Lease My Wife

It is a couple weeks before your March 18 birthday, you are sitting in the car waiting for me to drop a proposal into the mailslot inside the post office. You pass the time, as you often do, cruising 'sites of interest' on your phone, noting places you want to visit in private on the large-screen TV connected to our desktop at home.

>>>>>>

'LEASE MY WIFE'

<<<<<<

You see that title on one of your favorite sites. Sites you think are your secrets. You tag it to look at later, as you see me already coming out of the Post Office. I told you it wouldn't be long.

You think back to your favorite stories from your 'secret' sites, ones of wives whose loving husbands auctioned, sold, rented their wives from desperate need for cash, for charity, as ordered by superiors, as proof of their submission, as fulfillment of fantasies. The idea of that - well, check yourself now, wet from just seeing those three words. You tap your phone off and then lift and twist your hips to put it in your pocket, as I open the door and slide in under the wheel.

I tap your ass, twisted up and straining your tight jeans. You flash a strange look at me that I can't read. You sit back down, hurriedly adjust your jeans, t-shirt and hair and then click your seatbelt. I watch you, perplexed. You notice my questioning expression.

"Everything OK?"

"Sure, like I said, just needed to drop it in the slot."

"Right."

"You OK?"

"Y-yeah."

"You look a little flushed. Do you have a fever?" I reach out to touch your forehead.

"No. I'm fine. Really."

"OK."

I drop the car into reverse and pull out of the PO parking lot, headed home.

Back just after Christmas, I'd promised you a special surprise for your birthday, it was then three months away. You'd tried to find out what I had planned without being too annoying, though you did ask every week or so, once whining so much about it that I gagged you and left the gag in for a day. You didn't whine about it again, but did ask several more times.

I wasn't angered at this, rather, I enjoyed it and played the game. You guessed and suggested and bargained, but I gave no sign, though sometimes informing you that you would never guess and increasing the mystery in any way I could.

I got the impression you were more interested in the game, trying to peel back my plan, than offering any resistence. And that was fine. I knew you would never guess, that you would be totally taken by surprise, that if you did know you would resist (actually, pretend to resist, you'd fall in with anything I requested), and that you would be absolutely beside yourself when you finally found out - when my promise was fulfilled.

I KNEW that.

Come the first part of February - on the second, as it happened - one element of my plan over which I had no control occurred - a very heavy snowfall. Much heavier than I would have designed, but much more appropriate than I could have hoped. I watched all night, making my plans. Glad I'd had the DuraTrac tires put on the Gladiator and smiled, knowing what the morning would bring.

I jump out of the warmth under the quilts and comforter, startling you awake, as soon as I am awake enough to move. I have to check. Yes. Yes, oh yes. Snow, and lots of it. At least a foot. Lokul Frosti has smiled on me and granted last night's wish. Maybe even too much, the Jeep only has a ten inch clearance - it'll be a hard push all the way. They haven't even plowed the paved roads yet. Well, maybe they will by the time we actually roll out. But it will be all virgin white before we get where we're going.

I make coffee and fry up a cheddar omelet with a bit of soy sauce and a touch of maple syrup whisked into the eggs with a glup of milk. I arrange it all attractively, the French press of coffee, two Old 66 truck-stop mugs, and the omelet on one of your Mom's big white hotel plates. I carry it on the breadboard - the only thing like a tray that I can find.

I carry it up to you and find you still snuggling deep into warmth. The snowshine streaming in through the window lights a rectangle on the ceiling above the bed. I hadn't noticed that before, maybe my senses are heightened by my knowledge of THE PLAN.

You sit up and catch the blankets as they slip off and you snug them up around your neck. You tilt your head and smile at me, at the rare surprise, me bringing you breakfast. I look around to find a place to set the board, hadn't thought about that. The bedside tables are too small - and I'd have to move a lamp. The dresser is too far away. I could drag a chair...

"Hey, how about here," you chuckle, both hands patting your legs, now outstretched, and offering them as table.

"Yeah, how about," I nod and set the board of our breakfast on your legs.

I lean down to kiss and you reach up. I comb my fingers through your hair and stroke your cheek through your jet silk. You press deeper into my mouth and reach a hand up to touch my face.

I look down at you and smile, "I really,... YAAaaeauhihhhh!"

I stand up fast enough to get dizzy and start beating my thighs.

"What?! What the hell? Wha... oh, shit."

I had been scalded by the coffee which spilled when the board was tipped when your legs shifted when you reached up to lovingly stroke your husband's face.

"Quick, we gotta strip the bed and tend to the quilts. And, oh, damn, the comforter, we'll... Oh dear, what about you?"

I was slapping and rubbing my thighs and rushing to the bathroom when I heard your concern.

I did not answer.

I was, naturally, still naked, no need to put on clothes when...

Oh, crap, hot coffee is HOT. My thighs are scalded. Good things my legs are long. Couple inches lower and... well, lets say plans would change.

I stand at the sink, scooping cold water out and onto my thighs, water splashing everywhere.

You come in, wearing your flannel toss, start running water into the tub and walk out. I think that's a good idea and step into the tub, slowly lowering myself into the tepid water. I begin to feel a little relief.

"What the hell? What are you doing?"

I look up perplexed and see you standing in the door way with the comforter balled up in your arms.

"That is for this. We gotta soak this before the coffee sets."

I nod.

"Really."

I nod.

"Get out now!"

I nod and stand up, dripping as I stand and watch you carefully introduce the comforter to the water. Damn, am I feeling neglected and ignored.

You pat the top of the comforter to get it all in the water, then turn to me and see that I am kinda steamed. And not just by the coffee. You stand, the toss parts to hang open from your naked shoulders, framing your tits. You put your hands on my shoulders. You guide me back to sit on the toilet and kneel between my legs. Even though my thighs still burn, my cock twitches - sure, like it could get hard right now.

You reach up, an arm on either side of my head, your tits against my face, and almost immediately pull back.

Disappointment.

You hold the flower pot with the aloe plant, which you set on the floor beside you. You break off a... what are those? Leaves? Fronds? Whatever... you break one off and, taking the broken end between your teeth, split it lengthwise. That looks sexy and, another twitch makes the attempt to raise my mast.

You begin to rub the wet and spongy inside of the aloe over my scalded thighs - ahhhhhh, that feels really good.

You do that for a while, until the juice is all pressed out, then you pluck another and continue the cooling, soothing application. You lean forward, elbows high behind you, and kiss my cock.

Ok, didn't expect that.

You take that limp tube into your mouth and swirl it around with your tongue, guiding it, pressing it against your teeth, the roof of your mouth. And you suck. And blow. And hummm and do all that stuff you know I like and... really? now?... I DO erect.

A surprise to me, but, hey - you're really good.

You get me stiff; You keep me stiff. You work your magic and after a while - I still don't come.

"You gonna come? I'm gettin' kinda tired here."

"Oh, yeah. Your great, babe, but I'm just not happening."

"Cool. How are your legs?"

"Ahhh... they still feel hot, but... I'll make it."

"Great. I'm glad. Now, I'm gonna go make coffee. You clean up and come in."

And you're off to the kitchen.

I come in and you're just finishing, pressing down on the plunger. Your toss is hanging at your sides, most wonderfully framing your body, outlining your torso in red. Beautiful. Your breasts sway with your effort. I step up behind you and press against you, forcing you against the counter. I reach around and weigh and fondle your tits, tapping your nipples with my thumbs.

"I see you're feeling better."

"Yeah. You can't keep a good man down."

"So I see," you say rotating your ass against my now stiff cock.

"Mmmmmm. Ahhhhh yes."

As we sit drinking coffee from another pair of 66 mugs - I really like them and started collecting them back in college. We've got a couple dozen.

As we sit drinking coffee I gaze on you, watch you, admire you... and smile, thinking of the plan.

Today is the day. It is perfect. Blessed and ordained from on high. Time was creeping on and getting short, I was beginning to worry that I'd have to forgo the best part and just do a meager, average thing, but, no... we got snow.

"Get ready to go."

You look up, surprised.

"Go? Where?"

"Today is the day for an adventure I have planned."

"Adventure?"

"Yes. Adventure. You like adventure."

"Well, that is true. What do you have planned?"

"THAT is a secret... for now. The first step is to get you dressed."

You smile wryly. "Dressed. I see. So this is a dress-up adventure."

My turn to wryly smile, "Well, not exactly. Come on up."

You follow me up the stairs and into the bedroom, then on into the bath.

"First, shave."

"You haven't shaved in all the time, I've met you."

"And I'm not shaving now. You are. Well, I'm going to shave you."

You smile, a cute little giggle floats from your mouth. "Really?"

"Really."

I pull you by the arm and set you on the edge of the tub. I push your thighs wide, you don't resist. You watch me carefully as I go to the medicine cabinet and extract the necessary tools.

I kneel between your legs and pinch up a bit of your hair, the skin of your fat pud lifting up with it. I clip that hank - if a hank can be that small - I clip that hank off close to the skin.

You whimper with excitement and I see your pussy bloom and begin to glisten.

I repeat this procedure until all your recently neat and carefully trimmed bush is now very short stubble. And, yes, sometimes I pull your hair much further out than strictly necessary, causing you to flinch. And to moisten. You like it. I like it. I do it just for kicks.

I hold your razor in my hand and look at it. You look at it, too. Our eyes lock, twinkling with incipient excitement

You use a gel (I haven't shaved for, like, 30 years) so I squeeze some on to my finger tips and smear it over the close cropped hair. Rubbing the slickness really turns me on and I snap to full erect immediately. I squeeze a line from the top of your remaining short hairs down to your clit, more, way more, than needed for the shave, but, damn, I like the way it feels.

And so do you. You squirm and lift your hips, offering yourself to me.

And I like the way THAT feels.

I start the shaving up at your lower belly, that goes very well.

This is easy.

BUUUUT, this all gets very complicated around your mound - and gets more complicated the further down I go. I end up pressing and separating and stretching and folding back, which makes you squirm and moan. I'm getting worried you'll zig when I zag and we'll open up a cut and ruin our day. Ruin my plan. THE plan.

Oh, yeah, and ruin your beautiful puss.

SLAAPP! I bring my stiff fingers down on your partly shaved cunt.

"STOP MOVING!"

Your legs snap shut and you grab yourself between the legs. You look at me with pain in your eyes. And confusion. And anger. And...

You smile and open your legs, lifting yourself in offering to me again.

I resume carefully dragging your sharp metal blade over your most tender and vulnerable parts. Also one of my favorites, incidentally.

"Now, your ass."

I roll you onto your knees and you put your hands inside the tub. I slick you up with the gel, way up over your globes (just because I like the feel of spreading the lubricant over your fine ass, and obviously, so do you).

I look to find hair to shave and realize that there are only a few hairs to deal with, so I decide to go another way. I pat your fine ass and go to the medicine cabinet.

You watch me and when I pick the pair of tweezers, you cry out, "No."

I'm back and, with a hand on your waist press you down onto the edge of the tub, holding you firmly.

I grip a hair beside your asshole and jerk it out.

"Hey!"

"Easy, just a couple more and we're done."

"Yauuch!"

Your anus clenches and relaxes, the involuntary response amuses me and I grab another and snatch it out, delighting in your reaction.

You writhe under my palm firmly holding you down, silently resigned.

Only three more and we are done. I use two fingers to rub the shaving gel along your crack, hoping to soothe your pain. And to soothe your anger. If you are angry.

As I rub, you lift your ass to me and moan delightfully when I circle your asshole.

I kneel between your shins and, taking my cock in hand, stroke along your groove. You wriggle back against me. I hold my gel-smeared dickhead at your asshole and you moan and press back, taking me in. You move your hips, your sphincter pulse-clutching my shaft. Surprised (a little) I hold steady and let you fuck me, let you put in all the effort.

I don't last long and when I explode, you reach back and grab my ass to hold your cheeks against my hips, milking me.

I like that.

I moan. You moan.Chapter Two: Adventure

"OK, time to get dressed?"

"Dressed?"

"Yeah," I slap your ass, "Time to get dressed. The adventure."

"What's the adventure this time?"

"All part of the plan, just go along with it."

You laugh and stand up, then go back to your knees. You look back at me over your shoulder.

"Wipe me."

I pat your ass and go grab a towel. You moan and wriggle as I clean your ass. You hump against my hand when I shove between your thighs to wipe the front of your crotch.

I pull you off the tub and lay you on your back on the bathroom tile. With a hand on each thigh, I force your legs wide and lean down to lick your dripping cunt.

Your response in incredible, you are so turned on by what has happened. You are lifting and rolling and thrusting against my face, it is hard to keep solid contact with your gash, my tongue all over your mound. I grip the column of the vastus on the inside of your thigh and lift you, lifting you off the tile and rolling you up onto your shoulders. My tongue dances, laps and licks around your anus. You freeze and I poke against your ring. You come violently, sweetly, squeezing a bit of my come from your asshole.

It does NOT interest me to taste that scum, so I pull back, lower you to the floor and wipe your ass with the gelly towel.

I slap your abs, "Come on, now."

In the bedroom I toss you your black knee-high riding boots. They land on the floor beside the bed. You look at me inquiringly, head tilted in question.

"The adventure."

You smile, shake your head, long hair sweeping over your shoulders, dragging over your tits.

You step to the dresser and pull out your thick calf-length socks, sit on the bed to pull them on.

"And what pants, kind sir?"

"No pants."

"No pants?"

"No pants - The Adventure."

"You've got me curious, now..."

"Ahhh, curious NOW..." I say rubbing my hands like a melodrama villain, "Ma'ee plon ees workink."

You laugh and sit upright, hands on thighs.

"What next?"

I pull your mid-thigh box-quilted down vest, and walk over to stand beside you, draping the vest over one arm.

"Go on."

"Go on? With what?"

"Put the boots on."

"OK," quizzical doubt creeps in. Well, actually, quizzical doubt steps boldly through the door to stand, feet wide, hands on hips.

"The Ad.."

"Yeah, the 'adventure', I get it."

I lay the vest on the bed as you begin to pull on your tall boots.

I pull on jeans and a couple lumber-jack shirts, sit beside you on the bed and roll on thick wooly socks.

I watch as you finish snugging the boots into place, then I reach across you and pull the vest across your lap. You look at me, I look at you, you rise and slip the sleeveless puffy up your arms.

"Nothing else? No top, no bra?"

"Yep, the plan."

You nod, "The plan." You shake your head and look down on me, "The adventure."

"The adventure."

I slip on my tall insulated Red Wings and grab your thighs, pulling you to me, the vest still open. I kiss your tummy and stretch up to suckle on your tit. I stand and run the zipper of the vest up, waggling to get it to lay over your tits without snagging your bulging flesh. You laugh at me.

I lead you down the hall to the foyer and pull your full-length wool coat with the high collar

from the closet and retrieve my Norwegian wool cable-knit sweater, pull it on and grab the old-timey duster I've loved since college days. Granted, a little frayed, faded and threadbare, but I DO love this coat.

Now that both of us are suited up, I lead the way out through the deep snow, some tipping over the top of my boots and wetting my socks. Well, guess that can't be helped, now.

You walk around the Gladiator and step up into the passenger seat, I get in and, after you buckle your belt, I strap in and start the Jeep.

You sit silent, alternately looking out the window, watching the passing landscape (well suburb-scape for the first half hour), and looking at me, driving VERY intently as the bumper plows the top couple inches off the deep snow. So glad I was riding with the DuraTracs.

When we get clear of the city, onto the highway, I find the roads have been plowed, so speed up, not to full speed, but as quickly as I feel I can, given the ever present possibility of hard packed snow or ice, even black ice. You remain quiet (unusual on drives) and I am too involved in the challenge of driving safely to engage in conversation, so we travel in silence.

After about half an hour I pull off the highway and back onto secondaries and county roads with no plowing. Occasionally, I am forced to plow through snow drifts, a couple as high as the hood of the Jeep. I am wary, partly because I'm not sure the 3.6 will power through - but willing to put it to the test. It passes.

I pull off the road at what amounts to a logging road and flip on both differential locks. Small trees have sprung up along the track, which is good, because they are small, so no problem running over them, and they serve as markers to where the snow-buried road is. I'm hoping no serious erosion has happened since the last time I came up this way, no fallen trees or such-like obstacle covered by the thick white blanket.

Moving VERY slowly, deep in the gears, intent on the path through the forest. You are now looking at me constantly, sending brainwaves to get me to explain this madness, knowing I'm not going to pick up the signal, but I am certainly aware it is being sent.

I stop beside a small clearing under a rock face, three or four meters tall with a couple big, flat boulders laying about, settled unevenly and now, snow covered. I pop the Sunrider and open the top.

"Take off the coat."

I reach back to grab my camera from the rear seat.

You have made no move.

"Take off the coat."

"Take off my coat?"

"Yep, the pl..."

"The adventure, I get it."

You unbelt and then struggle to get out of the coat but eventually manage to twist and squirm enough to get it off your shoulders and down your arms. Putting on a delightful show. You remain seated on it and turn to look at me.