Take Your Medicine, Honey – Chapter 2

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Angela drove as we made our way onto the Monash freeway. At this time of day, the traffic was relatively light. It was early spring, and the sun beamed with the promise of a hot summer.The first thing I told Angela was that I was going to be fine. The relief was clearly visible on her face. I then explained exactly what the specialist had said, including how long it might take for the wound to properly heal. I thought I saw the corners of her mouth droop slightly when I mentioned it may take sixteen weeks. She had been without sex for nearly six months, as well.”But everything will be fine after that?” Angela asked.”So Moonface told me,” I replied. She uttered a quick bark of laughter at my unkind description of Mr. Rogers’ rotund countenance; she had briefly seen the man when we arrived. I continued, “He said there’s no nerve damage, and everything seems to be intact. It’s just gonna take time to heal.””Thank Christ for that. You were lucky by the sounds of it, Michael.”I also mentioned the medication that would keep me flaccid, and the reason for using it. Angela worked as a successful sales executive for a major pharmaceutical company, and this engaged her professional interest.”I vaguely recall reading a memo about that drug,” she mused when I had finished. “But I don’t know who’s distributing it.””You’ll find out soon enough,” I replied. “I have to get the prescriptions filled, so you’ll see the packet. We can do that when we get back home.”She nodded. I swivelled my head to look at her. I had forgotten just how gorgeous my wife was, and just how proud I was to be her husband. At thirty-two years of age, Angela was seven years younger than myself. She had wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair that framed a pretty, square-jawed face. I was always reminded of Farrah Fawcett’s jawline when I looked at her – but the similarity ended there. Angela’s mouth was broader, and her cheekbones were wider, and her eyes were deep green. When she smiled, her whole face lit up.She stood about five-feet-nine-inches tall, and diligent workouts on our home gym and regular exercise had given her a body that women ten years younger would have envied. She worked hard to maintain her figure, and she was justly proud of her efforts. Her long legs were probably her best feature; they were perfectly shaped and well proportioned, with tight calf muscles and lean, slender thighs.On the rare occasions that she wore a mini-skirt, she had no shortage of appreciative male glances. She had a flat stomach and a tapered waist that flared out into broad, curvaceous hips, and an ass that was practically edible. Her firm breasts were of average size, but had that delicious cantilevered shape that could take a man’s breath away. She once told me that her measurements were exactly 36-24-36 – and I could easily believe it. When she wore a tight dress, her entire body screamed woman!I often wondered how much her success as a sales executive was helped by her physical attractiveness. This was perhaps sexist and unfair of me; she was extremely good at her job, but her feminine charms were amply evident even when dressed in her relatively tame work attire. I would have bet they would have enticed more than one male pharmacist to purchase the products she proffered. They would have enticed me.It was the second marriage for us both. I had divorced my first wife five years ago, and Angela’s first husband, an up-and-coming barrister, had died in a car accident at around the same time.”But our marriage was already dead,” Angela once told me. “If Carl hadn’t had the accident, we would’ve been divorced soon after anyway. I was already in the process İstanbul Escort of having the papers drawn up.”She explained that Carl had been fond of other women. He’d started having affairs soon after they were married, and Angela had at first been forgiving, accepting his promises to stop his dalliances. But he didn’t stop. Angela’s love for him had slowly died, replaced with a smouldering rage which gradually intensified with each lie that he told her.”So in the end, I had a couple of affairs myself,” she told me. “I know two wrongs don’t make a right, but at the time maybe I just wanted him to know how it felt. Or maybe I just needed the sex – because I sure as hell wasn’t getting a lot from Carl.”I had raised my eyebrows at that: Angela was, as I have stated, an extremely attractive lady. I had delicately asked why she and her husband had not made love more often.Angela had laughed bitterly: “Because I wouldn’t let Carl fuck me up the arse.”Her reply had startled me. She had explained further: “Carl had a major kink for anal sex, you see. He’d pestered me about it for years, ever since we got married. Back in those days, it just wasn’t for me, and we had so many arguments over it. The more I resisted, the more he tried to persuade me. He became more and more obsessed with it, and he would buy magazines and videos and DVD’s – all featuring anal sex. He once even deliberately tried to get me almost blind drunk by spiking my drinks so he could talk me into it. I have a good idea that if I’d passed out, he would’ve done it to me while I was unconscious.”The next morning I told him he needed professional help – and of course that didn’t go down too well. So, since I wouldn’t give him anal sex, he stopped wanting vaginal sex with me – which told me a lot about how he really felt for me and our marriage. It was incredibly hurtful, and it was probably the last nail in the coffin. Anyway, I found out he was nailing his slutty little secretary, who must’ve been more accommodating. Maybe she thought that if she took it up the arse, then she’d get a promotion, or Carl would even leave me for her – she was such an airhead that she would’ve believed that. But I bet there were a few mornings when her arsehole hurt so much that she couldn’t sit straight on her fucking office chair.”I had heard similar stories in the past. Whilst I wasn’t into anal sex and had never suggested it to Angela, I certainly didn’t begrudge those men and women who did enjoy it. But to allow disagreements about it to corrode your relationship to the point of dissolving was, to me, simply insane.The final irony was that on the night a drunk driver ploughed into the side of his car and killed him, it appeared that Carl had been on his way back from a tryst with his secretary. He had told Angela he was working late – but the accident occurred just two blocks from his secretary’s house miles away on the other side of town, and nowhere near his office.”Ii was pretty obvious he’d been at his secretary’s place that night, banging her,” Angela drily stated. “If he hadn’t always been thinking with his dick, he’d still be alive today. Divorced – but alive.”I had met Angela about six months after my own divorce. Some buddies of mine had invited me to join their regular Wednesday night bowling team, and apparently some of Angela’s friends had inveigled her to do the same. The first time I saw her at the bowling alley, she was wearing a red dress that hugged every curve of her body. When she sent a ball down the laneway, I’m sure that every male eye in visual range was glued to her gorgeous derrière as the material İstanbul Escort Bayan of her dress was stretched tautly across her behind. It wasn’t exactly a come-fuck-me dress – but it was certainly dropping some heavy hints.I took instant note of these hints, and by chance the next Wednesday night my team was drawn to bowl against hers. I flirted with her, and after learning that she was single I asked her out to dinner, and she accepted my invitation. To cut a long story short, we became a couple, fell deeply in love, and got married two years later.I found Angela to be a very sensual lady, and her enthusiasm and inventiveness in bed was a pleasant and very welcome surprise after my passionless first marriage. She was one of those women who exuded an almost understated sexuality, as though she kept her passions in check by exerting only sufficient restraint; you sensed that behind her veneer of propriety there lurked a fervent libido. To say that she had animal magnetism was an apt description. I could see flashes of this in her spontaneous knack for bringing out the eroticism in normally mundane situations.For example, we once went to a restaurant with two other couples. Angela had slipped her shoes off under the table, and I suddenly felt the toes of her left foot slip up under the cuff of my trousers. I turned my head towards her, and she sent me a soft, teasing smile before returning her attention back to the conversation at the table.All through the main course, her toes had slid sensually up and down my instep. Angela was well aware that this turned me on. As she ate, she carried on conversing and laughing with the other guests as though nothing was happening under the table. When the main course was finished, she leaned over and whispered in my ear: “I need to use the bathroom in a few minutes. So do you. Follow me when I go.”I gave her a perplexed nod. Several minutes later, she excused herself and rose from the table. I also bemusedly excused myself as she had instructed, and followed her into the dim hallway where the toilets were located. The women’s toilet was unoccupied (I found out later that Angela knew it was empty, since she had been watching the hallway entrance). She took my hand and quickly drew me inside and locked the door.Without another word, she sat down on the toilet seat, unzipped me, and – despite my initial (and feeble) protests – she proceeded to give me a blowjob as I stood trembling in front of her. She is extremely good at this particular sexual act, and in less than two minutes I was struggling to remain on my feet and stifle my moans of pleasure as I exploded in her mouth. She winked up at me as she swallowed every drop of my cream.She then re-zipped me and checked that the hallway was clear, and with a soft giggle of finality she quickly ushered me out. I dazedly crossed to the male toilet, also fortunately unoccupied, urinated, and then shakily made my way back to our table, the warm afterglow of climax making my legs wobbly. Angela returned a few minutes later, and as she began breezily chatting with our fellow diners, and I admired her aplomb.A waiter shortly materialised to take dessert orders. As I raised my glass to my lips, Angela looked at me with the slightest of smiles and demurely announced: “I think I’ll get the vanilla pudding. I really fancy something warm and creamy after gobbling all that meat just now.”I had nearly spat a mouthful of wine all over the table. To make matters worse, a woman seated to her left peered over her menu and whinnied: “Mmm, that sounds yummy! I think I’ll have that, too.”Angela Escort İstanbul had rolled right along: “It’s delicious! Michael often gives it to me for dessert,” She turned her radiant face toward me. “You serve yours with nuts, don’t you, honey?” Her eyes twinkled, and I had been lucky to quell the hysterical giggle that fluttered in my stomach.On another occasion, we went shopping in the local mall one Saturday morning. Just after we had arrived, we strolled into a women’s clothing store so Angela could look for a new skirt. She found one to her liking – a slinky black number – and she went into the shop change room to try it on. She modelled it for me, and after getting my approval for it, she decided to buy it and wear it immediately. Just after we left the shop, she smiled impishly and reached into her jacket, and passed me a wadded ball of black material. It took me a few seconds to realise it was her panties.”Put those in your pocket for me please, babe,” she quietly told me. My eyes must have widened because she laughed softly and leaned forward to whisper: “That’s right, honey. I’m not wearing anything under my new skirt.”For the next hour, we strolled around the mall, and she would make oblique references to the fact that she was naked under her new purchase. I am not sure if this type of subtle teasing turns all men on, but it sure as hell turned me on. Angela could see the effect it was having on me, and that just made her sly remarks about it all the more blatant.As we sat drinking coffee in one of the cafes inside the mall, she whispered in my ear, “Just think – if it wasn’t for all these people here, you could slide your hand up my thighs and feel just how wet I am for you, honey.” She had pronounced ‘wet’ in a slow, sexy drawl – whettttt. My coffee cup had rattled sharply against the saucer when I put it down.The moment we arrived back home, I practically dragged her into the bedroom, and within a minute we were making passionate love.Afterwards, as we lay spent and panting in the afterglow, she asked me how much it had turned me on knowing she was walking around sans panties under her skirt. I answered honestly, and I told her it made me very hot – which I guess she already knew.She propped herself up on her elbow and rested her head on her hand. “Why does it turn you on?” she asked.I thought for a few seconds. “To know you’re naked underneath just makes me hot, I guess. Especially out in public with other guys around.”Her eyes twinkled in sudden comprehension. “Ahh! I guess it would remind you of that little fantasy.”I smiled softly and nodded. That little fantasy, as she referred to it, was a kink I had developed in my early twenties – a voyeuristic craving to hear or watch my partner have sex with another man.During my brief and dispassionate previous marriage, I had never even mentioned this fantasy to my first wife. She hadn’t been the sort in whom you would confide anything that smacked of sexual deviance – otherwise, it was likely to be thrown into your face during the next argument. I had learned this the hard way.Angela, however, was completely different. She had an openness that was totally refreshing. She loved to explore the steamier boundaries of sexuality, and discussing fantasies during pillow-talk was a favourite post-coital pastime of hers. I came to trust her completely, and I told her things that I had never told another living soul – my cuckold fantasy being one of them.When I first, and somewhat shyly, told Angela about this little kink, I was slightly fearful of her reaction. Would she be shocked? Outraged? Disgusted? To my relief, she had simply raised an eyebrow, and told me that she had read that it was a very common fantasy for a lot of men – called a cuckold fantasy – and that it didn’t upset her at all. She stated that it was one fantasy that we would probably never act out for real, but she added that she would make use of the fact that it aroused me.

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