Michael and I had been flirting all night.
The suggestive comment he made about my new cocktail dress when he took my wrap at the restaurant. The way I pressed my breasts into his back when we left the bar. The way he brushed his hand across my ass as we were seated for dinner. The way my bare toes caressed his calf under the table. The way he steadied my hand and stroked my wrist when I offered a taste of my crème brûlée.
I needed the flirting. It had been a long, tedious day at the end of a long, tedious week, and I'd been eagerly looking forward to our anniversary date night. Michael had made special arrangements at our favorite restaurant, and everything had been magical. It looked like there would be fireworks tonight. Just like last year... and the year before.
"Be honest," I said to him over coffee, "Have things in the bedroom gotten... repetitive?"
"Maybe," Michael admitted. "But only because we've figured out what works. Why?"
"It just seems like it's been a long time since we tried anything... new," I pouted.
"Did you have something in mind?"
"No... No, not really." Too little, too late. I should have spent as much time thinking about the bedroom as I did shopping for this dress.
"We could get online and do some 'research' together," he suggested. I made a face that let him know exactly what I thought of that idea. "No... that didn't work so well last time did it?"
"It did not," I deadpanned. I really have no problem with the abstract idea of my husband looking at porn. But seeing the actual women, who are all younger and skinnier than me, was more than my aging ego could handle.
"Any ideas from those trashy novels you like?" he asked, cleverly changing the subject.
"Hmm... We'd either need a horse, a private jet, or a dungeon." He has his porn, I have mine.
"Well, once the boys are both out of the house, we can convert one of their bedrooms," Michael offered with a grin. I didn't feel like waiting quite that long.
"They're not home tonight," I intimated coyly, arching an eyebrow and licking a bit of whipped cream from the top of my Irish coffee.
"That sounds like you have an idea."
"No, not yet. But I'm not going to waste an opportunity. I am going to come up with something new for you tonight."
"You're so good to me."
After dinner, we strolled the five blocks home hand-in-hand, ignoring the chill in the air. As Michael went to unlock the door of our townhouse, I wrapped my arms around him from behind and nibbled on his earlobe. I still hadn't come up with anything new, but I wasn't going to let that stop me.
"Did I remember to tell you I love you?" he asked, turning into my embrace.
"Mmmm, yes, but tell me again," I replied, as I always did.
"I love you, Tanya."
"I love you, too."
And he kissed me there on the stoop.His hands wandered across my back and lower feeling bare skin beneath the satin of my dress. My lips parted his and our tongues rolled against each other as I pulled him closer to me.
Michael reached back to the door handle, and pushed the door open, pulling me inside without letting our lips part, and pushing the door closed behind us leaving all of my reports and budget analysis and the rest of the world on the other side. On this side of the door there was only us.
I reached for his jacket and he reached for my wrap and as we tried to undress each other there in the foyer, everything became a tangled mess and we gave up, laughing.
He took my wrap and his jacket and hung them in the closet as I pulled off my heels. Caressing the banister, I gave him a come-hither look and asked "Follow me upstairs?"
"I'll follow that cute little ass of yours anywhere."
Now my ass hasn't been cute or little for two kids and almost two decades. But Michael still believed it was, and when he said it I believed it too, and for a moment I was a size 6 newlywed again. He had that effect on me.
As I lead the way up, and knowing he was eye-level with my "cute little ass," I made sure to sway my hips enticingly with each step. Near the top of the stairs, I felt his hand caress my inner thigh, lightly running his fingers up and up and up under my dress until he was stroking a lacy wisp of almost nothing that cost a surprising amount.
I paused, one bare foot on the stair above, one on the stair below, my strappy heels dangling from my fingers.
"Oooooohhhh..." I moaned softly. Gripping the railing I arched my back and leaned my head back as he caressed the curve of my mons through the delicate fabric. He slid his other hand up under my dress and squeezed my bare ass. I slowly gyrated my hips and ground myself into his fingers.
"Mmmmmm... Michael..." I whispered.
"You like that?"
While his fingers continued to gently explore my contours through the insubstantial lace of my thong, I took the hem of my dress and hiked it up around my waist, giving him unfettered access. I gasped when he pulled my thong to the side and slid his fingers along the crease of my vulnerable lips. With just a little pressure he opened me, and found my waiting clit desperate for attention. A gentle tickle was all it took to elicit a quiet moan.
"Oh God... Mmmm..."
I dropped my shoes and braced my empty hand against the wall as his finger probed deeper into my heat. Finding the slick dew that would smooth further play, he stroked my slit more aggressively now, and caressed my bare thigh. I bowed my head forward and my breathing became ragged.
"Here? On the stairs?" I gasped.
"You wanted something new."
"I wanted to do something new for you."
"This is for me."
I giggled and moaned at the same time as he kissed the back of my knee and then brushed his lips up the back of my thigh to kiss the little turtle tattoo on my hip that the boys don't know about.
"I want to taste you, Tanya. Turn around." He spoke in a husky voice dripping with testosterone.
Obediently, I turned, shrugging out of the straps of my dress, and sat on the step with a tangled knot of satin around my waist. He took a moment to admire the lacey black lingerie that did little to hide my tightening nipples or newly groomed mons before pulling my thong over my hips, down my legs, and off my feet.
"That steak wasn't enough for you?" I teased spreading my knees, opening my body to him.
He only responded by running his tongue up the length of my cunt and swirling it around my swollen clit. He took my bare ass in his hands and squeezed my flesh as he plunged his tongue deeper into me, lapping up my delicate folds in long, deliberate strokes.
"Oh Michael... Mmmmm Yeah... Eat my little cunt... Get your tongue in there deep... Mmm-ahhhh..."
And he did, pushing his tongue into my depths and dragging it back across my swollen bud as he withdrew slowly. I ran my fingers through his hair and pushed his head into my center with both hands.
He pulled back though, and teasingly, languidly traced his tongue over my delicate labia, exploring every wrinkle and crease. But I was past 'teasing' now. I twisted and cocked my hips, and squeezed his head between my thighs. I was frantically trying to find his tongue with my clit, but I think he enjoyed provoking my desire.
"My clit, dammit! Lick my fucking clit!" I finally hissed desperately.
He obliged, spreading me open with his thumbs, exposing my tiny protruding organ. He alternated between gently swirling, rapidly flicking, and vigorously lapping his tongue over my clit and I reclined backwards on the stairs, basking in the sensation.
"Ohhh, you're so fucking good at that..."
I knew what was coming next. The stairs might be a change of venue, but the act was the same. Michael knew exactly how to get me off. It may have been formulaic, but it worked every damn time.
He pushed a finger up into me—not too deep—and found that rasiny bundle of nerves just inside.
"Oh yes!" I gasped. "Right there! That's the spot!" Of course he already knew that.
With one hand tangled in his hair, I pressed his mouth against my sizzling clit. With the other I groped at my breast, kneading my own flesh through the silk of my delicate bra.
I ground my hips against his fingers urgently, trying to match his rhythm with a counterpoint. My eyes were closed, my head thrown back on the stair above me, and my bottom lip held firmly in my teeth as I fought to keep some shred of control.
"The boys are at your folks all night, Tanya" he reminded me. "Let yourself go."
Oh right. Force of habit.
"Oh GOD, Michael I'm so fucking close!... Make me cum, Michael... Please, make me cum... Right here on the fucking stairs..."
With two fingers in me now, he redoubled his effort to rapidly stroke my g-spot and tongue my clit simultaneously.
"Oooohhhh, YESSSS!... Like that!... Just like that!"
The tension was building and I was growing desperate for the inevitable release. I ruined my manicure digging my nails into the carpet. He edged me closer, ever closer to the brink.
"Michael!... Oh God, Michael!... Nnnngggh..."
And then when I thought I couldn't take any more—when I couldn't speak, and I couldn't breath, and my whole body was overwhelmed by a shuddering wave of euphoria—it suddenly passed and I melted, laughing, in a puddle of post-orgasmic bliss.
I always laugh when I cum; I don't know why. Michael says it's because I finally get all of his jokes that made me roll my eyes the first time he told them.
"I love to hear you laugh," he smirked as he crawled up the stairs and stretched out next to me.
"I love to laugh for you," I replied, panting, taking his shirt collar in my fingers, pulling his face to mine and kissing him deeply. The taste of my own body blended with the taste of his on his lips and on his tongue.
I must have been such a hot mess lying barefoot on the stairs with my dress bunched up around my waist. My bare thighs and cunt were slick and shiny and my expensive bra was twisted out of shape with one tit hanging free. I'm sure my hair was a mess and my make-up smeared. But Michael looked at me with hunger in his eyes.
I might not always like the woman I see in the mirror. She might be too old, or too heavy. Her tits might sag too much and there might be too much gray in her hair. But the woman I see reflected in Michael's eyes is beautiful. She's young and sultry and sexy and Michael wants her with a passion. God, I love this man.
"You look like you enjoyed that," he mused when our kiss finally ended.
"Mmmmmm, yesss..." I replied breathlessly, caressing his cheek, enjoying the afterglow just a bit longer. But I wasn't about to be done with the evening. I sat up and reached for his groin, grabbing his very erect cock through his slacks. "Now get these pants off, it's your turn."
"Slow down there, babe. My back is not going to be happy on the stairs for much longer." He grunted as he got back to his feet, as if to prove his point. "Besides," he continued, helping me stand, "loving you is thirsty work. I need a drink. Do you want anything?"
"A long sloe comfortable screw up against the wall," I replied in a sultry voice, giving his cock another squeeze.
"Ok... And I'll make you a cocktail, too," he winked.
"You're so good to me."
I didn't bother to adjust my dress as I walked away towards the bedroom and I could feel his eyes burning into my bare ass as he watched me go.
There are some obvious benefits to dating a bartender, but when you marry a guy who worked behind a bar to put himself through grad school, you can always get a few minutes to yourself by asking him to mix you a complicated drink.
I went to the bathroom to check my makeup and sure enough I looked like freshly fucked hell. I think the last time I'd had my skirt shoved up like that was the day we bought our first house and drove over straight from closing so we could have sex in every single room... Dammit!!
Every room including on the stairs! That little stunt wasn't new at all! We did the same thing almost 18 years ago.
Michael was probably going to let me off the hook for my promise, but I wanted more from tonight than our by-the-numbers roll in the sheets. I needed a new idea and I needed it fast. I knew we were out of Southern Comfort, and that he was enough of a perfectionist to spend a few extra minutes searching in vain before substituting Maker's Mark, but it still wouldn't take him that long to finish mixing drinks.
It would have to be the bathtub. We'd shared the oversized tub a few times since we remodeled the bathroom a couple of years ago. It wasn't new, but at least it wasn't typical. So I turned on the taps to fill the tub, lit a couple of candles, and put in a CD of soft music. While the tub continued to fill, I removed my bra and jewelry and had a little fight with my dress to find the zipper.
Michael still hadn't arrived with the drinks. He probably heard the bath tub filling, guessed what I was up to, and was giving me time to set the stage. So considerate. I took the time to touch up my make up and I applied just a dab of Vaseline—a little bit goes a long way under water.
I slipped naked into the warm bath and took a few minutes to enjoy the sensuous heat on my skin. Michael arrived with my cocktail in one hand and his usual gin and tonic in the other.
I quivered at the way he looked at my tits floating in the water like a schoolgirl's.
"Care to join me?" I purred, as he handed me my glass.
"I was hoping you'd ask," he grinned and began to unbutton his shirt.
"You lied to me," I teased him, sipping my drink.
"I don't think so."
"72 Beech Avenue."
"Our first house?"
"Our first time in our first house."
"...Oh, right! Yeah, that was fun, wasn't it?" He was stepping out of his slacks now.
"Yes, but I promised you something new," I pouted leaning over the side of the tub, reaching for the waistband of his boxer briefs and dripping water across the floor.
"Is the bath tub new?" he asked, knowing it wasn't but not wanting to challenge me.
"No, but it's different," I replied, freeing his thickening cock from the constraints of his shorts. "Different will do for now."
Sitting up on my knees in the warm bath water I nibbled and caressed his shaft, teasing him in a way that I knew he'd respond to quickly. He didn't disappoint and in a moment I had his familiar erection in my mouth.
But I didn't want familiar. I didn't want a morning-wood-quickie-before-the-boys-wake-up erection. I wanted him to throb and to ache. I wanted the kind of erection that drools and pulses with his heart beat, hot enough to melt through my cunt like butter. And I knew how to get it.
Nibbling here. Licking there. A little tug, and a little stroke. Paying attention to his head, shaft, and balls. Just enough teeth to make him wince. Just deep enough to make him want deeper. I was yearning to have him inside me, but I took my time and worked my magic slowly, enjoying the cool of the ceramic pressed against my breasts and the heat of him in my mouth.
"Mmmmm, Tanya..." he sighed, his breath growing ragged. "God, what you do to my cock. You make me feel like a fucking teenager again."
Michael ran his fingers through my hair gently and sipped his drink while he enjoyed my teasing cock-worship. He wasn't quite able to keep his hips from gently rocking forward. He did resist the urge grab my head, drive his cock down my throat, and fill my belly with sperm—but only just. Always so restrained. Always in control. God, he made me hot.
At last I released him from my spell, and looked up at him with my best doe eyes.
"Why aren't you in here yet?" I cooed, and a moment later the water sloshed over the side of the tub as he sank in across from me.
Slipping towards him, I half-crawled half-floated up his reclining body, brushing my bare tits along his chest, until our lips met and he took me in his arms and we kissed deeply. After a moment I pulled back from him and brushed a lock of wet hair from my face.
"I wasn't talking about the tub," I admonished gently.
Churning the water again, he took my hips in his hands and pulled me forward into him wrapping my legs around his waist. I screamed, startled by his sudden aggressiveness, and laughed to know he was as desperate as I. I was open to him and he knew the way, and with a stroke I was filled.
I wish that I could be schoolgirl-tight for him again, that it took effort to press fully into my depths. But those days are gone; I blame the boys. I satisfy myself knowing that I can take all of him quickly, without effort or pretense, and we become one so easily.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let my head fall backwards, my hair dipping in the water, my tits pointed at the ceiling, and I luxuriated in the feeling of his body filling mine. He moved inside of me, in and out and in again, and I groaned in delirious bliss.
"Oooohhh, Michael... You fuck me sooo goood... God, how could I possibly deserve you?"
With an arm behind my back he supported my weight, and with his free hand he groped at my tit, kneading my soft flesh in his fingers, rubbing my taut nipple against his rough, calloused palm. I relished the primal sensations of his pressure on my body both inside and out.
"No one deserves me more, Tanya," he growled. "You make me feel like the man I want to be... The way you look at me... The way you take me inside of you so eagerly... The way you trust me unconditionally... I only feel alive in your arms... I'm not me without you, Tanya."
God, how do you even respond to that?
I pulled myself back to him, pressed my tits against his chest and my forehead against his. I rocked my hips back and forth, as he thrust slowly and deliberately, and the water sloshed back and forth in waves, keeping time with our rhythm.
"You treat me like a goddess..." I replied gazing into his eyes. "Now fuck me like a god... "
He had that hungry look in his eyes again, and pulled my lips down to his, fucking my mouth with his tongue while he fucked my cunt with his cock, and of the two I couldn't say which was driving me crazier.
Faster now, the waves splashed, water slopping over the side, pooling on the floor against the tub. Michael had my ass in his hands and he bounced me on his cock sending ripples of ecstasy along my spine with every jolt. I held my body against his, tits pressed between us, pushing myself up and collapsing down again, grinding my cunt into the root of his cock with every down-thrust.
"Oh!... Yes!... God!... Michael... Like that... Just... like... that!"
I wasn't expecting to cum like this. I need almost constant stimulation on my clit or G-spot to reach orgasm, but I had had my turn. This was for Michael. I was fucking for his orgasm, not mine. I was fucking for that look of sudden release on his face when his seed erupts deep in my core. Faster and faster I rode his cock, keeping pace with his desperate drive for release, when he stopped, panting and looked at me.
"You wanna try something new?" he asked playfully.
"Yes! Anything you want..."
He took my hands from around my neck, and leaned me back to lounge in the cradle of the tub, with my arms on the edges and my body half floating. Carefully, without ever leaving my cunt empty, he shifted to his knees, and made a few slow, tentative thrusts. My floating body moved in a wave with the water and rose up the back of the tub and back down again each time he plunged into me.
"Oh!... This is new... Ah!... It's like fucking... fucking on a waterbed... Mmm..."
"I'd think it... would be the... other way around..."
He wasn't done yet, though. With a stretch he reached over to the vanity, raining more water across the floor. He took the electric toothbrush from it's charger, and grinned down at me wickedly.