Just Another Day At The Hendersons

As he stimulated her clit, Justin gently slipped his middle finger inside her, causing another physical and audible response. He expertly coordinated his probing finger within her with the manipulation of her clit. I could clearly hear the wet, slickery sounds as he fingered her. I suddenly realized that he wasn't using his tongue or any part of his mouth to excite her sensitive membranes. It dawned on me that he probably wouldn't, owing to health concerns. I had brought condoms with me, for that reason, and I assumed he had brought his own. I felt disappointed for Cindy that he wouldn't be tonguing and sucking her pussy, that she'd have to settle for his fingers.

About the time I was feeling sorry for her, Cindy unleashed a tremendous orgasm, the first with another man since we married. And he'd done it with his fingers alone. So much for my pity. To my surprise, Justin kept at it, giving her yet another release before he stood and took off his clothes.

Cindy was laying there, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, her arms out from her sides, her hands near her head, her fingers nervously wriggling. Waiting.

I didn't even see him do it, but when he knelt on the bed between her legs, his erection was covered in latex. He placed his hands under her back and helped her to slide up toward the head of the bed. Once she was in position, Justin's cock hovered over Cindy's pussy, as though surveying the lay of the land. He began to play the head along and around the lips, teasing her to the point of squirming her hips and letting out little kitten-like whimpering sounds.

The moment of truth arrived as he placed the head against the notch of her cunt, easing it into her a centimeter at a time, eventually burying it all the way with a final push. Cindy grunted and moaned at the same time. The fucking of my wife had begun, as Justin slowly and rhythmically sawed in and out, in and out, while Cindy responded with counter-thrusts of her own. He held himself up on his straightened arms, his hands on either side of her head, looking down at her. Cindy's eyes were open, not wide, but enough to look into the eyes of the man who was fulfilling her fantasy—and mine.

I had been sitting in a chair next to the table, a few feet from the bed. When Justin made entry, I found myself on my feet, moving toward the left corner of the bed. I stood less than three feet from Justin and Cindy's legs, as they strained and flexed with the exertion of fucking. I was fully erect, the pre-orgasmic fluid oozing out in copious amounts, which lubricated the hand that was stroking it.

Justin had picked up the pace, and had lowered himself to his elbows, so he was able to kiss Cindy as he rode her. Her legs had lifted, her feet now kicking the air in sync with the thrusting. I moved around where I could see them from the foot of the bed, watching in the light of the lamp on the counter behind me. The skin from her pussy pulled out with each back stroke, as though turning her partially inside out, only to be stuffed back in with the next downward stab. Glistening fluid was leaking down from her engulfed cunt across her anus—she continued to churn out her precious pussy juice. Justin didn't know what he was missing by not tasting it. Nectar of the goddess.

At the height of their coupling, I heard Justin murmur something about others positions. Cindy murmured back, more in mouthed breaths than spoken words. "Oh, I think you're doing . . . just fine like that! Oh, please . . . don't stop!"

He quickened his pace even more, placing his face against the side of her neck, his full weight now upon her. He was talking to her, and she was replying in words or sounds, but I couldn't hear much of what was being said. Her ankles had hooked over his calves, rocking faster and faster against him, her hands tightly gripping his upper arms—his skin blanching under the pressure of her fingers. She made a low groan, then let out a high-pitched squeal, as she came with a vengeance, nearly throwing Justin off of her, were it not for her heels interlocking them. He continued the pounding, the two of them now loudly grunting and puffing with greater urgency. Cindy's head was back, her eyes clenched tightly closed, her mouth alternately open then biting on her lower lip, her face in a pained expression. She let out an unh sound with each jarring thrust. The bed rocked violently, evoking images of our neighbors with their eager ears to the wall.

Just as Cindy was making noises that announced another approaching orgasm, Justin's ass became a blur as he pummeled her bottom with sharp slaps of flesh. In nearly perfect synchronicity, Cindy wailed and Justin gave out a loud grunt, slamming and pinning his pelvis against her. I could visualize his seed filling the rubber to the bursting point, as he pressed firmly against her cervix. His butt cheeks and thighs quivered with his release, as Cindy's legs shook uncontrollably through her own cresting waves of total catharsis. I was standing there with my knees suddenly wobbling. I sat down before I fell down, my own release dripping off my knuckles. It had to be as rare as a four-leaf clover, finding three orgasms in a single glorious moment of serendipity.

Justin had remained in place on Cindy for several minutes, his face still against her neck, before he finally, reluctantly pushed himself up and off of her, pausing to kiss her once. He padded off to the bathroom. The room smelled of raw sex.

Cindy didn't move a muscle, her eyes closed and her breathing returning to normal. I sat on the edge of the bed and lightly stroked her leg. "Happy Anniversary, angel. And Happy Mommy's Day, too." She murmured a little, but did not move or speak. If she did speak, I think the first thing she would have said was Thank you, for more reasons than one. See, I told you.

That was then, this is now.

"Bill," she yells to me as I flush the toilet. "Can you take Tommy to his practice? And to my mom's afterwards?" That's what I get for taking the afternoon off from work.

I walk into the kitchen so we won't have to shout. "Sure. He needs to be there by four, right?"

"Yeah, but make sure he's got all of his stuff this time. Last week I had to drive all the way back home to pick up his soccer shoes. His coach wasn't a happy camper. And please, make sure he's packed everything he needs to take to Grandma's later. Sorry to dump it on you, but I really need to get busy if I'm gonna have dinner ready when Larry gets here."

"No problem." Cindy is pretty much your stereotypical soccer mom, in appearance and function. Like most wives and moms her age, she frets about her sagging bust and butt, getting the bills paid, and making sure the house is in presentable condition. Her alter-ego role as a libidinous hot wife is artfully masked behind that external persona. And that is precisely what makes her so damned appealing, not only to me, but to the men who are fortunate enough to experience it first-hand.

In a little while, after Tommy's practice and once he's at his grandmother's, Cindy and I will be enjoying with Larry the naughty perks of her periodic metamorphoses. A day in the life of the Henderson's is not unlike those of other suburban American families—with a few minor exceptions . . .