The girls wore no underclothes. The men held them by the buttocks, pressed their bodies close and gyrated. Occasionally a couple left urgently for one of the "rooms of convenience."

I began to feel angry that she was so late. That was unfair. She knew - both of us knew - that she could come home at whatever time she liked but she shouldn't take undue advantage of it.

What was undue?

I was sleeping in a separate room while I was so immersed in my writing; so she would not ordinarily expect to disturb me by returning late. Nor would she expect any late return to make me feel lonely or neglected.

But I was like most men when their prick takes over and governs them.

Reason flies out the window.

I wanted a fuck and she should be there to be fucked when she was needed. It was her basic conjugal duty.

When she came in about a quarter to one, I was just about desperate. I couldn't sleep and, for hours it seemed like, I'd had a huge erection and nowhere congenial to put it....

The two went together: as soon as my prick got the solace to which it was surely entitled, I'd instantly drop off to sleep and be dead until late morning.

I didn't hear her come through the front door and she took her shoes off to make as little noise as possible on the way to our bedroom.

The first I knew she was back was when she gently opened the door of my workroom, presumably to check that I was still alive and kicking - or sleeping.

She must have been surprised what hit her.

If she'd never been ravished before, she must have got some idea now of what it was like.

I grabbed her before she could say a word and threw her on the bed.

I was kissing her as though I'd never stop - her lips, her eyes, her ears, her neck. I paid passing attention to her breasts and then my hand was between her legs, rubbing, probing, getting a feel of HQ before I sought relief - it was no more than that - by plunging my throbbing joystick into her.

She still had her pants on. Why should that be something particularly to note?

It shouldn't be of course and it wasn't - until later.

Then you have to wonder whether she had them on because she'd put them back or because she'd never needed to take them off anyway.

My only interest was to relieve the unbearable pressure in my lower abdomen. It wasn't love - not the knightly or courtly love we spend so much time dreaming about anyway.

I'd had a raging erection for so long that all I wanted was to get rid of it.

Oh, the relief - the utter joy - it would be, after all this time, finally to slide "him" into her accommodating crevice....

And then, as I tore her pants off and my fingers gently - I did my best to be gentle - fondled between her legs and traced the line of her outer lips, I realised....

She'd been with someone else.

She'd been with him, it seemed to me, only minutes before.

My first feeling was one of jealousy.

Then it was one of excitement. I was turned on by the thought of another man having so recently been in that exquisite spot where I was about to go...

He'd been there, perhaps just minutes ago. I imagined the ecstasies of his last moments as he exploded into her. Oh, how he would have loved it - those moments of joy without equal in human experience...

Now it was my turn.

I'd make love to her in a way she'd never be able to forget.

With a fierceness that was uncharacteristic, I plunged my throbbing cock into her and, all too soon, felt the glorious moment as the world exploded and then went on and on exploding...

I don't know how long it lasted; but it wasn't enough.

I wanted to fuck the life out of her and out of the alien mess her lover had left behind.

I didn't let her go at all that night. We got very little sleep.

Just as an aside, because it doesn't matter now, she did forget it - or she didn't treasure the memory as I thought my performance deserved.

Our marriage ended only months later.

But the memory lingers...especially of the way it is, for a man, to be both jaloux et excitè at the same overwhelming moment of sexual ecstasy.

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