Trad Wife: Finger Food

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The secret to domestic bliss is keeping your husband’s cock hard for you. I’m not just a good wife; I’m a fantastic one. My alarm went off more than an hour before Mike was due to get up. That gave me time to find my black panties from the previous night, the ones he’d pulled off of me with his teeth, and put them on while I prepared my husband’s breakfast and tended to his pre-work needs. Other than the cum-soiled panties, I only wore a short, thin, satin robe. Then, just before his alarm was due to erupt in cacophonous, eardrum-shattering squalls, I went into the bedroom, turned off the alarm, and quietly crept between his sleeping legs.I pulled back the covers ever so gently, exposing his flaccid cock. Smirking, I took it into my mouth, gently sucking it to hardness. As it grew longer and thicker in response to my efforts, I increased the suction and pumped my slutty mouth up and down his now-hard member. Soon, it was thick, hard, and firm in my mouth, and I could hear him moaning in his sleep.His hips began thrusting up to meet my oral lunges, and his moans grew in intensity and volume. His hands, one of them running all over my back and groping at my tits, the other holding my head in place, alerted me that he had woken up. He groped at my panties with his free hand while he fucked my mouth.“Mary Anne, your mouth feels so good. I want to wake up like this every morning.”I pulled my mouth off his quivering shaft, making a popping noise as my lips broke the suction. Long tendrils of saliva dripped from my mouth, bridging the gap between my lips and the swollen head of his cock.“Tell me what a great cocksucker I am, tiger.”“You’re the best, Mary Anne. Oh, fuck.”“Cocksucker,” I repeated. “Tell your wife that she’s a great cocksucker.”I could feel his flesh pulsing under my tongue.“You… ah, so close… you are a great cocksucker, Mary Anne.”Redoubling my efforts, I plunged my mouth over his cock, sinking all the way down until my lips grazed his pubes. Gurgling and gagging, I forced myself to take his full length down my throat. I was rewarded by his cock pulsing, growing more turgid, and he moaned loudly.Right before he was about to erupt in my mouth, I sadistically decreased my pace and suction, slowly moving my mouth up and off his throbbing cock.“That should hold you over until tonight,” I cooed. I leaned back, sitting upright and spreading my legs, caressing my soaked pussy through the panties. My handsome husband just stared at my masturbatory gestures, his hard-on waving back and forth.“You’re not going to finish me off?”“Nope. I want you to be so horny for me that you can’t restrain yourself. I promise you that I’ll be worth the wait. Now, go shower and come eat your breakfast.”My darling breadwinner grumbled and whined like a little boy, but went to the shower. I prepared a hearty Beşevler Escort breakfast for the both of us and sat down to eat my food. Then inspiration overtook me, and I tore off my soiled, saturated panties and put them in his briefcase. When he got to his office and opened it, he’d be delighted that his wife was such a horny vixen.“Oh,” I said as we ate. “I need to buy a dress for tonight. What’s our budget?”“You have a hundred dresses,” he observed. “Why not wear one of those?”I’d anticipated the response and had my reply ready. “Well, you super-hung stud, since I dyed my hair blond, I can hardly wear anything I own. Nothing goes well with my skin tone and hair color anymore.”Just to keep him focused, my bare foot slid up his leg and rested on his cock. I ran up and down its length as I spoke.I continued. “I could just dye it back to the same, old, mousy brown if you don’t want your wife looking her best to represent you, tonight.”About a week ago, an actress I somewhat resembled was in a movie we were watching, and her hair had been dyed a pale, brilliant blond for her role. Mike was so turned on by her looks that he was a primal savage in bed that night. So I went to the salon to test the theory that blonds have more fun. Since then, he’s been in a constant state of heat for me.“Take my credit card, then.” he surrendered. “Buy whatever you want.”I opened my robe, stood up, and then grabbed the charge card off the table and ran the plastic over my tits, flicking the edge against my nipples. Then, I slowly drew the VISA down over my taut stomach and slid it against my pussy lips. If he noticed that my panties were missing, he didn’t mention it.“Do you think I’d look sexier if I shaved that little landing strip off?” For effect, I ran the long edge of the plastic over my newly-trimmed pubes, hearing the stubble-scuffing sound it made.“Um err, keep it, please. I like it.”“Are you sure?” I placed the charge card back on the table, smiling at the sea-dwelling cartoon character on the front, and spread my cunt wide open with my fingers. “I bet if I shaved it bare, it would feel extra sexy when your tongue was right here.” My index finger pointed to my clit.To illustrate, I flicked my sensitive nub with my crimson-painted, long fingernail, feeling my clit swell and grow burning hot under my self-administered attention.Mike was almost late for work because I just couldn’t let him leave without passionately kissing him in the doorway, my hands roaming over his buttocks. Then, during our embrace, I just had to caress and fondle his manhood until his cock was fully erect, once more.“Be a good boy at work, and tonight I’ll let you lick my pussy and cum on me wherever you want.”“Anywhere?”“You dirty pervert. You want to shoot your cum all over my face as I moan in ecstasy, Escort Beşevler don’t you? Does it turn you on thinking about blasting your load all over my pretty face?”I watched from the front door, my robe still open, as he trudged out into the morning heat and left for work. Although it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. yet, the air was already hazy with heat. It was going to be a scorcher. However, it was Friday morning; I had my husband’s silly credit card and needed to shop. I’d endure the torturous temperatures; I just needed to dress for the weather. That meant light, breezy, thin clothing.A hot, steaming shower, with the massage head blasting my clit into oblivion, was the perfect preparation for my busy day. With my back pressed against the cold, wet travertine, the forceful streams of pulsating water pummeled my orgasm button into two leg-shaking orgasms before I decided that it was time to get dressed and head into the city. I needed to select the perfect wine for the evening, pick up some new table-setting accessories, and find a dress that complimented my new hair and smooth, creamy skin tone.I could have taken the expressway into town, but, despite the oppressive heat, the sun was shining, and so long as I drove fast with the windows open, a stimulating, cool-seeming breeze cascaded over my scantily-clad body. With the sky brilliant blue and wispy clouds meandering across it, I decided to take the scenic route. That added quite some time to my travels, but I needed to think about what sort of dress I wanted.When I was a brunette, with my medium, smooth complexion, I could get away with just about any color or style of garment. With my long hair dyed such a brassy, vivid blond, the fabric, cut, and especially the color became of paramount import. My mind ran through possible clothing choices as I drove, listening to my music and taking in the rural scenery.I could easily go with a satiny, solid-colored dress. That would give me a femme fatale look. My hand idly dropped to my thigh as I drove, pondering the length of the slit that would look good on my shapely, toned legs. With the bold femme fatale slant to my attire, my hair would be a bold statement, understated by wearing a low-cut, high-slit dress. I’d be sexy and sultry, with the obvious fake color becoming a sexual statement.Or, I could opt to go with dark, somber colors with a sort of punk-goth flavor. Then, my golden tresses would be a stark statement, showing that I knew my hair looked too light for my skin tone, but I didn’t give a single fuck. That would be super hot and sexy. With that harsh, starkly-contrasted look, I could get away with not wearing a bra.My hand, already on my sun-heated thigh, traveled up, beneath my short skirt, and idly caressed my moist cunt lips. Before I knew it, I was absentmindedly Beşevler Escort Bayan fingering myself as I drove. Although I was going clothes shopping, I was currently without underwear. My skirt was short enough to be alluring, but not so short that I’d flash my nude pussy all over town.The light, wispy cotton skirt provided easy access to my overheated treasure box, and I took advantage of that, spreading my legs slightly and plunging two fingers inside my cunt as I used my thumb to tickle my clit. My foot reflexively pushed down on the accelerator, and, soon, I was driving over the country highway at a roaring eighty miles per hour.The backcountry roads are seldom traveled, so I had no concerns about being seen. Still musing over what sort of dress to buy, I moaned, cursed, and screamed as loudly as the music on the stereo as I fingered my aching twat. With the two fingers inserted, I could clench my hand a bit, which drew my thumb over my throbbing clit and caused my fingers to press into the upper reaches of my love canal. The sensation was so horny and lusty that I had to pull over to keep myself from swerving off the road. While I was deep in the throes of passion, fingering myself in my car on the side of the road, my phone chirped with an incoming message.“Found your panties. I’m so hard for you, Mary Anne.”“Smell them. I made sure they were extra wet for you.”Mike paused, not replying immediately. Then, he texted back, “I’d rather smell the ones you’re wearing.”“The washer’s not draining, remember? Can’t do laundry. No panties.” I grabbed the phone from its cradle and took a picture of my wet cunt. My sexual juices were glistening on my thighs, and the seat between my legs was saturated.I sent him the picture of my bare pussy along with the message, “Keep it hard for me. I’ll be in public like this all day. Love you.”His first response was a gratifying, “fuck,” followed by a long pause, and then, “Love you, too.”My masturbation forestalled, I resumed my drive into town. I considered going with a light-colored Betty dress. The classic, retro styling with the flaring skirt and 1950s appeal would work. But, again, with my hair so brassy, I’d need to be extremely careful about the fit, pattern, and color.You see, there’s quite a bit more to being a traditional wife than one would think. Part of the dynamic is supporting your spouse. As a housewife, it is my duty to ensure that my behavior bolsters everyone’s opinion of my husband. That meant that I needed to be a good, sincere friend to all the women, wives, and lady neighbors we might associate with, as well as earn the staunch approval of all the males. Men are easy, though.To build up my husband’s image in the eyes of his manly peers, I simply needed to make them all want to fuck me. Being a trad wife is partially like being a trophy wife. I needed to dress to entice, but not so slutty that it seemed intentional; if all the men wanted to fuck me, then Mike was a man’s man, worthy of their respect and admiration. I also enjoyed the lusty eyes roaming over my body, and the thinly-veiled innuendo.

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