Just in the Neighborhood

Her posture straightens. Her hands start roaming over the front of her body, hidden from my view. She tosses her hair -- totally unrestrained by clips, pins, bands, or scrunchies. Her hips start swaying again. The confidence is back, just like that, and it's sexy as hell.

She teases me some more, just like she did with the leggings, but she quickly realizes there's not much fabric left on her to tease with. She hooks her thumbs into the thong and slides it down, bending again. This time she moves her feet apart. The underwear stretches near her knees. She brings her hands back, grips her cheeks, and spreads them.

"Is this what you like, Benji?" she asks in a low, seductive voice. "Do you like my ass? Do you like my asshole? Do you like it when I'm bent over for you, so you can do whatever you want?"

"Yes I do," I answer. "Now stop teasing me and get that sexy ass over here."

"No," she says. "Make me."

I'm off the bed in a flash, even though I'm still feeling the aches and pains from last night. She holds her position; I think she can feel me getting closer, moving into her personal space. She's that special, sexual kind of nervous, and I love it.

I take my hand off my cock. I move in as close as I can, making sure it slides between her spread legs. It gets very close to her heat, but doesn't penetrate.

Her hands release her cheeks and come together above her ass. I grasp at her crossed wrists with one hand; with the other, I cup her right ass cheek and squeeze it, hard. She groans.

"Mine," I say simply.

"Yours," she agrees.

"Up."

I help her unbend. Our arms and hands discard one fantasy and find another. Mine claim her entire body like Pygmalion polishing his statue -- though mine is more glorious than marble or ivory, and much more satisfying to push and squeeze from time to time. Her hands follow along behind mine, but occasionally stray, dipping down to her sex. Her thighs and my cock dance together; it's a slow, old-people version of a salsa, and we're both fully invested in the delusion that we're young, lively, and naughty.

I nip her earlobe once, just to reinforce that I'm in charge. Then I find her neck, and I make out with it. I love that she loves it. The dominance is just a silly game. I know I need to please her, and I want to.

"Baby," she says, "I love to play with you like this, but I'm so horny. I need your mouth. Is that okay?"

"It's yours, baby," I reply. "Any way you want it."

She laughs softly. "I want it with a twenty-year-old body that can do sex gymnastics and then jump out of bed the next morning. How about an easy ride?"

"Love it."

"I bought new lube today. You can tease me a little more back there. Still be gentle. It's a process."

A wave of memory hits me. For a few years before Hank was born, we knew we still weren't ready to start a family. She wanted me raw, though. She'd never hated anal. She let me convince her to make it a regular thing. She let me buy the lube and the toys, take my time, rim her, tease her, finger her during oral, and then claim my prize three or four times a week. My cum inside of her did something for her -- something more emotional than physical. With lots of foreplay and a vibrator, though, she'd even cum most backdoor nights. It had been one hell of a second, extended honeymoon in the city of Sodom. There was even another round later, though parenthood had necessarily rendered it a fainter echo.

My cock twitches against her thigh, bouncing up and striking something very wet, and very hot.

"Mmmm," she says. "You like that a lot, don't you?"

"I love it, because I love you."

"And because it's sexy."

"Mmm-hmm."

"And a little naughty."

"Mmmm!"

I spin her around and claim her with a quick, hard kiss. When I break it off, her eyes tell me that she's going to do some claiming of her own very soon -- lips on lips, with a twist.

The two of us old-people hurry over to the bed, which is just half a dozen steps away. I find the new lube in the drawer, next to quite a few equally new toys. I don't let the surprise stop me. That's my new rule, remember?

"Mmmm, somebody went shopping," I say coyly. "I like."

"Just getting prepared to 'get prepared,'" she responds. "Maybe by next week. Right now, though..."

She doesn't have to say anything else. Drawer closed, lube in hand, I get flat on my back, placing my head on the pillow she's brought down just slightly from its usual position. She takes her time getting on the bed, making sure not to knee me. I offer one hand to guide and steady her, and she accepts the help gratefully. She mounts my chest first, for safety's sake, and I soak in the sight of her. Then she shifts forward, ever forward, and the smell of her goes from teasing to intoxicating.

She holds herself over my face, letting me gaze almost directly up at her hairy sex. She's doing it to stake a claim. I'd have to tilt my head up to reach her. I make like I'm going to, and she gently places a hand on my forehead. I push against it -- not nearly enough to make headway. She's loving the power.

"Does Benji want a treat?" she asks.

I nod eagerly against her hand.

"Open your mouth and show me your tongue. Pant, Benji."

I do it. I don't care how ridiculous it is. She wants it, so it's sexy.

"Mmm, you definitely deserve a treat," she says. Then her voice shifts. She's out of the fantasy and back to reality. "Tease until I'm close. Then you can try to push it in. Just one, please."

I nod again, this time more soberly. The shift isn't jarring at all. It's like two different fantasies at once, enhancing each other. The fact that one of them is the reality of older, married sex doesn't bother me. If anything, it makes it hotter. It reminds me that this is really happening with my wife, who's just about as old as I am, and who wants my old-ass body just as much as I want hers.

She moves her hand, then settles herself down onto my face. I'm drunk on her smell and taste, and I moan long, low, and hard up into her. I feel her shudder in response. I sense her hands reaching out to the headboard for balance and support.

I kiss her pussy. She groans. Her hips start moving -- more of a bouncing-up-and-down than a rocking motion. I feel the weight lessen and then increase on my mouth, over and over. It's like we're massaging each other. I don't forget about the lube, my finger, or her hot little asshole, either. After only a few moments, my slick digit is tickling and teasing her rear portal. She jumps a little at first contact, and gives me a soft, happy squeal. Then she starts rocking, not just bouncing, pretending she needs to get away from the would-be intruder at her back door.

I put my tongue to work for real. I add pressure in the front -- not directly on the clit, but everywhere else, including her opening. She doesn't even pretend to be afraid of that would-be intruder. That's the one she's pushing towards, not away from. With my other hand, I find her plump ass cheek. I start roughly massaging it, and I get another, deeper groan for my trouble. I won't need to tap for another minute, at least. My nose is still mostly uncovered, though it is getting tickled like crazy. I'm remembering how to multitask. Memory flashes and I laugh into Carla's pussy. Instead of getting confused or asking a question, she just laughs right back. It's wonderful. I'll tell her about it after.

I disbelieve, and let it go. I'm surprised, and don't let it stop me. I'm amazed, and I just let myself be amazed. Carla is so hot, in every sense of the word. She's so wet. She's so obviously horny, and I can feel her chasing her orgasm. She's going to catch it. It isn't taunting her. It isn't playing hard to get. It's just there, waiting for her -- beckoning to her, cheering her on, arms open, offering a victory hug for when she crosses the finish line. I can feel the difference. It's part of her newfound confidence. She doesn't merely love sex again. It's like some barrier inside of her broke down -- got smashed, more like, given how quickly it happened.

"Just go crazy, Benji," she heaves. "Dog with peanut butter. My Benji boy. Lick me all up."

She lifts a little and lets me breathe freely; her urgent words tell me exactly why. After she bears down again, it'll be the home stretch. I gulp in air, but also take the opportunity to add more lube to my finger. I coat the whole damn thing until it's dripping. I look up, and I see her looking down. She's almost lost to her desire, but her hazel eyes flash briefly. She's ready for that finger, when the time comes. That is so hot.

When I drop the lube on the mattress, she bears down on me. She finds her rhythm again quickly, and then starts going harder and faster on my face. I can tell she's gripping that headboard tightly. Her thighs are hot near my ears. She's feeling the burn -- probably with her arms and shoulders, too.

I slobber and suck her with abandon. Even while bucking and humping, she makes sure her clit's never too close or too far away. My slick digit starts threatening her asshole for real -- lots of pressure, pushing to match her quickening pace, until finally there's no rhythm to it at all. It's simply insistent. It follows its target back and forth, up and down. I grab Carla's other ass cheek like a handle, and she's too close to her orgasm to even groan. She's gone silent, except for those heaving, snorting breaths.

I penetrate. She explodes. Her thighs come in and squeeze my head, then shudder. Her asshole is quivering like crazy around my second knuckle. I wiggle the intruder frantically; I French and vacuum-suck her pussy while she grinds her clit into my upper lip. I'm suffocating in the middle of an earthquake. Carla is coming like a bull in a china shop, and I'm the cowboy she's riding, rather than bucking, because sex is ridiculous. I want to live in this moment forever -- die in it, even.

The fantasy is that she cums, and cums, and cums, because I'm just that good and she's just that horny. The reality is that it's ten or fifteen glorious seconds. The orgasm squeezes my beautiful wife with that welcoming victory hug, and then it sprints away, leaving her triumphant, but breathless and bewildered. Her thighs stop crushing my ears. She releases the headboard and leans back, freeing my mouth. The air is still full of her scent, but its sudden coolness and abundance makes her fragrance sharper when it hits my nostrils.

"Finger," she exhales.

"Oops. Right!" I pull it back, letting her mostly dictate the pace of its departure with a few squeezes.

She doesn't say anything else for a while; she just breathes. I know enough not to ruin the moment with simpering questions or stupid comments. She changes positions in her own time -- slowly, carefully dismounting, turning, then mounting me again. With my head mostly flat, I can't properly see her big, beautiful, pale ass, but I know it's there. I would have lifted my head, but as it turns out, I've got something else to focus on: Carla's hot, wet mouth nursing on my member, and her delicate fingers teasing my sack.

I give her all the moans and groans. She deserves them. When my hands come up to her ass, they stroke it lovingly with feather touches. Once I start them, I can tell they're exactly what she wanted. She sighs around my cock, and returns tickles for tickles -- her ass, my balls.

"That feels so good, Momma-bear," I say. "I love you so much."

She lifts her head off my cock. "Call me what you used to call me."

"Carlita. Carlita, Carlita, bonita señorita. You're so hot. Suck on my cock, Carlita."

"Big, fat, Benji-cock," she murmurs happily, and then she's back to it. She's nursing it, teasing it, and swirling her tongue around it; she's turning back the clock twenty years, not just ten. More, even. College. That's when I first busted out the stupid accent and pretended to be a smitten, Latin lover for her. She laughed and mocked me... then asked for it again every once in a while.

I feel the disbelief, and I just let it wash over me. I accept it. I don't understand what's happening to my wife, but I can't bring myself to ask any questions. If it's a dream, I don't want to wake up.

But why should it have to be a dream? She's my wife. I'm her husband. We love each other.

She gets my cock hard enough, but she isn't quite done. She grabs the lube; moments later, my member is fully coated to dripping. After that, it's more difficult for her to keep a tight grip on my base, but she does. She pairs it with a few powerful prods on my taint as she dismounts again. As soon as her hands are off of my cock, she scrambles as fast as she can into the next position she wants -- missionary.

I know the score even better than she does: my erection's on a timer, at least as far as penetration is concerned. I roll and lift myself in a single, awkward motion. Then I'm on top of her, and one hand apiece is getting my cock inside of her. When it slides in, her mouth opens, her brow raises, and her hazel eyes light up. We both enjoy the moment before I get greedy.

"Can the bra come off?" I ask.

"Oh, definitely," she says. Her face gets sly, and she flicks the front of it, right in the center. It parts, and her large breasts spill forth, flattening out a little against her chest. I eye them hungrily. She nods.

I hunch down and find one with my mouth. I'm gentle at first, but I know I don't have long before it's time to make love for real. I suck her nipple into my mouth, and then open wider and suck even harder to drag in the pale flesh all around it. She grunts from the intensity. My hand finds her other breast and tickles her nipple. She squirms, and I can feel it in my cock.

"Such a naughty boy," she says. "Greedy."

I moan my agreement into her breast, and suck for all I'm worth. She keeps squirming; it becomes hip-rocking. It's flattering to think she's enjoying this as much as I am, but I know what my Carlita needs. I release her breast, shift around, and sink down fully into her warm, soft body. She wraps her arms around my back and begins stroking it. Her legs used to wrap around me, too, but tonight, they're just comfortably spread.

I try to find her neck with my mouth, but she taps my back.

"I don't want you to get sore, baby," she whispers. "Relax onto me. Just make love to me, as long as you want. Stay in me. Be in me. Take breaks when you need to. I'm so good down here. You feel so good inside of me."

I turn my head and find the pillow. "Thank you, baby," I reply. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

The next fantasy is that we make love all night. The reality is blissfully difficult for me to perceive. I thrust for a while, then take a break, then get back to it. My cock gets harder and softer by turns. Every time I get worried that I've been on top of her for too long, she murmurs words of encouragement. Her hands dance along my back, tickling and soothing. They even drift down to the top of my ass sometimes.

The first time her cunt squeezes me hard, it's like that first urgent whisper of a real voice while you're still asleep. I'm not dumb enough to try to talk to her while it's still happening -- while she's cumming? That's exactly what it feels like. I tune in to the rest of her body language, and it's telling me the exact same thing. It doesn't make any sense. She wasn't playing with herself. There's no toy.

When she settles down, I finally find the courage to ask. I risk ruining everything -- waking myself, or both of us, from the dream that all of this must be. When did it start, I wonder? When, exactly?

"Baby, did you...?"

"Shhhh," she says. "Keep making love to me, Benji. I love you so much. Cum if you want, whenever you want. I'm so good, baby. You're so good."

I've completely given up on tracking time; we make love for minutes or hours. She cums, then cums again. Finally, I find myself faced with a choice: either I stop everything and ask her what the hell is going on, or I shut my brain off and start fucking her for real, chasing down my orgasm and ending the night.

I choose the latter; she senses the change and brings her hands down as far as they'll go. She grips at the top of my ass and urges me into her. When I cum, her arms come back up, and she hugs me down into her soft body so tightly that it's almost like she's cumming again herself. She flexes her inner muscles to keep me fully hilted as I burst and then leak. I stop thinking and caring about anything but cumming. Once I'm done, the confusion and worry simply don't come back. Everything is right with the world.

I roll off eventually; she reaches out and pokes my nose with a finger, then drags it down across both of my lips. With that, she's off to the bathroom. When she's done, I groan, moan, and crawl my way off the bed. I get up, go to the bathroom, and clean up for real.

When I return, she's wearing regular panties and a baby doll tee -- far sexier than her normal attire, even as summer fades into fall. She's turned away, waiting for me to spoon her. I do, naked. We bring up the sheet and settle in. I have just enough energy left to remember that I wanted to tell her something.

"Hey, baby?"

"Mmm?"

"Remember that time when I was going down on you, and I sneezed?"

We both laugh; our fatigue quickly brings it down a chuckle, but it feels good with our bodies joined together. We also both cringe -- slightly, but theatrically nevertheless -- silently joking about waking up Erika with our shenanigans. We wouldn't want her to catch us. We might get grounded.

"I love you," she says.

"Love you, too."

Everything else can wait until tomorrow.

*******

Everything else seems like it's going to wait a little longer still, with one glaring exception.

"Well? Go get changed, Daddy."

Fuck. Well, dinner was good, at least, and I didn't have to do the dishes. I didn't get another makeout session with Carla on the couch, and I have a feeling that this is why.

On principle -- and because I'm grumpy -- I make Erika get changed into her workout clothes in the bathroom. The "door open during the day" policy remains unbroken. I come back downstairs wearing ratty gym clothes; the shorts are stretched tightly against my midsection. The T-shirt, at least, is big enough.

Erika has big water bottles waiting, and she's even wearing some belt attachment to carry a whole bunch more. Her shorts are too short, but that's just the way it goes when your daughter's on the track team. I can't say anything -- and now, more than ever, I don't want to. She's covered up top, at least, with a reflective vest over a light tee. Her chestnut hair is up in a high ponytail with no stray strands in front, so there's no danger it'll fall into her face. If she took her sport any more seriously, she'd probably get a buzz cut. Honestly, I wouldn't be able to say no if she asked us. That would be sexist.

She hands me my own reflective vest -- extra large. I raise an eyebrow.

"Mom went shopping," she says.

"Thank you, honey," I call out. I add a little sarcasm.

"Love you, honey," Carla calls right back from the TV room.

"She went to the gym today, you know," Erika says. "This is really cool. I'm so happy for you guys."

I desperately want to sass her, but she sounds sincere, so I bite my tongue. We get outside, and I get my marching orders.

"Okay," Erika says, "Follow my lead on stretches. Don't overextend. Copy the form, but if something doesn't feel good, stop immediately. It should only be the slightest bit of a burn."

She guides me through the stretches. They fucking burn like all hell. My male pride pushes me through it, though obviously I can't do anything like what she does. To me, she looks like a gymnast. Compared to me, she looks like she's made of rubber.

I take a swig of water. My little girl's brown eyes flash sympathy, but only for a second.