tagAnalWe have this Little Thing We Do

We have this Little Thing We Do

bywordsworth_ii©

All characters in this story are over 18.

***

My wife and I have this thing we do. We've never spoken about it. We'd never acknowledge it, to each other, our friends or even to ourselves.

It began, as many strange behaviours do, drunk, stressed and tired, as the two of us climbed into bed, but somehow tiptoeing between angry and horny. She had teased me all day, but it had been a bad day at work. I say 'at work'. Work is a shed at the bottom of the garden, where I code all day. I'd had shit meeting after shit meeting past lunchtime, and when I eventually hung up my headset and got down to coding, answers didn't come, and crash followed rewrite as surely as night followed day.

So when Jess's banter had rubbed me the wrong way, and tempers had fizzled and harsh words had been thrown out, we fumed quietly through the evening, and fizzled until bedtime.

Climbing into bed, I could see she was already there. I took the longest glance I dared without making it obvious that I was insanely horny, and was kicking myself for fighting all day, when what I really wanted above all else was to drop my stubble-pocked chin onto the mattress between her thighs and tantalise and tease those warm, soft folds until her clit swelled and rang like a bell, and she pulled my hair, begging me between moans to strongarm my throbbing cock inside her.

But no, I stubbornly maintained my silent, stupid rage, and she did the same. Sleep didn't come quickly, but drowsiness began to consume me and cloud the darkened room.

I awoke to the strangest of sensations. My boxer shorts were open, my hard cock exposed, and as I lay on my left side, beneath the duvet, invisible to my drowsy eyes, my wife's naked ass ground gently but firmly against the swollen glans of my erection.

In all our vanilla, active yet conformist relationship, my wife had rarely initiated sex, and then mostly when we were trying for a baby. She'd never initiated anything whilst I slept, so I did not want to interrupt her flow, but I wanted to move. I was being silently tantalised by the muscles and tissue sliding around me, and like an outsider watching a party from the kitchen, I wanted in. I could feel sticky pre-cum being smeared around my tip, and I wanted to be enfolded in something moist and warm and accommodating and fleshy.

Why I did what I did next, I think I'll never know. But I brought the forefinger of my right hand to my mouth, lubricated it briefly, then slid my hand down her back, over her hip, across her buttock, then firmly and decisively up into her tight little rosebud.

The shock in her breath was immediate and acute. The horny grinding stopped for a moment, and I knew the thought occurred to her to climb off; to pull away. She didn't. A few seconds passed, then a few more, and with another gentle moan she resumed her grinding against my cock, and now against my finger.

As minutes passed with my pointer lodged in her thimble-tight asshole and my erection sweltering close to expulsion against her labia, I began to feel her grip relaxing on my digit, and I responded by gently guiding it in and out a few times. Her moaning built very slightly, but her face and expression, still under the duvet and out of sight in the darkness, remained buried in mystery. Still with my finger in her posterior, I began to introduce my cock to her waiting and, to my delight, sopping wet pussy. Her tightly curled position, with her knees pulled up to her generous tits, meant the penetration was tight, and I fancied if I could feel my finger moving in her ass against the ridge of my cock as I began to sweep in and out of her pussy.

Still neither of us said a word, the finger in her ass the unspoken elephant in the bed, and in my mind, a picture of it as her punishment for the evening began to gain traction.

I began to finger her ass harder, to get deeper and firmer. To show her how much she had tormented me. Her ass relaxed further, giving me space to move and thrust harder and relaxed as her moaning increased.

Finally, as time crept on, and my orgasm grew nearer, I drew first my cock, and then my finger out of her, and placed my now sodden and slippery organ at the entrance to her exit.

Full of lust, rage and want, I pushed the head of my cock past her tight little sphincter and into her ass. It was like no sensation of tightness I had ever experienced. Her too-small orifice accommodated me, scooping me in and seemingly closing around me for just a few sweet, paradisiacal moments, before it spat me out again.

Waiting for signs of her shock or pain, holding my breath and waiting for the fallout, I kept stock still. Nothing happened. There was no shout of resentment, no kick, no pull away and cold shutdown.

I positioned myself again. This time, I heard a breath, and as I pushed forward, I felt her relax, and her body push back to mine.

This time, my head passed her keyhole, and there it rested, as a tight heat of fire and joy swallowed my most sensitive of nerve endings.

Less than a minute of gentle stroking and guilt-ridden massaging later, my shaft exploded deep in her, and my turgidity faded to a limp memory as spurt after spurt of warm, rich, sticky cum sped away from me, and I was fully spent in a whole new world.

The silence that closed around us was full of unspoken, unsaid words. There were no looks, no light touches, no conciliatory moves. I never saw her leave to go to the bathroom, or roll away from me. I just remember waking up in the morning, and smelling coffee and croissants coming from downstairs.

The kids were already milling around when I arrived, and a simple kiss and a coffee was all the explanation or clarification I ever received. She wasn't crazy, or leaving, or confused or cross. I wasn't screamed at or branded a pervert, and she wasn't leaving. She was just getting on with the day. For my part, I never asked whether last night was okay. Instead, I ate my breakfast, checked my email, went out to my office and got on with the day.

Sex returned to the normal a few days later. She lay there, accommodating and squeezing pleasantly, but genuinely disinterested in anything out of the vanilla. It was like the night never happened.

So you can imagine my surprise when, about three months later, after a long weekend when I'd worked late, and been in the most disgusting temper, I fell asleep horny but angry, and woke to feel a familiar, anonymous grind again that had been the highlight of my fantasies since. This time, I knew to reach for the small bottle of KY on the bedside before anything else happened...

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