Thursdays 10/6 Pt. 01

On Wednesday evening, the following email from my paramour appeared in my inbox, leading to a simultaneous wave of disappointment and excitement: Monthly visitor has arrived. Magnificent blowjob awaits!

The next morning I woke up earlier than usual, stirred from my sleep by sounds from the bathroom. The door was cracked, and wisps of steam billowed out. My wife was showering, but over the sounds of the water I heard a sound that could have been any number of things--sobbing, laughing, moaning. Curious, I decided to investigate.

Quietly, I opened the bathroom door, and looked over to the shower. In silhouette through the curtain I could see my wife standing there, propped up on one arm, fingering herself in the spray. The sounds I had heard were little cries of pleasure, which erupted fairly regularly. I stood there and watched for a moment; she was apparently unaware that I had come in. Blood rushed to my crotch and, hoping to seize the moment, I quickly doffed my boxer shorts.

Gently pushing aside the curtain, I looked at her from behind. Beads of water slid down her back and, beneath the extra weight of age, I could still see the figure that had so entranced me when we had started dating. Her back still curved elegantly, and her ass still maintained a firm round shape, courtesy of the elliptical machine. I stepped in and quickly pressed myself to her, my hard dick lodged firmly between us, and cupped her still-soapy breasts.

"Maybe I can help," I suggested.

She did not remove her hand, but instead resumed her efforts, while I started rubbing her breasts, first from the underside and then passing my palms over her nipples, sliding to the tops and back down again. Then, once more cupping them, I began manipulating her nipples with my thumbs, timing with her efforts. She moaned loudly and then stiffened, coming from our combined touches. When the wave had subsided, she turned her head to look at me, surprise in her eyes.

"Why has it been so good lately," she asked.

Instead of answering, I took the opportunity to reach between her legs, find her opening, and stick my own fingers inside her. At the same time, I reached around and found her swollen clit with my other hand. I began working it in circles while I moved the fingers of my other hand in and out. It has always been quicker and easier with her to have a second orgasm than a first, something that helped in those years of low interest, when I wanted to be done quickly, but still leave her satisfied. This time, I wanted to excite her, I wanted to make her want me, right then and there. She came even harder and more quickly.

Reaching around behind her, she began stroking my dick, pumping it to make sure it was fully hard. I moaned as she did so, and called out her name. She bent over. We had never done this, in all our years together. But just as our lovemaking in bed recently felt new, this was as though it were common practice. She bent at the waist, bracing herself against the shower wall with both hands, her breasts hanging down, water pouring off them in twin torrents.

I stepped in behind her and again sought out her opening with a finger, running it along her slit from the clitoris, enjoying the difference in lubrication. She was extremely slick, and by bending over she prevented the water from washing it away. After finding her entrance, I replaced my finger with the head of my penis and began pushing into her. Her pussy was well-oiled, ready for me to fill her; she opened easily to my advance until I was completely inside her, my testicles coming to rest against the softness of her thighs. She moaned even louder than when I had worked on her with my hands.

As I gripped her hips, I noted the difference between hers and my paramour's. My wife's were thicker, but more substantial for that. We both of us were not lithe as we had been when we were young. Neither were we particularly fat; we both exercised enough to keep that at bay. No, we carried the weight of our late thirties rather well, I thought, and the extra cushion, if anything else, allowed us to melt more into each other. I felt, perhaps, like I was falling for her again.

The shower sprayed us as we made love. As I moved in and out of her, she raised herself slightly to change my angle, and, bending my knees slightly, I penetrated her more deeply than ever before. This new angle also brought a cascade of new water than ran in a rivulet down the channel created by the indentation of her spine, water that ran straight down the crack of her ass and onto my dick. I worried about the loss of lubrication, but each time I plunged into her I was anointed anew.

She came again and again as I slowly rocked in and out of her. With an effort, I held back my own orgasm and stood there, entranced by the sight of my column of flesh disappearing and reappearing, watching the shape of her sex as it gripped me. I tried to push deeper each time, but gently, gradually working my way in. Finally, I felt a tingling in my balls and I pushed a little further still, pulling her to me with her hips, and staying stationary as I came deep inside of her.

When my spasms had subsided I withdrew and she turned to face me completely. The water, which was now starting to get colder, ran down her torso and I was enthralled by the paths it took to the ground between and around her breasts, over the slight roundness of her belly and streaming down her legs. She took my face in my hands and kissed me, thanking me, and saying nothing more. I stepped out of the shower to let her finish and it was in this way that we began our day.

* * *

My ardor for my paramour is in no way impaired by the intensity and recentness of the morning's sex. The events of the past few weeks have left me with the sex drive of a man ten, fifteen years younger. I am remembering what it was like to want sex all the time, and to be able to perform.

As she kneels in front of me in the darkened conference room, her lips sliding up and down on my cock, pausing occasionally to swirl her tongue around the tip, I am astounded by her enthusiasm for the task. With my wife it had always seemed like a favor, one to be repaid later in some fashion. This woman sighs and moans almost as though I were fucking her and at one point I swear she tenses up and her mouth widens around me and it seems as though she were coming.

I want to feel myself inside her mouth for hours, but time is short. Guiding her, I place my hands on either side of her head and slacken her pace somewhat, fucking her mouth with long, slow strokes. This seems to intensify her excitement, which in turn feeds mine. At last, I can feel my orgasm. It is not slow to build but seizes me in a rush and I push in as far as I dare, hearing her gag a bit but also cry out with pleasure (muffled though it is by my cock) as I push just into her throat. I erupt in a brief, but intense, frenzy.

She pulls away when I am done, holding the tip of me on her lower lip for a split second. Then, she licks me top to bottom to be sure I am clean. This accomplished, she stands, helping me put myself back together.

"Something was different this time."

"Oh? How different? Different bad?"

"No. I mean, I got mine and I know you got yours. Just... different."

There is nothing to say. I am loath to tell her that I spent the early part of the morning having sex with my wife in the shower, though she would have as little right to object as I would were she to tell me she had had a date. Instead, I try a different tack.

"I'm tired of seeing you only in a dark room. Would you like to get a drink after class?"

She looks at me quizzically, cocking her head to one side before responding. "This is NOT a relationship. You haven't forgotten that?"

"Not that we've discussed it, but no. I never assumed this was more than what it was."

She smiled, the light from the cracked door illuminating her face. "OK, then. Let's get a drink."