Martha My Dear

“Hello,” I called as I opened the front door to my house, “Anyone home?”

No reply.

I walked in, hung my coat on the rack, and ventured upstairs. On the landing I could hear the soft sounds of splashing water coming from the bathroom. I tapped softly on the door.

“Tom is that you?” called the unmistakable voice of my wife.

“No, it’s the plumber,” I said, opening the door and stepping inside. Martha was lying in the bath, her head resting on a foam cushion at one end, with her eyes closed. Her knees arched out over the soap-suds, and her breasts with those lovely dark red nipples of her poked through the water like two islands. Her skin looked a brighter pink than normal, probably because she liked to have the water as hot as she could stand it when she bathed.

She opened her eyes and looked at me and feigned a look of disappointment. “Oh it is you! I was hoping it was the plumber coming round to check my, er, plumbing, before you came home.”

“Sorry to disappoint, darling, you’ll just have to make do with me,” I said, kneeling down alongside the bath, and reaching over to give her a long lingering kiss on the lips. “How was your day,” I asked when I pulled my face away.”

“Good,” she said, “Helen rang and suggested she and I go out for an Italian this evening and catch up on old times, which is why I’m having a bath now. The kids are staying with their friends this evening, so you can have the house to yourself, and watch some football or something. You could always invite Mrs. Miller from next door round for a quickie while I’m out.

Mrs. Miller next door was a short dumpy woman in her seventies and oozed about as much sex appeal as a louse. “Damn,” I said to Martha, “she and I have been trying to keep our liaisons secret. Still what’s good for the goose etc., if you and Helen are going for an Italian, I suppose I could try it on with her. Are you sure one Italian is enough for the both of you? Knowing your voracious appetite for Latino men, I’d have thought you needed two each!”

Martha laughed. “You dolt, we’re meeting for a drink at Fernando’s at 7.30, and then going for a meal at that Italian place round the corner from there.”

The telephone suddenly rang cutting off any more banter. I closed the door to Martha and went downstairs to answer it.

“Hi Tom, it’s Helen,” I heard once I’d identified myself. “Can you tell Martha that I’m running a bit late, and that I can’t get to Fernando’s before 8.00?

Helen and I spent a few minutes in small talk, mostly about each other’s children and how their education was going. I rang off promising to pass the message on to Martha. When I went back upstairs I found that she was out the bath and sitting in front of the mirror in the bedroom bedecked in a large bath-towel, drying her hair. I took off my suit, hung it in the wardrobe, and threw my shirt into the laundry-hamper. Lying on the bed in just my boxers I watched Martha go about her business of getting ready. Twenty-two years we’ve been married, and I’ve never tired of just simply watching her.

Her hair dry, she shook off the towel and threw it on top of my shirt in the hamper. Unselfconsciously she walked naked over to her to her chest of drawers and selected a thong to put on. Despite being in her mid-forties Martha likes to wear provocative underwear at all times. As she puts it, her job as a teacher demands that she be dressed somewhat conservatively at school, so she likes to make up for it by dressing sexily underneath. It makes her feel more feminine she often tells me. In all the time I’ve known her I’ve never seen her wear ‘boring’ underwear. Her chest of drawers is a museum of sexy panties, tiny thongs, lacy bras, basques, and stockings. I, of course, think it’s wonderful and many’s the time we’ve shopped together for underwear for her. Tonight’s choice was a blue thong with little white strings at each side, which I have often had the pleasure of undoing so that the thing falls away from her. I watched as she pulled them up her legs and adjusted them so that the slight scrap of material sat comfortable in the crack between her buttocks.

She walked back to her dressing table and assumed a position that I find quite puzzling even though I’ve witnessed it a number of times. Whenever Martha is brushing her hair, drying it, or applying make-up she sits normally on the stool to go about her business, but when she needs to apply lip-stick she has this peculiar habit of kneeling on the stool, leaning her elbows on the dressing-table and bringing her face right up close to the mirror. She says she does so to get right up close to the mirror in order to put the lip-stick on properly. This time was no different; she knelt on the stool and leaned forward, her ass sticking provocatively out behind her. My eyes were fixed on those two delicious mounds and the scrap of blue material between them.

“Later,” she said.

“What?”

“I said later. I can see what you’re thinking. Your shorts are tenting out in front of you! I can see it in the mirror.”

I looked down at the evidence, it was true. Lusty thoughts had my stiffened my cock. I sat up on the edge of the bed and walked over to her. My eyes caught her reflected ones.

“Martha, my dear,” I said “I have enjoyed looking at you for as long as I remember. Why should I stop doing so now?”

“Well for starters I look a lot older than when you first clapped eyes on me, and not nearly as sexy as I did then. My tits and ass are much bigger; I’ve got a little fat round the waist… ”

“No,” I interrupted, “you are more curvy than you were in your twenties, but I much prefer the way you look now. Your breasts are fuller and rounder, your ass is beautiful, and you’re certainly not fat!”

“You’re a darling,” she said. “Give me a kiss – but not on the lips I’ve just applied the lip-stick. You can kiss me on the cheeks.”

“O.K,” I replied, dropped to my knees and planted a smacker on the left cheek of her ass still provocatively sticking out.

“Not that one you oaf,” she laughed, “the other cheek.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, and repeated the action on her right buttock.

She laughed again. “Now stop that, you’ll only work yourself into a state of excitement, and I won’t be able to relieve you. I’ve got to get on, I need to be there at half seven.”

“No you don’t,” I told her, “that was Helen on the phone just then. She’s running late and won’t be there until 8 o’clock,” I pushed my head against her ass again and resumed kissing them. This time it was more licking and nibbling than kissing. Again Martha protested.

“Now stop that Tom, or you’ll get me going as well, and I’ve just had a bath. I don’t want to go out feeling all sticky.”

“Then I’ll just have to lap any stickiness up,” I replied and resumed my actions. My tongue started to trace her pussy through the material. After a few moments of this I moved slightly further down her groove so that it was licking the material roughly about where her clit was. I bobbed my head gently back and forth so that my tongue was teasing her clit, and my nose was pushing the material into the entrance to her pussy.

“I’ve just put those clean on,” she protested, but from the huskiness of her voice, and the dampness of the material on my tongue I knew resistance was fading.

“O.K., I’ll remove them,” I said, and pulled the flimsy piece of material to one side. Now free of any obstruction, my tongue found her ‘man-in-the-boat’ with ease. I let it play tiny circles on her clit and was awarded with increased moans coming from Martha. The tip of my nose, meanwhile was acting as a tiny cock, dipping in and out of the entrance to her pussy. I loved doing this, feeling the moisture and smelling that most fragrant of feminine scents. I increased the pressure and speed of my movements as Martha’s moans became more laboured.

“Tom,” she called out between gasps, “my knees will give way!”

I sat up as she looked at me over her left shoulder.

“Get on the bed,” she said, “I can’t take much more like this.”

I did as told and laid back on the bed. Martha got up from her ungainly position, stood up, rolled down and kicked off her thong, and joined me on the bed, opting for the ‘69’ position so that her glistening pussy was right by my face again.

“I want to lick you,” she said.

“What about your lip-stick?”

“Yeah I want your stickiness on my lips buddy,” she replied. “Now, where were we?”

With that she mashed her pussy against my face, grabbed hold of my cock and started licking it. I rolled my tongue into a cylinder and pushed it in and out of her. A couple of minutes of that and I moved back to her clit retracing the circular pattern my tongue had danced on it earlier. Meanwhile I brought one hand up and pushed a couple of fingers through the blood-engorged lips and into her. Her heavy-breathing started again, each breath becoming deeper and more laboured with every lick of her nub, and every thrust of my fingers. I knew she was close to coming as her mouth let go off my cock, gasping for air, and the walls of her cunt clenched my fingers. I pushed down hard on her clit with my tongue, pulled the fingers out of her pussy, and roughly pushed one sodden, slippery digit into her anus. With a shout, and a heave of her body, she shrieked in pleasure as she reached her climax, and rolled on to her back.

“Jeez, that was good,” she said once she caught her breath. I don’t know why but I always seem to come deeper when you finger my ass.” She lay there for a few more seconds, her body still heaving with each gulp of breath she took. She propped herself back up onto one arm. “Now where’s that lip-stick of mine gone? Are there it is,” she said lowering her head to devour my cock again.

I propped my head up and watched as she first licked the pre-cum oozing out the end, and then as my cock disappeared between those deep-red lips. She was sucking with more conviction now, hollows in each cheek appearing as she tried to bring about my own orgasm. The pleasure was now too intense and I lay back with eyes closed as she brought me closer and closer to the edge. Although her mouth was bobbing up and down I wanted to get my own relief now, and bucked my own hips off the bed to meet her thrusts. I could feel the explosion building inside and thrust one final time as the seed erupted out of me. Martha knew me well enough, of course, to know when I would come. She lifted her mouth of me at the moment of climax and took the full force of my spurts on her face.

Once recovered, I sat up on one elbow and looked at her. Semen was sticking to her forehead, and a large dollop was slowly slipping down one cheek. Her tongue snaked out to lick it up. I could also see smeared lipstick marks on my now rapidly subsiding cock.

“My God, I must look a mess,” she said.

“Martha, my dear,” I said truthfully, “you look the most gorgeous person I have ever seen.”

“Well that’s as maybe, darling,” she replied, “but I don’t think the staff at the Italian place would think so if I came in looking like this. Now get out, I’ve got to clean up and put my lipstick on again, and I don’t think I can do that with you watching.”

I leaned forward and kissed her once more on the left cheek of her ass.

“Later,” she said in a mock stern voice, “if you’ve still got the energy that is. I know Mrs. Miller can be quite demanding.”