The Charming Wife Ch. 03

Chapter 3 – While We Are Parted

I was asleep when the phone rang, but to be fair, it was 1 a.m. Kevin's new job did involve a lot more travel than the old one, and I missed him. I enjoyed our good night phone calls, even when different time zones made them a bit late for me.

The disparity in our alertness was clear from the opening exchange.

"Baby, God, I wish I were in bed with you right now. I want to taste you so bad!" was his opening line.

Mine was "Umph."

"I would lick your sweet slit, swirl my tongue around your clit... squeeze those luscious tits...I want you so much, babe."

"Uh huh," was my witty reply.

"Babe, wake up!"

"Trying," I mumbled. "What's got you so hot and heavy?" I was waking up now. "Not that I mind. But usually you start out by asking about the kids, or telling me that you love me and miss me."

"Hon, I love you, I miss you, how are the kids, and are you naked?" Oh, he was in rare form.

"Seriously... what's got you so hot? You sound like you have a story to tell. Did you just catch a glimpse of the hotel maid's boobs or something?" He was a big boob man. I mean, he was big into boobs, not that he loved only big boobs. Although, come to think of it, he does prefer bigger boobs, but that was fortunate, because mine definitely fall on the "sizable" end of the spectrum.

"Not the maid. It was the waitress where we had dinner tonight."

"She had a nice set, did she?" I'm a shameless voyeur. I'm not very interested in other women's breasts myself, but hearing their effect on my husband would be fun.

"Tell me you're naked and I'll tell you more," he said. "PS – I am. Naked, I mean."

With Kevin in Seattle, I had gone to bed in my sexiest ensemble: one of his t-shirts and a pair of purple sleep shorts with little Tinkerbell pictures on them. "Give me a moment," I said, and peeled them off. "Okay, we are now in a similar set of nakedness. Tell me what's up."

"The waitress... man, she had on this short, tight skirt and this white tuxedo-style blouse, but clearly no bra..."

"I take it you weren't at Applebee's," I said dryly.

Kevin laughed. "No, the client took us out. Can't really remember the name of the place. Great Italian food, though. Which reminds me – I have to have my tie dry cleaned when I get home." Unseen over the phone, I rolled my eyes.

I wanted to get the story back on track. Hearing about spaghetti stains on his tie was not nearly as interesting as sexy waitresses as a bedtime story. "And you know she had on no bra because...?"

"She had about four buttons undone, and did a lot of leaning over as she took our orders, or set down the plates, or cleared the plates... you wouldn't believe how often she filled our water glasses. I'm telling you, we could see clear down to her nipples!" Kevin sounded like a 15-year-old how had just found his first issue of National Geographic.

"Gene must have loved that," I said, laughing. Gene was Kevin's immediate boss, and was one of the most conservative people I knew. (At least, I thought he was. Appearances can be deceiving. After all, I look and act like a typical soccer mom in public too.)

"I'm not sure Gene noticed our server was female! Janet did though!" Janet is Kevin's partner at work and they work as a team with most clients. I loved her. Janet made a point of introducing me to her partner, Allison. ("I like the wives to know that I'm not sleeping with their husbands when we're away," she had said with a twinkle in her eye.)

"Ooh! I'm telling Allison!" Allison, Gene's wife Paula, and I had formed the "Road Widows League" and got together on Wednesdays while our spouses were away. It worked out well for me because the kids were with their dad on Wednesdays, as well as every other weekend. So... that would be tomorrow night. Or tonight, really, I thought, glancing at the clock.

"Just was no looking, no touching!" my spouse assured me. "Though the invitation to do more was clearly there."

"As if I'd care! It would make a better story for me. But tell me about her 'invitation to do more.'"

"Well after dinner, we went to the bar in the restaurant. And Candi – that was the waitress's name..."

"Oh bull," I interrupted. That's her 'waitress' name. It gets better tips than her real name, which is probably Ethel."

"Babe, with those pink nipples of hers on display, she didn't need any fake name for a big tip!" he retorted before adding with mock sternness, "And stop interrupting!"

"Yes, sir," I said, trying to sound meek, but smiling broadly. With the windows cracked open, the night air was cool on my naked body. All this talk about nipples was having an effect on mine. With the phone in my left hand, I used the palm of my right hand to make slow, wide circles on first one tip and then the other, enjoying how they hardened under my touch.

"So Gene, and Janet, and Pete and Maurice – they're the clients – and me, we all go to the bar, and Candi says she's getting off shift herself, and can she join us, and of course, we don't want to be rude..."

"No, of course not," I agree, oh so agreeably.

"Again, with the interruptions," said Kevin. "Are you touching yourself?"

How could he know that? "Uh, yeah, a little," I said. "Are you psychic?"

"No, just hopeful, so I don't feel like a pervert being the only one stroking myself in this conversation. Are you wet?"

"Actually, I hadn't moved that far south yet."

He properly inferred where my hand must be. "Ah... pinch them for me, would you? Like I would if I were there with you. Both of them!" I cradled the phone against my shoulder so I could have both hands free, and cupped my breasts, my thumbs stroking the now-hard tips. "Are you doing it? Are you pinching them? Tell me about it."

My nipples are perhaps the most sensitive on the planet. What is pleasure for most can be painful for me until I'm in a pretty high state of arousal. I pinched them oh-so-gently, and even at my own touch, moaned slightly. "They're definitely getting harder," I told him.

"Do what I wanted to do to Candi," he said. "Pinch them hard enough to make them stand out, roll them between your thumb and finger for me." I did, letting out another little moan. "Describe them for me."

"Hard... standing out now. It's cool in here, and the breeze from the windows... well, I'm feeling it." I closed my eyes, and imagined my husband's tongue swirling over them. He likes to bring them together, so the nipples are almost touching, and flick his tongue rapidly over both. It never fails to make me weak in the knees, and wet slightly higher up.

Although I love dirty talk when we're together – really nasty, dirty, salacious words, it's oddly embarrassing me for to talk this way over the phone. I screw up my courage and tell him what I'm thinking. "I wish it were your tongue instead of my fingers. The way you do play with them both at once, licking, then sucking..." Once I'm really turned on, he'll even nip a little. As I talk, the pressure from my fingers becomes firmer, really toying with them now, enjoying the pleasure-pain of being pinched, squeezed. I can feel how wet I'm getting, and my hips start to move from side to side. I spread my legs wide, imagining him watching and giving him a good view of my arousal.

"Mmm," said Kevin, "I want to picture exactly what you're doing. I want you to pinch them hard enough so you can pull your whole tit up from your body, then release them." My moan confirmed for him that I was doing so. "Again." His voice a getting husky.

"Oh, I want..." I started to say.

"No, keep your hands away from your pussy. I'll tell you when." He could read my mind. "Do you have your vibrator handy? Get it."

"Which one?" It was a legitimate question. We enjoy our toys and there are more than a few. I rolled over and opened the bottom drawer of the bedside table on his side.

"The egg, I think. Just get it out. Don't turn it on yet. Don't use it."

"You suck, sometimes," I growled in frustration.

"You know darn well you like it when I do, and the feeling is mutual." How typical of him to turn my comment into innuendo. "You can touch yourself anywhere, any way you want, except your clit – and not even indirectly." It would ruin the game for me to just say, "Screw it" and do what I really wanted to do, so I reluctantly kept my hands above my waist. There was no point in venturing near the promised land if I couldn't stay and play.

"So here we are at the bar, and Candi sits on the stool at the end, and that short skirt of hers rides up, and the next thing I know, she pulls a Sharon Stone."

"A what? A Sharon Stone?"

"Yeah, like in Casino..."

"Wait, what? She had a hissy fit and threw things at Robert DeNiro?"

"No, shit... not Casino. Fatal Attraction."

"That was Glenn Close. Are you saying she killed a rabbit?"

"Jesus – Basic Instinct! You know what I mean! Remind me to spank you for being so bratty when I get home."

"Yes, but it's so fun to be one up on Mr. Movie Trivia."

"Look, Mr. Movie Trivia got teased by a fabulous set of tits for two hours tonight and is full of thoughts of you lying there naked and wet. I'm so hard that I could drive nails with my cock. You're always telling me I can only think with one head at a time. Give me break here."

"I apologize," I said with mock contriteness. "Can I play with my clit now?"

"Not yet." The man can be so frustrating sometimes. I kept squeezing my tits. One hand ventured down, avoiding my clit but rubbing that sensitive area just above it. "So, anyway, Gene is apparently concerned for my virtue, 'cause just about the time she does the no-panties, oops-my-knees-opened routine, he asks loudly about whether I've talked to my 'charming wife' on our trip so far."

"No shit. Gene asked about me?"

"Babe, how many other wives do I have, charming or otherwise? But no, he didn't give a hoot about you – he wanted to make sure Candi knew I was married. Why don't you turn that egg on now?"

I did. I started it on low, and pressed it between my legs, my pussy lips now together so I could feel the humming through to my clit, but not touching it directly... yet.

"Your big old honkin' wedding ring didn't proclaim that for you?"

"Oh, you know Gene. Belts and suspenders, you know? So he starts going on and on about you, mentioning the word 'wife' about twice per sentence, and Candi gets the message and turns her attention to Pete, who made a point of using the phrase 'recent divorce' about twice per sentence..."

"Oh, poor hunny-bunny! So you never got to taste the Candi after you drooled over it in the display case."

"No," he said trying to sound sad, but not succeeding. "But I do wish I were tasting you. I think I said that already. Do me a favor, taste yourself for me."

I moved the egg to the side, spread my legs wide again, and ran my middle finger along my slit. I was nice and wet. I brought my finger to my lips and made a point of sucking loudly, so he could picture exactly what I was doing.

"Ah, shit. I fucking want you so bad right now. I don't suppose you can catch a red-eye to Seattle?"

"I think Child Protective Services may object to my slipping out of the house right now, actually," I said with a grin. I returned the egg between my legs, which were still spread wide. The throbbing started at my core and pulsed through me. "Oh, God, baby... this feels so good."

"Tell me. Tell me what you feel right now."

"Mmm. The egg was just the right choice. It's still on low, but... oohh... so nice." I closed my legs around it, feeling it continuing to hum against my clit and just at the entrance of my slit. In halting words, I described it to Kevin. I'm not particularly articulate when aroused, but I'm sure the words "want you to fuck me so bad" were among those uttered.

"Turn it up a notch. Really feel it, babe." I did, and then flipped over on my stomach, using the mattress to press it even harder against my sex, grinding down on it. My breath got more ragged, and I could tell from his voice that he was stroking himself.

"My turn. Tell me."

"Oh, babe. I thought I was hard when I called you. You should see it now."

"God, I wish I could. I wish I were there to lick you, suck you... run my tongue along it... wrap my hands around your fabulous cock..." as I got more aroused, it was easier for me to talk this way. My grinding was turning into humping. I didn't really want to suck him. I was past foreplay. I wanted him to be fucking me. "And I want you inside me so much. I want ... oh I want you to be using this incredibly horny pussy to be stroking that cock, not your hands. I want you to know how wet I am for you because you can feel it, not because I tell you about it... Oh, I just... WANT you!"

"Not half as much as I do, babe. All I can think about his how much I want that too, to feel how wet you must be. How ...hot and ...tight." His breathing told me how close he was to coming.

"Ah, fuck, Kevin! Come for me, please! Let me hear you." I had tossed the egg to the side and was rubbing myself furiously with my fingers, picturing him coming inside me, and not 3,000 miles away. I heard his groan, my self-imposed cue for my own release, and I followed a moment later.

We were quiet for a moment, or more accurately, we didn't speak. A tape of our heavy breathing would have been prized by obscene callers.

"I'm going to have to leave the maid a big tip, I think," he said finally.

"Make it big enough and maybe she'll forget to wear her bra to work too. Then we can do this again."

"I'm still going to spank you for being such a brat about the Sharon Stone comment."

"As long as you fuck me first," I said agreeably.

"No worries there. Maybe the kids can be at a sleepover Friday night when I get home. I'm having lovely thoughts about what I'd like to see you wearing when I walk in the door, and it's not what they're wearing to the soccer games this season." In fact, I'd already picked out my outfit – heels, stockings, garters... and an apron. A man needs a welcome-home meal, after all.

"Good new for you. It's a dad weekend. But I'll try to leave you with enough energy so you can be upright and ambulatory to greet them Sunday when they come home," I said, adding mischievously, "but I don't promise."

"Sweetie, you know, I DO miss you and I DO love you."

"Likewise." I smiled into the phone. "Come home soon."