Weekend Work: Her StorybyAnnie_O©
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This is the second installment of a two-part story. The first is told from the point of view of the husband. Here are the same events, as experienced by her.
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Weekend Yard Work: Her Story
As if the stress of my deadline wasn't enough, I heard my husband start up the lawn mower. After being married for so many years, he should know that when I park myself in front of my computer on a perfectly sunny summer Saturday, it is not for my own amusement. As a freelance journalist, a deadline is a deadline. But what was I going to do? As long as the noise of the mower was rolling through the basement window to where I was trying to work, I simply couldn't concentrate. Given the situation, there was only one thing to do: look at porn.
It would take my husband a good 20-30 minutes to mow and rake the yard, so I knew I would have my uninterrupted privacy. Overall, he was pretty good about letting me have my personal office set up in the basement. He never came down, and gave me plenty of time and space to work. The privacy was so complete, that more than once, I'd set aside my current writing project and taken a few minutes to watch porn.
Honestly, I had never watched porn online until I found a site on his laptop. I hadn't meant to find it. I was cooking one day and needed to look up a recipe really quick. I was already in the middle of cooking, with food on the stove, and just needed to check one detail. His laptop was right there on the kitchen table where he'd left it; my computer was all the way in the basement. He wouldn't mind if I just checked real quick, right? Besides, it was for his dinner!
So as I began typing in his browser, it auto-completed a website I had never heard of. I had accidently already hit enter, when I realized my mistake. Too late. I found a searchable collection of XXX videos. Shocked and embarrassed, I closed it and looked up my recipe. But I am a curious person by nature—thus why I became a journalist—and it wasn't long before I returned to his laptop and really investigated.
I found that I really enjoyed the amateur category, especially couples, because they reminded me of my own sex life with my husband. I could easily insert myself into the scenes. I had pulled up one, which was about 15 minutes long. It had a couple, about our age, whom I found attractive. I clicked it on.
As I started watching the couple on my computer screen, I started becoming aroused. I couldn't help caressing my breasts. It felt good to gently squeeze and then lightly pinch my nipples. They hardened, and poked through the thin fabric of my weekend t-shirt. I began to feel the tingle and warmth between my legs.
Just then I realized that the mower had stopped. I paused and listened. I couldn't hear anything from outside. Maybe he had started raking, I guessed. I listened for the door to see if he'd come into the house, but didn't hear anything. So I continued.
My hands slid over the fabric of my t-shirt, stimulating my breasts. This was always how I'd start, teasing myself, knowing that I was getting wetter between my legs. I loved rolling my thumb over my nipples, then pinching and giving a light tug. This caused an electric shock to run down my spine. I felt warm and tingly all over.
I knew I had teased myself enough, and let my right hand slide down. I unsnapped my shorts, then slipped my hand between my legs, over the triangle of curls, and lightly skimming over the soft petals of my sex.
By instinct, my legs parted to accept my hand. My back arched, tilting my pelvis to an angle of friction. Even lightly touching my clitoris, I felt how swollen and eager it was to be stimulated. It had been such a stressful week, and this project was right up against the deadline. My editor was counting on me, and I had been pushing myself to get it in shape to submit. I had been under so much focus and worry on this project that I hadn't even touched myself or had sex that week. Touching my body at last made me realize how long it had been and how pent up I really was.
No turning back, I pulled off my t-shirt, and yanked down my shorts. Then I resumed watching porn on my computer, letting my finger glide up and down, feeling my own wetness, and pausing just briefly to flirt with my clitoris. A slow circle of my finger sent shivers running through me. Then I let my finger dip down, entering my warmth and wetness. It slid in easily, and made me wiggle and squirm in my chair. My body was aching to be penetrated, and I was holding back that moment as long as I could stand it.
Finally, I allowed my finger to slip inside, all the way in, and then out again, still making myself want it even more. I knew I was turned on, but I was surprised by my own wetness. My finger was coated in my own sticky juices. It gleamed in the faint light of the basement and dusty light filtering in from the small window. I couldn't help but taste it. I was tangy and even a bit salty.
I wondered if that was how I tasted to my husband, and that made me think of tasting him, having his cock in my mouth, and its salty taste. I was getting carried away, sucking on my own finger, recalling how I would suck on his cock, as the moans and groans of the couple having sex on my computer played.
I was really getting worked up, and pulled my spit-coated finger from my mouth and pushed it up inside myself. I closed my eyes in pleasure. It felt so good to begin to move it slowly in and out. With my other hand, I rubbed my sensitive clitoris. This is how my body liked it. One finger wasn't enough, so I slipped in a second. That was it. That felt wonderful. I moaned with pure bliss.
My two fingers were filling me as my other hand continued to circle my clitoris. I could feel the waves of pleasure radiating from my sex. It felt wonderful, but it wasn't going to get me off, at least not like I wanted. I had been too stressed, and even though my fingers knew what my body normally wanted—what my body wanted at that moment was the sensation only a vibrator could deliver. I knew my little pink rocket would go the trick.
I fetched the key from my desk, and went to my filing cabinet. In the bottom shelf, behind my old files, I keep a small cardboard box. Call me sentimental, but in it are all the love letters my husband wrote me when we were dating, a few photos, and a few of my most personal and private sexual items.
The pink vibrator is one I retrieve from the box fairly often. Sometimes I've even left it in my desk drawer, and sometimes in my purse. Once I came back to my desk and realized I'd left it out in plain sight. Either my husband had never noticed, or wasn't comfortable saying anything. Our sex life was normal enough, I felt, but even then, there were still things we didn't really share with each other.
Sometimes I felt guilty for sneaking masturbation sessions behind his back. I assumed he took care of his own needs on his own. We never really talked about it. I had always wanted to talk about it, but feared that he'd see my vibrator as a "replacement" for him. Men can be sensitive like that, though they'd never admit it. So, I'd never mentioned it.
Instead, as I'd done before, I took the pink vibrator to my chair, eased back, and pressed it to my eagerly awaiting body. My nerves, on cue, leapt to the tickle of the powerful vibrations. I teased my pussy lips, already wet with my own juices, before allowing the humming vibe to dial in on my clitoris.
The sensations were powerful and immediate. My back arched, my eyes squeezed shut, almost unable to handle the intensity. My head was dizzy, and my muscles began to quiver.
It was too much, and I couldn't leave it on my sensitive clit. To give myself some relief, but also a different type of pleasure, I slid the vibrator up inside of me, slowly, easily, imaging it was my husband.
It didn't feel like a cock, though. It felt only like my vibrator. I enjoyed my vibrator, but it really wasn't a substitute. Even though my body had reached a floating level of bliss, my mind was feeling the desire for something harder, faster, deeper, thicker. I was wanting more.
I had half-opened my eyes again to watch the porn on the screen, and that's when something caught my eye. A shadow crossed the window briefly, and I caught a glimpse of a reflection in my monitor.
It was the figure of a man, outside the window. It had to be my husband. Who else could it be? I had just heard the mower—how long ago? Only a few minutes. It had to be him. But what was he doing? Spying on me? And was that... yes. It was. He was stroking his cock.
I guess I should have been shocked, horrified, embarrassed. Instead, I was simply curious and turned on. I loved the idea of my man stroking his hard cock. Sometimes I'd even imagine that as I touched myself. It was a regular "go-to" fantasy of mine.
How long had he been there? The whole time? I was too worked up to stop, and the idea of him seeing me added to the thrill. I had never been able to talk to him about this, but now... now I didn't need words. I could show him.
I took a deep breath to make sure I was really up for it. My body was still shaking and quivering, riding the first waves of what could build into a powerful orgasm. I knew what my body wanted. I knew I wanted to share this with my husband. I knew I might never get such an opportunity like this. I set aside my pink toy for a moment and reached for my secret box.
Inside I found the new toy. I had ordered it online jus a couple weeks before. I had been too busy to even try it. I wasn't even sure if I'd like it. It was a huge 10" purple jelly dildo.
Sometimes when I would touch myself, I'd use two, even three fingers inside me. I loved the sensation of being stretched and filled. The penetration alone couldn't get me off, but that plus clitoral stimulation, and it sent me to the moon.
When I first saw the huge jelly dong, I giggled. My intellectual mind said: that's just silly. My body said: I want. It was on sale, and shipping was free... So, half on a whim, I couldn't help but click "buy," thinking, well, at least I could try it once.
That was before the big assignment, and I had yet to give it a try. I guess now was my first, and maybe best, opportunity.
I eased back into my chair. If he was going to watch, I was going to give him a full view. I set my feet up on my desk, spread wide, offering myself fully to his lustful eyes. This was either going to really work, or really not work. There was no half way.
Now ready, eager, and waiting, I held the dildo with both hands. The jelly material was soft and squishy, like a half-erect penis. It was twice as think as my husband, and I wondered if I could really fit it in me. I knew I could stretch, but still, it felt so hefty as I held it and tried to position it at my entrance.
I couldn't just slide it in like a finger or the small vibrator, so I began to rotate it, slowly, pressing down, trying to relax. I had overestimated my body's elasticity, or under estimated the girth of the toy. It wasn't going in. I pushed a little harder and tried to open my legs wider. It was more technical at that point than sexy, I was truly trying to get it inside me, becoming frustrated. The harder I pushed, he more the semi-erect dong was bending. Then, as if by magic, my body opened, and the fat head popped in.
With that, I exhaled, and knew I had it. My body relaxed and slowly began to adjust to the fullness. I had never inserted anything so thick inside myself, but my body, already wet and half way into orgasm, was glad for the cock-shaped dildo. It seemed to swallow it, drawing it up toward my belly. I bit my lip in both pain and pleasure.
Slowly, I pushed another inch in, and then another, and another until about half of the jelly dildo was in me. Now able to use just one hand one to work the dildo, I picked up my pink vibrator.
I was pretty sure that as soon as I flicked it on and touched my clitoris, I would begin to cum. I was so full, and so eager to let climax seize me.
I couldn't help but watch the porn on my computer. As if in a dream, I saw the couple on the screen going at it hard. I felt the dildo sliding out of me and pushed it back in, and then realized my body had adjusted to it, and I could move in it and out easily. Doing so, made me feel like I was having sex. Other than actual intercourse, it was the closest to having sex I had ever felt.
Lost beyond conscious thoughts, I was moving the jelly dildo in and out of my, while holding the humming vibrator to my clit. I was swimming in a sea of pure pleasure. I was moving, or it was moving, or we were moving together. My hips were trying to push down on the toy, driving it so deep it hit my stomach.
I could see the couple's bodies on my computer slapping together. More importantly I saw the reflection of my husband. He was slapping his cock hard now, fast. The faster he stroked, the harder I drove the dildo in and out of me. It slurped with each push and pull, the suction of my body was so tight. I could imagine the tension of the semen building in my husband's balls as I fucked myself harder and faster with the dildo. I was driving it to the hilt, imagining it the thrust of his hips, driving it home, grunting and slobbering over me, fucking me savagely, like an animal.
I was hardly able to stay in my chair I was moving so much, flailing and fucking myself silly with the big jelly cock. I didn't know if he could hear, but I began to moan, so loud it echoed off the basement walls.
I loved it hard and fast. And rough. When I was the most turned on, I loved it when he'd force his whole weight on me, almost squeezing the wind out of me, and hold my hands over my head, pinning me below his body. I loved the sensation of being ravished, taken.
As I watched his reflection, I could tell he was near. Picturing him spraying his cum all over the dusty basement window was too much. I started to cum, a deep internal orgasm, causing my muscles to contract so hard that I bean to squirt.
The jelly dildo was slippery and hard to hold, but I managed to give it a few more hard thrusts, as I watched the reflection of my husband clinch with orgasm as he shot his load.
I was breathing heavily, gasping for air, shaking and dripping with my orgasm. I had soaked my desk chair when I squirted. My two toys were also soaked. I turned off the vibrator and rested for a moment, letting my head stop spinning. I felt my muscles spasm inside me. I was still cumming, in after shocks like an earthquake. My skin was a sticky mess, damp and salty.
I felt all the stress of the week dissipate. I knew I still had the deadline, but I knew that I'd get it done. My head was clear and my body at peace.
Slowly, I pulled the dildo out of me and tried to stand. My knees were wobbly, but I managed to sway to the bathroom. As I washed my toys with soap and hot water, then rinsed and patted myself with a towel, I thought about my husband, tucking his drained cock back into his weekend work shorts.
I heard the faint sound of the rake on the backyard lawn. He must have resumed his chores.
Having him watch me had gotten me off so much more than I had ever imagined. It was so erotically thrilling to know he was watching me work the dildo in and out of my wet body, having him see me bring myself to a powerful squirting orgasm. Having him time his orgasm to explode at the same time. It was as if we'd had sex, and yet it was also even more naughty. Like being caught doing something bad.
It was so wrong to have him jerk off outside our house, watching me pleasure myself with two toys. What if the neighbors saw, I wondered. That idea seemed to excite me even more. Or what if it wasn't even my husband after all? These were dangerous thoughts.
I didn't want to think them, in fear of where they could lead. But I knew, the next time I reached for my toys, they would be the starting point of my next fantasy.