On The Road to Dublin Pt. 02

She climbed on my lap, facing me and rubbed her breasts on my cheeks and let me kiss the hollow between, but teased me by keeping her fully erect pink rosebuds just out of reach of my tongue.

Leaning backward while arching her back to push her breasts out provocatively she glided from my lap onto the floor, leaving her calves hooked over my thighs. As her brown eyes bored into me, she lifted her pelvis from the carpet. Her kitty swayed tantalizingly with the music as she tweaked and pulled her nipples.

The soaked gusset of her panties proved her arousal and pleasure in showing her body. It was a hunger for her and I understood that hunger was going to have to be satisfied for my wife to be completely happy.

All on its own my hand reached to touch but she rolled away and stood, again just out of reach.

Lynne swayed her hips to that haunting jazz, staring at me boldly as her hand slid down her stomach and over her bare mons, her fingers disappearing into her tiny pink panties. Her moan blended with the tenor sax notes as her head tilted back, her lips parted, her throat exposed.

Her head lowered and her hand froze as a shudder moved over her beautiful body. Still facing me she hooked her thumbs in the waist of her panties and slowly, agonizingly, glacially, pushed the wisp of pink lace, exposing first her dark landing strip, then finally, her baby smooth slit. Down, down her delicious thighs, over her taut calves and to her pumps, then, having descended from heaven, to be so casually kicked aside.

As she stood, I was overcome by the need to inhale the scent of her arousal, as Greg had the previous night. I leaned forward and retrieved her damp panties from the carpet and held them to my face, taking her aroma deep into my lungs. It was a scent I knew and loved. Lynne understood, smiled as her hips moved to the rhythm of the jazz.

She turned to the window and gracefully bent forward to caress her lower calves allowing me to see what she had just shown to anyone fortunate enough to be looking into our living room. Her aroused inner and outer lips were swelled and opened, again resembling the petals of a petite orchid. Their glistening dark pink contrasted with her white skin.

She slid to the carpet, turning onto her back, feet toward me. My wife amazed me by crawling toward me on her back, arms and legs off the carpet, using only her fanny and shoulders, all in perfect time with the music. Seeing her bare, smooth kitty coming to me, seemingly on its own, was the new most erotic thing I'd ever seen.

She slid her legs over my thighs and held out her hands to be pulled into my lap, cowgirl style. While looking into my eyes she pulled open the elastic waistband of my shorts and reached in with her right hand to grasp Junior and position him pointed up, laying against my stomach. Junior and I both enjoyed her touch. Junior even shed a tear.

Lynne leaned into my chest, closed her legs and turned over so her back was to me, then leaned back against my chest. Turning her head she nuzzled and kissed my neck as she slid her hands down my arms to my hands.

She whispered "kiss me" and parted her lips for a deep kiss as she brought my hands to her breasts and held them there, allowing me to squeeze and rub her breasts. I was getting into this lap dance. I'd had lap dances before, or thought I had, but this was a whole new experience. Then she made it even hotter by moving my left hand down to her landing strip and guiding it to rub her lips and clit. She was wet. Her hips moved against my hand as she moaned and breathed in my ear.

She moved my hands back to my sides and turned over to straddle me again looking into my eyes as she dry humped me. For several minutes there was just Lynne, me, and the jazz, all working to the same tempo.

She turned around facing the window and picked up the pace. My shorts were slipping downward as Junior begged to be allowed to play. On a strong forward stroke of Lynne's hips Junior came free and penetrated her all the way to her cervix. Raven-haired, naked, impaled, she arched her back and bucked as I squeezed her nipples. I'm sure folks heard her wail in the next block.

As she squirmed on my chest she turned her head and whispered in my ear.

"I made a lot of men cum yesterday. You were just the last."

That did it. Junior fired both barrels, pumping deep inside my amazing wife.

As I subsided, Lynne giggled.

"What?" I asked.

"Tuttle," she managed to get out pointing across the street.

There sat old Mr. Tuttle, slack jawed, on his riding mower, staring through our living room window at Lynne. Lynne made a show of rubbing her breasts and tweaking her nipples. Then she smiled and gave him a little wave.

His foot slipped off the brake and the machine rumbled forward the full length of Mrs. Tuttle's prize winning rose bed, spraying a rooster tail of rose bush confetti as it went. The mower finally stalled in the privet hedge with poor Tuttle never having taken his eyes off of Lynne.

As Mrs. Tuttle waddled across the yard loudly announcing the poor man's imminent dismemberment and demise I moved Lynne aside and closed the curtain, leaving the poor man to his fate.

TUESDAY:

We were enjoying Margaritas with chips and cheese dip at our favorite Mexican restaurant after a long workday when Lynne's phone beeped, announcing a text message. She read it, gasped and looked at me with her eyes wide.

"What is it, hon?" Her face told me this was no ordinary message.

"It's Greg. You were right. He wants to have sex with me."

I stared at her.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Can he?"

That tore it! I grabbed her phone and had already started typing an angry reply telling him to forget ever getting anywhere near my wife again before noticing the message she had received. It was a discount offer from our phone provider for extending our contract. I heard her chuckling as I looked up.

"You're so easy. I told you I didn't give them a last name or phone number," she grinned and shook her head, retrieving her phone before I could snap it in half.

"But you are so sexy when you get all jealous and protective. I love it. Can we play when we get home tonight? By the way, I forgot my panties this morning. Imagine that."

THE FOLLOWING JANUARY 9th:

Her husband's car was already in the garage when Lynne pulled in. Coming into the kitchen she found him sitting, slump-shouldered, a whiskey bottle and a half empty tumbler on the table in front of him.

"You're home early. Anything wrong?" Her question drew no response; he just stared mutely at an envelope next to the whiskey bottle. Lynne sat opposite her husband, her concern growing. He slowly poured another shot and stared into the glass.

"What's the matter? Talk to me." Lynne knew it had to be bad. Her man rarely drank and never drank alone.

"Did you tell Greg that he could have you if he could find you?"

She stared in open-mouthed silence. The hall clock ticked.

"I. . . He. . . We. . . That is. . . But. . . How. . ." She couldn't seem to put a sentence together.

"I got a W-9 form in the mail today concerning your tip income. Enclosed was a letter to you from Greg reminding you of your promise and telling you he was ready to collect. It seems you and he have a date for next Friday night at his condo you've never visited. 6:00 pm. The man wants to get an early start on you, apparently. He said to plan on staying the weekend."

"The weekend?" She blushed hotly.

"Did you, or did you not, give your word that he could have you if he could find you?"

That snapped her out of it. She shook her head emphatically.

"Yes. No! Wait. I did say that, but I swear I didn't mean it. You've got to believe me. He kept trying to get my name and phone number and I got tired of it. I just told him that to shut him up. I was so sure he could never find us. How in the world . . ."

I tapped the envelope on the table to focus her attention.

"Seems he got our tag number as we pulled out of the parking lot. He pointed out that he's gone to some trouble and expense to locate you because of your promise. Now he wants to collect."

I downed the rest of my drink.

"He can't. . . There's. . . I don't. . ." She stared at me helplessly.

"Here, read it for yourself." I slid the envelope across to her. She recoiled as if it were a copperhead coiled on the table.

"Go ahead, read it. Maybe you can figure a way out of your promise to give yourself to another man; I can't."

She stared at me open-mouthed then opened the flap without picking up the envelope and slowly withdrew the single sheet of paper. Unfolding it seemed to take all the courage she could muster.

Lynne, my smart, sassy, sarcastic, playful wife, stared at the page a full seven seconds as it sank in on her that she was looking at the December water bill. She closed her eyes as my words rang in her ears.

"You're so easy!"

Her eyes popped open, shooting fire and lightning at me.

She rose shrieking, "You low-down, mean, sneaky, conniving man. You. . . You. . . Husband! I'll get you. So help me, if it's the last thing I ever do, I'll get you." She came after me around the table.

She did get me. Finally. In the bedroom.

Much later, savoring the afterglow, Lynne lightly raked her nails through my chest hair and purred in my ear the question I knew was coming, "How did you know about my promise to Greg? I never mentioned it."

"We CPAs have our sources - and friends in low places.

"And, by the way, you've been released from you coerced promise to Greg. I've seen to it."

Yep. I just let her wonder. Client confidentiality is sacred. Especially for redheaded clients.

-END-

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for reading. This is my first story of any kind. Please vote then give me your comments so I can become a better writer.

Let me know if you'd like more stories about Lynne and her husband, what's-his-name.