tagLoving WivesChristmas Overtime

Christmas Overtime


She was so mad at him! He had been coming home late every single day for the past two months. He said it was work, that there was just so much and he had to do overtime. She begged him to come home on time at least once every so often and talk with her, just hang out. She couldn't tell him directly that she was hungry for him, for their lovemaking. She really missed him but couldn't say this outright, in case he laughed at her and told her to get tough.

Now it was Christmas Eve, and he was working late again. Who knew, maybe he'd even have to work over the holidays, too. She had showered in the evening, to make sure she was appealing to him, desirable, when he got home, and that she didn't smell like the elaborate dinner she had cooked. She turned off the lights in the living room so that the only illumination came from the small neatly decorated tree. The white pin point lights blinked lazily, making the gifts and tinsel sparkle softly. Tonight, with Bing Crosy crooning about a white Christmas on the CD player, she slid into a red silk dress that hugged her body. The neckline was almost obscene, cut so low it showcased her generous cleavage. She was young yet, so her breasts sat high and proud, the brown nipples often taut with sexual energy. She had shaved her legs and underarms with great care, and then, feeling daring, going for broke, she had lathered up her pussy pubes and slowly shaved them off. All the extra attention to her genitals made her slit wet and juicy. She felt a tangible yearning for her husband's attentions. He could be such a good lover when he had time and energy for her. Over her freshly shaved body, she put on a new set of green silk underwear. The bikini panties felt delicious on her bare skin, and the front-clasp bra was soft, supporting her medium-sized breasts without constricting them. Her nipples jutted out against the soft cloth. The red silk whispered against the green underwear as she moved about the house, and the friction further heightened her sexual excitement. She put on a pair of black patent leather strappy sandals with four-inch heels and stood in front of the mirror, surveying the effect. Hmmm, not bad, not bad, she thought, smiling secretively at her reflection. Her long black hair hung down her back and her dark brown eyes gazed right back at her, a little self-proud. This has to work, she thought. She had to have him soon.

Finally when he got home past 9 pm, the table was still set, but the candles had long burned out. She had kept their dinner warm-the turkey, the ham, soup, the sides and fixings . Even if she was mad at him, she still loved him and wanted to do for him. There was some bread, too, garlicky and buttery, fresh from the oven. She had timed everything just right. When he got in, though, he told her he wasn't hungry, hadn't expected her to keep dinner for him, that he had passed by McDonald's for a Big Mac instead. He brushed by her at the door. He didn't even look at her, just sat down heavily in his Lazy Boy and sighed deeply. He seemed to have forgotten it was Christmas. He looked past her in her new red dress and seemed focused on inner thoughts.

That was the LAST STRAW! It made her suspect that he was seeing somebody on the side, passing by her apartment on his way home. Who was the hussy who was feeding her husband now? Had he been eating two dinners previously to please two women? Had he just given that other woman the Christmas loving that was rightfully hers? A quick image of a blonde haired woman in a Santa hat and a red velvet bikini giving her husband a blow job flashed through her mind. It served to increase her anger and her sexual frustration. Damn, why hadn't she gotten some mistletoe at the florist this morning? Then at least she could tease him, hold it over her head, or better yet, over her chest. She knew that if she could just get his attention, he would see how she had wrapped herself up just for him.

Yet, her better judgment told her that surely he wasn't having any kind of affair. He sure wasn't gaining weight. If anything, he was looking a little gaunt and haggard. Still, she was so angry with him, she felt like she would explode. So she stormed from the living room and took her pillows to the guest room. She decided she would sleep there tonight. Otherwise, she would let all her steam out and say mean things and who knows what would happen after that? She dropped her tired and angry self into the bed, still clad in her Christmas outfit. Might as well get some use out of it during the season.

She heard him moving around in the kitchen, wrapping up the dinner and putting it all away. She had washed the dishes so he was done pretty quickly. She heard his tread on the stairs, and then the click of the bedroom light. Then silence. He was probably standing at the door, looking at the empty bed, half of the pillows gone.

She heard him move into the bathroom and start the shower. She knew him like the back of her hand. He would be done in about 10 minutes, and then he would pass out on their bed, falling immediately into a deep sleep. Christmas together and yet apart. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly. She wasn't going to be a cry baby.

She turned over in the guest bed and felt an immense sadness. Why couldn't he balance his work time and come home at a decent hour? These days, he was so tired. They hadn't made love in two whole months. She needed sex and affection, to feel his warm, strong hands caressing her body. He had a way of touching her skin, warming it. His large hands on her cool skin would soon bring the blood to the surface and open her up in so many ways. Just as she was falling asleep, she heard soft footsteps come down the hall and stop at the door of the guest room.

"Hon?" he called out.

"Yes?" she answered, trying to keep her voice even.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

"No, I'm going to sleep here tonight."

"Aww, baby," he crooned, and pushed the door open. A slice of light cut into the room's darkness. "It's lonely over there. And in here."

She didn't reply. She felt his weight as he sunk down on the bed beside her.

"I need you, baby." He touched her hair softly. "Don't be sore at me." He stroked her hair, smoothing it down. His hand was warm, as always, and it gave her a small pleasure to feel the weight of his hand stroking her hair and easing it along the silk of her dress. "Please, baby…"

She turned her head away from him and felt her throat tightening up. "Please," she said, her voice quavering, "Leave me alone."

He moved closer to her and put his arms around her. His hands moved up to her breasts. He reached into her dress gently, dipping into the neckline, and cupped her breasts in his large hands. "Baby, baby, I didn't notice what a sexy dress you have on for me" he said, whispering. "I want to love on your titties." His lips were hot and moist on the back of her neck, on her shoulders, on the side of her breast. His hands moved like frenzied animals, pressing now and squeezing. He lifted the hem of her dress and rubbed her legs, moving his hand quickly to her firm ass to squeeze it.

She resisted him, pretending his touches did not move her. She kept her back turned to him., even as she felt her pussy twitching with excitement, juices increasing. Soon the crotch of her green panties would be moist with her creamy liquids.

He pressed against her ass and she felt how hard he was. Relief flooded her mind. If he was seeing someone else and having sex with her, he wouldn't be in the mood to love her. Tears welled up behind her eyes, hot and heavy. Still, his hands moved over her body, squeezing her breasts and touching her ass. She kept her thighs clamped tightly together, feeling a flood of happiness and misery at the same time.

"Come on now," he coaxed. His hands moved more urgently. He scooted down so he could stroke her thighs, and kiss her ass. He nibbled her cheeks lightly through the slippery silk panties and whispered lusty phrases between bites. "Come on, baby mama, gimme your sugar," he said, probing, trying to reach her pussy. He hooked his fingers at the waistband and pulled them down forcefully, leaving them at her knees. His breathing was shallow now and rough. "Shit, honey, you shaved your pussy!" Gloating, he pushed her legs apart and ran a hand over the bare skin. "I want this wet sugar, baby. Open up. Gimme gimme gimme!"

"Oh damn!" she whispered as tears flooded down her cheeks and wet the pillows. Her surfeit of emotions weakened her so that she could not resist his touches anymore. Her thighs opened slowly with his encouragement, allowing him to pull the panties off completely. He tossed them to the floor and began to unfasten the buttons on the front of her dress. "I hate you," she said, lifting her arms so he could slip the dress off her. "I really hate you," she said, as he worked impatiently on freeing her breasts from the bra. He was hard on her nipples, taking one in his mouth and sucking with force. He pinched and pulled on the other, and then enclosed her tit in his calloused hand and squeezed. "I really really hate you," she groaned, the lust in her voice betraying her. She sobbed uncontrollably, feeling open and vulnerable, all clothing and emotional barriers ripped away. Growling gruffly, he dipped his head between her legs, bringing his nose to within an inch of her wet slit. He stopped just there and looked up at her in the half dark room. She could see the teasing look of power on his face. Her sex juices flooded out of her pussy, drooling down the crack of her ass. "You sweet cunt! So you hate me?" he said, his voice thick with hunger. "You are so wet. I love the way you hate me, baby slut." Then dropping his rough demeanor, he joyfully lowered his head and kissed her, licked her, nibbled her plump lips. He kissed her mound over the pubic bone, lavishing it with extra sucks and nibbles, enjoying the bare flesh. He feasted on her slit, licking it up and down with the pointed tip of his tongue. She wriggled under his ministrations, bucking her hips up. He snaked his arms under her thighs and put both hands on her belly and pressed her against the bed. With his left hand, he tweaked her nipple. "Keep still, woman!" he ordered. He licked her again, this time venturing down below her drooling slit and working his tongue into her puckered ass hole. "No, please stop, now!" she squealed. "Not there, not there." He grunted assent and worked his tongue back up to her slit. He bore into her vaginal canal and licked, pressed his tongue in and out like a conical cock. "Please…" she gasped. "I want-" and then she stopped, unable to say the words. He lifted his head from her pussy. His face was shiny with her juices. "Tell me." "You know," she said, her voice pleading. "You know how to make me cum." "Yes, but I want to hear it from you, my darling cunt." "Your tongue-" she began. She could feel her pussy leaking, crying for attention on the right spot. "Use your tongue on my-" "Yes?" "Please," she whispered. "Please suck my clit." "What did you say?" he asked mischievously. "Pluck your zit?" She groaned and thrust her pussy at him, bucking her hips with all her strength. "My clit, damn it, my clit, please suck it. Nibble it. Lick my clit and suck it. Roll it around in your lips. I want to cum!" He laughed at her courage and lowered his mouth to her again. He licked her slit from the bottom upwards and then finally, finally found her secret button. He sucked gently, gently, smoothly, making her delirious.

She lifted her hips again and again to meet his mouth, pushed against his face, demanding, still crying, but caught up too in ecstacy. "Eat me, eat me!" she cried out, past inhibition. Using her hands, she pushed his head against herself and wed her clit to his tongue.

Then the quick grasp of spasms started in her belly, made her shake and moan. "Fuck me, eat me!" she said wildly and pushed against him, feeling his tongue roll over her and into her. He gripped her thighs to steady himself and continued eating her wet pussy, consuming her through her orgasm.

"Ooohhhhh!" she shouted. "Oooh, yes, yes! Ohhh, that was so good!" She shuddered and cried, feeling release upon release.

And then he rose up and quickly straddled her, suddenly pushing his hardness deep into her. She knew the penetration had been impending, but the moment of entry was unbearably delicious. In her mind, she could picture his thick, fat cock forcing its way into her shaved lips. Once inside, he kept still, to better feel the quivering and spasming of her dying orgasm. "Oh, baby," he murmured, "your cunt is hugging my cock. I can feel you, you're so hot!"

Then he moved. In and out, a fraction of an inch at a time. Slowly. Letting her pussy muscles adjust to his swollen size. And he rode her, with her legs firmly holding him to her so that as he pulled out of her pussy, she was lifted up with him. And when he plunged back in, she felt how deeply he connected to her.

Soon he was grunting, a wild-eyed animal, bursting, ejaculating, spilling himself into her. He shouted too, short dirty words that excited her and did not offend. "Fuck! Shit! Yes! I want your pussy, baby, your sweet fat pussy. I love your cunt! Your wet cunt!" She knew he was beyond inhibition and this was the best kind of love she had had in a long time. "Baby baby take all of my cock. Let me fuck you with my hard dick." She used her hands to scratch his back and tweak his nipples to hard points. His entire body tensed up and shook. "Fuck it, baby, I'm cumming! I'm cummmmmming!" His eyes rolled up and he gasped heavily for air. Forceful spurts of jism pumped from the eye of his cock, filling her, joining her own body juices.

When he was done, he collapsed on her, murmuring. "Merry Christmas, my baby slut. You're such a good fuck." And then he grew quiet. And still she kept her legs wrapped around him, her feet hooked at his back. His cock began to shrink inside her fluid-filled pussy, twitching with post-orgasmic contraction. She was a wise woman, a passionate wife. She would hold him until his breathing grew steady. And then...well, they had to make up for two months of separation. In the morning, she would try to make him understand her loneliness. And maybe, if luck was with her, they would stay in bed all Christmas day.

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