Tomorrow Night, I Promise

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A sex story from the real world.
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Pilgrim
Pilgrim
88 Followers

Tomorrow Night, I Promise: A sex story from the real world

Sunday night: It's nearly 10 when we crawl on to the soft down of our new feather bed. We'd purchased it shortly after a quick romantic get-away a few months earlier. The feather bed in the lodge overlooking the Pacific Ocean had done wonders for rediscovering the passion we'd once known, a lovers' passion rarely seen after kids, careers, and real life had stepped in. At least for those three days.

After a few minutes of reading, I put my book down and look over at her. She is still so beautiful to me, even after two children and 41 years, 17 of them with me. Her freshly washed face glistens under the low-wattage bedside lamp. I always thought she looked best without any make-up at all. The clean scent of Noxzema and Colgate floats over the pillows in my direction. In between her clean face and the People magazine resting atop her belly, two taut nipples press skyward, tiny crests under her white cotton nightgown. She breathes quietly, her small, subtly rounded breasts rising up and down in quiet rhythm.

I reach over and slip my hand across her belly, slowly moving my palms across her flat tummy, up over her ribs and settling softly atop her little mounds.

She groans. Not the moan of quiet lust from a woman in her sexual prime, mind you. She groans.

"Ohhh…not tonight," she says with just a touch of whine. Her lip curls to one side and her eyes bunch up into narrow slits.

"Why not tonight," I ask as that all-too-familiar frustration begins building in my gut. "What better way to end the great day we just had?" It's my turn to whine now.

"I just want some time to lay here and read and not have to do anything. To not be molested by you or kids or cats. I just want to relax. Please just give me a little space. Please," she pleads.

"But it's been more than three weeks since we've made love," I inform her.

"No, it's been more recently than that," she answers quickly.

"No, it was after Paul's party. Last month. I remember it distinctly." Her blank face told me she didn't appreciate the ready reminder. "I just want some time for us to be together, time and fun that's just for us."

"Tomorrow night, I promise," she said.

I'd heard that one before. And I knew that that meant sometime in the next week, maybe. If I behaved myself.

"Yeah, ok, whatever," I grunt. I roll over on my side, facing away from her.

"Oh, so now you're pissed?" she sneers.

"No, not pissed. Disappointed."

"Why do you always have to do this? Just because I don't want to have sex with you every stinking night, you get pissed off."

"It's hardly every night. More like once a month. Maybe. Look, let's not get into this again. It doesn't really matter, does it? Whatever I say you're just going to contradict and become defensive. Let's just drop it."

"Tomorrow night," she said again. "I promise," and she rolls over and turns the light off.

Early Monday morning: I wake up to the sound of the shower running. Lying quietly in bed, I imagine bubbly lines of soapy water running down the length of her long, lean body; the soft suds cascading over her shoulders and little breasts and down across her belly until they entrap themselves the blonde curls between her legs. Though I know it's likely not happening, I picture her fingering herself under the warm stream of water, leaning against the tiled wall, fingers swirling silently around her tiny clit. I wonder what she thinks of when she plays with herself. Will she bring herself to a soft quiet orgasm, or perhaps save that for later tonight when we can be together?

I'm fully hard by the time the water stop running. A few short moments pass and the bathroom door opens. She walks into the room with only the distant bathroom light allowing me to see her. She's barely more than a shadow in the early morning light between our bed and dresser. She drops the towel on the floor and I admire the subtle curves of her ass and breasts in delicate profile. Squinting just a little harder, I see her pointed nipples adjusting to the sudden change from warm water to the cooler morning air. She bends over to slip on her panties. The light slips between her thighs, sharing with me a few fuzzy strands of hair in silhouette

"Come over here before you put those on," I whisper in the early morning darkness.

"No, I need to get to work. I'm already running late. Besides I don't want to smell of semen all day long."

She dresses quickly and leaves. After the door closes again, I stroke myself off quietly, anticipating last night's promise being gloriously fulfilled later tonight.

Monday night: Lying in bed again, same time and place, long after the kids are down for the night. She has her People magazine. I have the latest John Nichols adjective-frenzied novel.

I gently set the book down on the bedside table and roll over towards her, slipping my hand under the hem of her nightgown. She never takes her eyes off the magazine but I think I catch a quick glimpse of that soft sexy smile of hers, the one that's always turned me on.

I slide my hand over the top of her cotton panties and feel her full, fuzzy bush through the well-worn material. My mind flashes briefly back to the one and only time she'd shaven herself for me. It was so smooth and sexy, so wild and naughty, and so very different for her. But she didn't enjoy the maintenance and I didn't enjoy the stubble, and she hasn't shaved since. And quite honestly I've grown to love, and now I actually prefer, the look of a full soft bush on a woman; the way nature intended it to be.

My fingers slip under the elastic surrounding her thighs and through the soft blonde curls that hide her mound. As my exploring digits part the damp folds of her womanhood, they encounter a two-inch string resting quietly between her lips. A small tug and its corresponding resistance from its place of origin instantly confirm my frustrated suspicion. And no, it wasn't lint or a wild hair.

"I'm sorry," she said oh-so-matter-of-factly raising her magazine up off her chest. "It started early. I can't control these things, you know."

"I could go get a towel like we used to do when we were young and in love." I looked up at her hopefully.

"It's really heavy. I feel like I'm bleeding to death. Not tonight."

"The backyard?" I suggested in one last meager attempt.

I rolled back to my side of the bed. Last night's ache returns to my gut as my budding erection slouches across my leg. I sniffed the feminine juices that had just barely kissed my fingertips and forced myself to sleep.

Tuesday night: I don't even try because I know what the answer will be. I do get some good reading time in though. I'm almost finished with my book.

Wednesday night: See Tuesday night, but I finish my book.

Thursday: Ioff-handedly mention to her as we climb into bed that even if I couldn't do her, she could still do me.

"Yeah, right," she laughs with a scornful grin. She adjusts her pillows and picks up her O magazine.

Friday night: She dons her flannel tonight, known in our house as the "flannel curtain". You don't even think about it when the flannel comes out.

I stay up late after she falls asleep and play around on the computer. I check out some amateur sex sites and chat in a couple different adult chatrooms. I come almost precisely at the stroke of midnight thanks to "Crystal(mwf)CA". I have no doubt she would be an amazing fuck in real life if it wasn't for this lingering feeling in the back of my mind that her real name is Gary and she lives alone in the Sunny Pines trailer park outside Indianapolis.

Saturday: The flannel is out again tonight, with socks. I repeat Friday night's activities, finally topping things off with a 5'4" blonde sweetheart named "Hubbysgonefishin" who comes equipped with 36DD breasts, a shaved pussy and who is apparently capable of multiple orgasms simply by giving potbellied married guys internet blowjobs. It's almost 1 am when I shoot my load across my potbelly.

Sunday: My fingers roam under her nightgown, across her flat tummy and up to her small, pert breasts. I squeezed her nipples gently to help them stiffen and grow and kiss the base of her neck, running the tip of my tongue up under her earlobe.

"I'm still spotting a little," she whispers. "Tomorrow night. I promise."

Monday: Tempting fate and frustration, I dog-ear the corner of a new book and set it down quietly on the bedside table. I close my eyes this time, not sure if I want to see the reaction on her face. I roll over and wrap my arm across her stomach. Pulling myself in close to her, my cock stiffens as it presses into the soft flesh of her thighs. She never puts down her magazine as I kissed her shoulders and untie the drawstring that lies across her chest. Her tiny boobs rise almost imperceptibly under the white cotton nightie and rest quietly in front of the glossy pages of the newest People issue.

She hasn't yet stopped me. As I lift the top of her nightgown, I anticipate the falling of the guillotine blade that will neatly slice off the tip of my lust-filled boner with scientific precision. Her pink nipple stretches upward when my finger begins circling the little nub. I give it a soft pinch and I look at my lovely wife's face. She smiles at me and returns to her magazine.

Yes! I rejoice joyfully, silently and internally. Yes! She didn't say no! Tonight's the night! Experience has shown that not saying no means she wants me. She wants me now and she wants me bad. Oh, what a romantic stud I must be to have earned the lust and divided attention of such a lovely and erotic morsel of womanhood!

Not anxious to waste this precious opportunity, my hand floats quickly down her stomach and over her padded bush and attempts to slip quietly between her thighs. She parts her legs slightly, but not quite far enough. So I help her, pulling and pushing her thighs gently until I gain a bit more access to her sweet sex.

I tug at the waistband of her sensible panties. She cooperates a bit by raising her butt off the mattress just enough for me to extricate the dark blue underpants from under her.

"I'm not interrupting your reading, am I?" I ask with just a hint of teasing sarcasm.

"No, not at all," she smiles back. Oh, was she ever hot for me tonight; that much was readily apparent.

"Do you want to get naked?" I ask.

"Do I have to?" she asks dropping her magazine across her chest. "You'd be more comfortable if you did," I assure her.

"OK, but I get to put this back on when we're done," she assures me right back.

She sits up and pulls the nightgown over her head. I love the tiny breasts now fully revealed before me. Light pink areoles surround her stiff pink nipples. Her breasts create almost no cleavage at all, sloping gently down, nipples pushing out and up as the little globes come to rest atop her ribcage. She drops the nightgown carefully off the side of the bed and lies down in front of me.

"Turn off the light," she whispers.

"No, I want to see you."

"No," she says. "I want it off. The Morris's might be outside looking at us. Please?"

"There's no one outside," I say, but I got out of bed and turn it off anyway, kicking off my boxers and losing my t-shirt as I do. My boner bobs up and down in the moonlight. She watches me but doesn't comment. I slide over next to my lovely naked wife.

"Is the door closed? I don't want the kids to be traumatized if they walk in on us."

"They're asleep," I say.

"They might wake up," she answers.

So I get up and close the door to the hallway.

I crawl back under the sheets and reached for her hand just as the cat emerges from some unknown place, pounces up on the bed, and settles himself comfortably in between us.

"Get the cat out of here," she says. "I don't want him to see this either."

I lift 14 pounds of matted calico fur off the sheets, open the door, and toss him out into the hall, checking to make sure the door is fully closed once again.

Finally, I rejoin her on the bed hoping that's the last interruption in this budding moment of love and passion. I lay down next to her in a position that not so subtly suggests a 69. She resists that particular temptation, mind you, but it was offered nonetheless. I run my fingers through the blonde curls of her pubic hairs, kissing her tight curls, tickling the outer edges of her lips with the tip of my tongue.

She's always tasted sweet to me. It's a soft musky sweetness that defines her sensuality. It instantly brings visions of all the times we've made love over the past 17 years. Images of those first nights together, exploring and discovering each other and ourselves, our bodies, our togetherness. Images of those bygone days when we experimented with new positions and new sensations. Memories of the many different places we'd made love…waterfalls, the back of a Ford F-150, swimming pools, her parents' house, and this bed.

A finger slips quietly inside her. She's damp. Not soaking, dripping wet, but damp. A little trickle of pussy juice glistens in the mixed glow of the half moon and clock radio. I lean over and kiss her soft fuzz. Parting her lips with my tongue, I hungrily lap up the gradually increasing fluids. She relaxes and spreads her legs further, allowing me to kiss and tongue her pussy even deeper. I insert my index finger inside her, quickly joined by the middle finger while my tongue concentrates on her clit. I shift slightly, moving my rock hard penis ever closer to her, leaving my manhood just inches between her thin lips and mutual ecstasy. Still, somehow, she resists the 69 bait, leaving my now engorged shaft staring at her, crying for even a little attention.

She lies there quietly, barely moving, simply enjoying almost five minutes of direct attention to her pussy before I hear the first moan. It's soft, almost imperceptible. I know she enjoys the long lickings I love to give to her, but for some reason, the pleasure takes a little longer to build in her tonight. Once the first moan passes her lips, though, others come in close succession. With a few more minutes of licking and kissing and probing, she's moving her hips to meet my tongue. My fingers thrust in and out of her pussy, now much more damp than a few minutes earlier. The finger thrusts grow more rapid, more purposeful, probing her deeply with each stroke.

"Oh yes," she moans quietly so as to not to wake the children. "God yes. Right there. Yes. Ohhhh. Yes. God yes. Yes. Yes. Ohhhh."

She comes suddenly and quickly with a long low moan. She holds the top of my head to her crotch, letting me tickle the tip of her clit with quick licks. My fingers twirl and spin inside her pink wetness.

"Stop, oh please stop", she whispers. "Stop, it's too sensitive," she says as I try to sneak in one or two additional licks and finger thrusts. "Stop. Stop. Stop."

She lies there for a few moments, catching her breath and letting her body come down from its peak. I move up to her and bend over to kiss her. She turns her head away from me.

"I don't want to kiss you after you've been down there," she whispers. She rolls over on to her stomach saying, "Here, get on my back."

She raises her ass in the air, beckoning me to move behind her. I didn't object, knowing that this was how it usually worked. I both love and hate this position. It is her favorite by far. She often tells me how deep and tight this position is for her. And I can feel that splendid tightness as her fleshy insides envelop my rigid cock. But it is often so intense for me that I nearly always come quickly and with almost no effort at all. While I love the sensations of doing her from behind, that glorious feeling never lasts long.

And even though she hasn't even touched my long, erect cock, tonight will be no different than the others. I stroke my cock inside her for all of a minute…maybe…before shooting a modest load inside her. It's not the powerful monster loads of milky white syrup that the Internet impresarios like to brag about, but a small and respectable series of jerks and spurts and pulses, announcing that it's all over.

She rocks herself forward after my orgasm subsides allowing my half-limp cock a few moments of rest before it slips easily out of her. I roll over next to her making sure any excess semen doesn't leak on to the sheets.

"Did that feel good to you?" she asks?

"Oh, yeah," I reply. "Good, as always."

She rolls out of bed, retrieving her nightgown and panties from where they'd been dropped precisely 17 minutes earlier. In the bathroom I hear her unroll a thick wad of toilet paper to wipe the remains of my semen and her fluids from her slit. She returns a few moments later after letting the dog out, starting the dishwasher, checking on the kids, and getting a glass of water. I've already slid my boxers and t-shirt back on because that's what we do after orgasms. She curls up next to me, wrapping her arm around my chest.

"I love you."

"I love you too. We need to do this more often, you know."

"I know," she replies closing her eyes and snuggling up closer to me. "Tomorrow night. I promise."

Pilgrim
Pilgrim
88 Followers
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9 Comments
oldbearswitcholdbearswitchover 5 years ago
Great story. Sad reality well depucted

And this guy is Lucky, he at least is still getting some sometimes.

Wife is Mrs Paul's. BC she is one cold (frozen) fish. Ick

ProfDavrosProfDavrosover 6 years ago
Sad but often so true

This was a remarkably sad commentary on so many couples' sex lives. A marked contrast to what I know is possible, as I have a close friend who is a sex therapist and couples sex retreat facilitator who proposes couples encourage sex play as thier hobby.

Wishing you better luck next month....

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 11 years ago

This needs to be required reading for all males. True life,

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
So funny

Funny and scary both at the same time.You write well.

AnonymousAnonymousover 12 years ago
She's not likely to ever change; you're in for a long, frustrated, deprived life

I've been married for 40 years. For the last 30 of those years my sex life was like this story, even though I tried everything I could think of or read about to get her interested in sex with me. Finally I just quit trying and found a lady whose husband is as disinterested in sex as my wife. For the past 3 years we have been getting together several times a month, and occasionally are able to spend a whole night together. We both feel sexually fulfilled although neither of us is even remotely considering leaving our present spouse. I don't even attempt any type of intimacy with my wife anymore, and interestingly she treats me way better (other than sex) than she has since we were first married. In hindsight I should have never gotten married, or should have divorced my wife as soon as our kids left for college.

Slow Learner

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