Horniness Rejuvenation Therapy

My wife lay beside me, wrapped in our heavy duvet, snuggled up all comfortable and warm. She'd come to bed before me last night, not feeling herself, and was still asleep as my smartwatch alarm vibrated to wake me for work. I looked over at her, content in her slumber, and decided not to wake her just yet.

Even under the 15-tog duvet I could see her body in my mind's eye. No amount of bedding or sensible cotton nightwear could hide that figure from me. Twenty years of marriage, kids raised and grown, had done nothing to dampen my love - or my lust - for this amazing woman. Oh, if only it were true the other way around.

Reluctantly I dragged my weary naked carcass out of our bed and padded my way over to the ensuite. I relieved myself, took a towel from the rack and turned on the shower to pre-warm the tiles and the air before committing to the spray. The pre-dawn darkness was periodically broken by the flash of her toothbrush, charging on its station. Again, I wondered? Must be something wrong with the battery, as mine could go a couple of weeks between charges, whereas just recently hers seemed to be needing a top-up every day. Nothing lasts forever, I signed to myself. I made a mental note to buy her a replacement on my way home from work that evening.

I let the hot water pound against my skin as I washed the night funk away. I'd never understood how people can tolerate a cold shower, but maybe I just enjoyed my creature comforts too much. I scrubbed my salt-and-pepper hair, shampoo lathering up, and rinsed it away, enjoying the sensation of the bubbles washing down my washboard abs. I scrubbed myself with a soap-drenched scrunchie, my skin turning red under the heat and the abrasive action of the washing. I switched to using just my hands as I reached more sensitive areas, making sure my privates were as clean as the rest of me. Not that they'd be seeing much action, but that was no reason not to be hygienic. I stopped before I got carried away; she'd be disgusted if she knew I'd beaten myself off in the shower. Funny; when we were younger we'd fantasised about fucking each other silly in a shower as posh as this. Now we had one, but our wild days were long past.

I turned off the water and let myself drip for a short while as the mist swirled around me. No point in soaking the towel. I looked over at my reflection in the mirror, which was heated to prevent it steaming up. Not bad, I thought; the middle-age spread hadn't caught up to me yet. Perhaps the squash and the circuits were working after all. They were the only action I was getting.

Sighing, I towelled myself over, and went to shave, grateful once more for the magic mirror. The razor glided over my clean skin, and I felt baby soft. I glanced down, considered for the hundredth time whether I should attend to lower parts with the razor, and deciding against. I hadn't needed to be presentable below the waist for a decade or more.

Once, a year or so ago, I'd considered starting an affair with my very capable personal assistant, Sandra. She was an absolute knockout, reminded me of my wife when we were younger... but that was partly the problem. She was barely older than our own children, and that kind of gave me the ick. Plus I just couldn't do that to my wife... or be able to live with the guilt, waiting for her to inevitably find out.

Wrapping the towel around my waist, I stepped back into the bedroom. She still lay in the bed, dead to the world. As was my custom, I'd wake her with some coffee before I left for the office; a day full of executive briefings and million-pound decisions to make. She was the calm in my storm, my rock in the tumult. I couldn't imagine a life without her; I accepted that although our sex life was dead, our marriage was very much alive. We just worked together, understood each other, in an indifferent world. The end of lust comes for us all, I knew. This was our life now. Soon it would be grandchildren and retirement. Maybe we'd move abroad to the sun, like we'd always dreamed of. I thought of her, laying in a bikini on a sun lounger by a pool, margarita in hand, and smiled. That's the future she deserves; not being endlessly pawed at by an inappropriately randy husband.

The wardrobes were along her side of the bed. Softly I padded round, opened the door, and started to make my selection for the day. The cool blue Italian suit today, I thought, with a simple crisp white shirt. I pulled them from their racks, hung them on the hook, and carefully closed the door.

"Hey, handsome," she said.

I turned to face the bed. She was looking up at me, a smile on her face. Proud of her husband? Maybe, but her expression was unfathomable. She reached over, tapped the lights on low, and I could see her properly. A little twinkle in her eye as she looked me up and down.

"Morning, honey," I replied. "Sorry if I woke you."

"No, I'm glad I caught you this morning," she said. "I wanted to say a proper goodbye to you today."

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason," she waved aside. "Maybe I was a little rude last night. I've been feeling... odd, lately. I think it might be the new tablets."

She had been feeling 'a little odd' for a few years, to be fair. After seeing a few specialists to rule out anything sinister, they realised it was early-onset menopause. For the last few months, she'd tried a succession of different tablets, but nothing settled her moods or flushes. It was horrible watching her suffer, knowing there was nothing I could do but be patient with her and support her through it.

"I'm sorry you're still feeling bad, honey. Should we make another appointment with the doctor?"

She was still giving me the strangest look. "I didn't say I felt bad. I said I felt odd." She bit her lip, looked down, and then looked back straight into my eyes. I could have sworn I saw a flame flicker in her pupils. The tone of her voice changed, an octave deeper, as she issued the order: "Drop the towel."

"Sorry, what?"

"You heard," she said, shuffling herself backwards against the headboard, rising from underneath the duvet. I would never have imagined what I saw emerge from the covers. For rather than the flannelette nightgown that I anticipated, I saw my gorgeous wife's freckle-covered shoulders emerge, with the thinnest red spaghetti-straps across them. The duvet rolled down, pooling in her waist, as the tight lace negligee revealed itself, her full heavy breasts attempting to burst free from the constraints of the fabric.

"Fuck me," I breathed, in shock.

"Patience, grasshopper," she said. She nodded at my waist. "That towel is still on. Don't make me repeat myself."

The white cotton hit the floor, and I saw the smile spread over her face and reach her eyes. I don't think I had ever been harder than I was at that moment.

"Come here," she beckoned, and my cock led my feet towards the bed before my brain had finished parsing the sentence. I reached for the covers, intending to climb inside, but she shook her head. Leaning forwards, looking into my eyes, she reached for my aching hardness, wrapping her immaculately manicured hand around the base of me, and drew me towards her lips.

Oh my god... the sensations as she slid me into her mouth, bathing me with her tongue, stroking the soft skin underneath the head, just the way she remembered I liked it. I reached forwards, cupped her jaw with my hand, stroked across her cheek with my thumb towards her ear. "Oh, babe..." I moaned, looking into her eyes as she slid me deeper into her eager mouth.

"I need you," she moaned around my dick. "I need you so fucking bad."

I was aghast. It had been years since she'd performed oral on me, since she'd used her potty mouth to pleasure me and fill the air with talk so blue a sailor would blush. God, how I'd missed that side of this incredible woman. She slid up and down my cock, forcing me down her throat, bottoming out against my pelvis as she took the whole of me, gagging but determined.

"Fuck me, I'm not going to last if you keep doing it like that," I warned her.

"Then don't," she pleaded. "Give it to me. It's been so long. Feed me your cum."

Even when we were first dating, in the throes of heated passion, she'd never let me finish in her mouth. "Are you sure?" I asked. In reply, she grabbed my ass with both hands, pulled me hard against her face, and licked my balls as my dick blocked her throat.

Watching her eyes bug out and her cheeks flush, knowing she would rather suffocate than stop, was all my desperate loaded nuts could take. I roared like a lion as they let go, my cock pumping hot thick load after load down her throat, my back twitching and heart thumping out of my chest.

"Oh god! Oh fuck! Babe, fucking hell yeah, take it! Take it all!"

But even as I pumped, she slid off my cock with a smile, letting me pump the last few squirts into her deep cleavage, knowing how much I loved her spectacular tits and had always wanted to smear them in my cum.

"I love you, so much," I said, even as the last weak spurts splashed over her heaving flesh.

"I love you too, honey," she said. "I didn't realise how much I've missed this."

"I missed this too, babe," I said.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault." I leant down, kissed her. I could taste myself against her lips. Somehow it didn't gross me out; if anything, it excited me more.

"I think I should stick with these tablets, don't you?" she smirked.

"Fucking right."

She pulled the duvet back, and I admired the sight of the sexy, fragile fuckwear emphasising her hourglass figure.

"My turn," she said, her hands teasing at the hem that barely covered her modesty.

I raised an eyebrow.

"On your knees," she demanded. Confused, I knelt by the side of the bed as she swung her legs over the side of the mattress. She lay back across the bed, beckoning me between her legs, parting them and opening herself to me.

Her legs were shaved, as was her glistening pussy, bald as the day she was born. She had never shaved herself completely smooth, not in all the years I had known her. But that wasn't the only surprise. As she pulled her legs up and back, I saw - nestled beneath that pussy, which was slick and beaded with moisture - the crystal cap of the butt plug that was buried deep inside her ass.

I looked up at her, and she smiled down at me. "If you can make me cum so much I can't talk, then I won't be able to say no, will I?" she teased.

I kissed my way up her thighs, the smell of her calling to the animal deep inside of me. Challenge very much accepted, I resolved. Reaching my target, I ran my tongue through her folds, that long-forgotten taste of her nectar reminding me of glory days gone by, with the promise of more glory days yet to come.

"We need to go shopping later," she said, wrapping her fingers in my hair, drawing me onto her. "Oh yeah, just like that... We need to get some proper toys." I looked up at her eyes. "Well, I can't keep using my electric toothbrush; it's not very hygienic, is it?"

I moaned into her pussy, ate her with renewed enthusiasm.

I felt her twist, pick something up off the bedside cabinet. As my tongue and fingers explored her depths, drawing out more of her sweet honey, I dimly heard her voice through the thighs pressed against my ears. "Sandra, is that you? Yeah, it's me. I'm afraid he won't make it into work today." I saw her smile. "No, that's the thing, you can't talk to him. He's lost his voice. Can't speak at all."

She looked down at me and winked. True enough, I was totally speechless.

"When will he be back? I'm not sure, maybe later in the week?" A pause as Sandra spoke. "Oh, don't worry, I'll take very good care of him." Another pause. "Yeah, I heard that honey is good for sore throats, too. I'll see what I can do."

I could feel her leg starting to twitch as I sucked on her clit, my fingers beating into her depths. It was a race - could I get her off before she got off the phone?

"Yeah... gotta go, Sandra... speak to you later..."

I felt her slam the mobile down onto the bed, felt her grab at the duvet as I sent her plummeting over the edge. I sure hope she'd hung the phone up properly, because the scream I tore from her throat could probably have been heard in the office even without the aid of modern telecommunications. She came, harder than I remember for years, as I teased her core; she coated me in her ambrosia as I clawed at her twitching thighs.

Slowly, gently, we eased up. I looked along her body, through the deep valley of her magnificent breasts, to a face flushed red and a smile a mile wide.

"I think we're both gonna need that honey," I said.

"Babe," she said, "there's plenty more where that came from. Now, come up here," she beckoned, delighted to see I was rock hard again and ready for action, as she reached down between her legs for the butt plug. "A promise is a promise..."

THE END