Regarding Harold Dimly

"Eggs over easy, please, and coffee and..." intones Helen, still asleep. Colleen hisses, laughing through her fingers. Harold dares to roll his buttocks against Colleen's lap. She sighs, reaching for his drooling cock, stroking it, swirling her thumb around his well-lubed, flared glans. Helen reaches for it too. Harold blocks her arm.

Helen persists in groping for hard husband-cock in the night, sighing in her sleep, "Oh, Harold, mmm, I want it in me." Colleen lands hot wet kisses on the nape of his neck, moving up to lick and suck his earlobe. Helen's breathing shallows, as it always does on awakening. Harold relaxes his body, bracing for a confrontation not to be believed.

"Harold," whispers Colleen, "Quick, fuck me. Then I'll go." He rolls to face her, then retakes his position. "Harold, let's get caught. Let's get caught fucking."

Colleen's legs and his own intertwine; her busy fingers work at her wicked girl flesh, all wet and noisy. Her pussy scent pervades the room. "Oh! Oh! Harold! I'm coming!" she moans, bucking and quivering along side his back. She straddles the side of his hip, wetting him and trembling.

Helen starts upright, saying, "What?" Harold pounces on her, wedging his hips in between her plush thighs. She clutches his body to hers, kissing him passionately. She finds his cock hard and ready. "Oh god, you're so hard baby! Fuck my pussy!" And how he goes at it; finding the target of his desire, he buries his throbbing rod into her fully. Her heavy legs surrounds him; she pulls her thick, supple thighs back, craving more and more of his intrusions. Helen strums at her clitty, bringing herself to climax, eyes shut tight.

He rolls off onto his back, listening to his wife's sleeping breath rhythm return. Colleen grips his glistening tool, wrenching it to her slutty mouth. She pins him down, pumping and sucking at his aching shaft. Gripping the bed sheets, he comes hard, feeding his dream girl spurt after spurt of hot spunk in the dark. He hears her swallow, cooing with satisfaction. She slips away. Furtive footfalls descend the stairs, ending with the closing of a door.

*****

Helen smiles at him across their usual Breakfast Cafe table. Colleen approaches. Menus in hand, she laughs, tossing them aside. "I guess we won't be needing menus. I know what you want," she beams. Helen turns her attention to her cell phone; Colleen winks, palming his hand. He blushes.

"Yes, I suppose you do at that."