50’s House Wife
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My name is Todd. I am a ‘Middle America’, male W.A.S.P. who is much closer to forty than thirty. I married my college girlfriend, Lynn, who is three years my senior, when I was just under twenty. I got my degree, got a job and started a family soon after.
This means, including premarital, Lynn and I have spent over two decades having sex. As any newlywed can tell you, all you need for the first couple years is two naked bodies. As the years go by you gain a comfort and familiarity with your partner if you work at it, but sometimes the cost is losing the early excitement and mystery. I however am greedy and wanted it all.
For our tenth anniversary I surprised Lynn with a trip to Vegas. Taking the cities’ risqué aura to heart I bought some toys online for the trip including handcuffs and a vibrator. I even talked Lynn into a burlesque show our second night. Before that weekend, we got radical with a blindfold and some whipped cream. Since then we have gotten into bondage, domination, mild exhibitionism, public sex and especially role playing.
Below is the written account of one of my favorite role playing games with my wife.
Friday nights at our house are ‘play dates’ for Lynn and myself. Our kids are involved in a gamers youth group, and our eldest has his license which makes them ambulatory. Lynn gets off work in time to be home for the kids most days and on Fridays will give them some cash to drive thru for supper on their way to the games. After 5pm we can pretty much be certain to having the house to ourselves till nine, sometimes later in the summer. This gave us plenty of play time then we would get cleaned up, put away the toys, and order pizza unless I decided l felt like cooking for by bride.
This time we had decided to try “50’s House Wife” again. The premise is simple. Lynn is the meek, dutiful housewife submissive to her husband, seeing to his sexual needs. The idea came to Lynn when reading one of those ridiculous ‘Good Housewife Rules’ lists from the Fifties posted online by one of her friends. It does not specifically mention sexual favors but that was more from a societal restrain. I have no doubt the desire existed even if not expressed in writing. Look up the guide sometime for a laugh.
The first time I had taken her upstairs, had her undress, and proceeded to do her missionary style until I got off. Not wanting to leave her hanging, I then grabbed one of the rabbit vibrators and combined that with my tongue, and twenty minutes of cunilingus, to get her to climax. Still I got the feeling she was not really satisfied. This is where the years together paid off…we talk about our sex life and how to improve it. Lynn liked the role play, and loved the oral, but had really wanted to be dominated more during the game.
This time I would see to her wishes.
In prep for the night, that Friday morning I donned a pair of khakis and a white button down, short sleeve shirt. My IT job is casual dress, I did not have a suit jacket and dressing up more than that would have had my boss thinking I was interviewing elsewhere. I keep an ugly clip-on tie in the car to add to the ensemble when I got home.
I pulled into the garage but walked around to the front door, adding the tie. I opened the door with, “Honey I’m home.”
Lynn’s voice came around the corner, “Welcome home dear.”
I walked into the front room to find by bride holding a martini for me—which was actually ginger ale since neither of us drank. She was wearing a Fifties style dress she had found months ago in a second hand shop. It was blue gingham, with a lace collar and an attached belt cinching it on her waist. In her early forties now, Lynn still did a fair job of keeping close to her hourglass figure of decades past, and the dress complimented it. The dress had mother of pearl buttons down the front, puffed up short sleeves and came down to below her knees ending in a lace hem.
She accented the dress with a pearl necklace she had gotten on her birthday and three inch heels. I always wondered how she could walk in those heels but with my height of 6′ 4″ and her own of 5′ 6″ I knew why she chose to wear them at times.
Her long brown hair was pulled back into a meticulous bun at the back of her head, and her make-up was just a shade too heavy accenting her red hued lips and sparkling green eyes.
I accepted the faux cocktail sipping it. “What’s for supper?” That sounded like a great opening line and one that men of any decade had been want to ask.
“Pot roast, but the oven wasn’t started so it won’t be ready for an hour,” she said apologetically. According to the guide this was a major faux paus, right up there with talking about herself or leaving clutter in the room.
I nodded, “Where are the kids?”
“A sleep over at Billy’s. It is just us for supper tonight.”
That was my cue. I downed the drink, sat the glass down, and said, “Good. Follow me. It’s been a rough day and you have some wifely duties to perform.”
I walked up the stairs—locking the front balçova escort bayan door as I passed it—and then up the stairs, down the hall and into our master suite. She walked in past me and I shut the door. Not for concern of privacy, but for other features I will bring up later. On the wall to the left was our king bed, across from it my wife’s make-up table, flanked by shelves, and in the far corner a small recliner.
I sat down in the recliner and Lynn came to stand in front of me.
“Take off that dress.” I commanded.
In silent response Lynn undid the buttons on the front, one by one, finishing with the buckle at her waist. She worked the dress off her shoulders and it slid down her form to puddle on the floor around her heels. She stepped out of it, picking it up, folding it like a good wife did—or so I was told the first time—and sat it on her make-up table. She came back to stand in front of me, waiting.
I took a moment to revel in the sight. When we met, Lynn had been a swimmer. Two decades of life and as many kids had affected the sleek, toned body of the girl I married but the figure in front of me was still amazing for her age. There might have been a little more flesh layering the abs and on the hips but that was just padding.
A pair of black lace panties formed to her pale skin perfectly, cut low enough to reveal a start of a mass of brown curls edging over the top and I knew from experience covering very little skin from behind. The bra was also black lace, with a small pearl in the front center. I was not sure of the size of the bra outside it would probably be a C cup. Lynn was between B and C—it was not just her hips that has gotten curvier—and preferred the comfort of going up a size provided it was under-wire for support. She had also started getting half cup or even shelf bras several years ago. This one, was a half cup and like many of them now lifted her but did little in covering her. Her huge, silver dollar sized, areolas peeked over the black fabric like a fleshy sunrise.
As fun as the tease was, I wanted more. “Take off the bra.”
Lynn’s right hand snaked behind her to undo the hooks with practiced ease. She pushed the strap off the left shoulder, then the right. With her arms at her side she let the bra slowing fall down her body. Without the underwire, Lynn’s breast sagged ever so slightly but were still magnificent.
Her hands slipped inside the edges of her panties, hooking her thumbs to slide them off her hips. Doing so brought her arms together, pushing her breast together accenting them. Lynn shifted her hips, first left then right. As she did she slid the panties off her hips like a pair of tight jeans. Like the bra, when the panties were past her hips they fell to the floor. Lynn bent over picked up her lingerie and sat them on her dress. She stood there in heels and pearls, my eyes taking in every curve, every line before me.
I stood up. “Raise your arms above your head.”
A faint smile flickered across Lynn’s face as she raised her arms, lacing her fingers above the bun of hair on the back of her head. The motion pulled up her breasts, creating an invisible underwire as it was.
I stepped forward, cupping each breast with my corresponding hand, squeezing them. I could feel her nipples start to harden under my touch. I moved my hands to the sides of her breasts to show a pair of dusky rose nubs protruding just slightly off center of each respective breast. I flicked them in turn, squeezing them between forefinger and thumb, noticing a long released breathe through Lynn’s nostrils.
She complied, and with my left hand I gripped her right butt check, kneading it in my hand, then did likewise to the left. I finished with a hard slap centered across both. This caused her to take an unwilling half step forward but she stepped back immediately. There was also a small mewl in her throat that was very gratifying.
“Back around.” Lynn rotated back. “And spread your legs.”
Lynn started to do the splits—in heels I had no idea how—stopping when her thighs were about four inches apart.
I rested my left hand on her abdomen, feeling the muscles under the soft skin and flesh. I stepped closer and dipped my hand down, playing with the trimmed mass of light brown curls, sliding my palm across each of her thighs—coming back to her pubic hair after each caress. Finally, I slipped down, slowly parting her labia, sliding my fore and middle finger down and just barely into her vagina.
I had been watching my own progress, I glanced up to her eyes, “You’re already wet, you little minx. Ready to satisfy your man, huh?”
I got a briefest of nods but no play acting could hid the fire in those pale green eyes.
I stepped back again. “Then no time like the present, baby. Put your arms down. Get on your knees”
Arms to her side, Lynn straightened and then lowered herself down to kneeling position in a single fluid motion.
During balçova escort the day I had played different scenarios out in my mind. One of those had been to have her take off my clothes but I decided that continuing on with my shirt and tie still on, pants around my ankles might be more in character. So I unbuckled my belt, pushing it aside just enough to unbutton and unzip my slacks. In one motion I pulled down both my khakis and shorts to below my knees, leaving them there.
I was already erect, the sight of my wife nude was better than Viagra for me. Lynn’s eyes stayed on my own with just quick glances at my member.
“Take hold of it with your hand and stroke me.”
Lynn reached out with her right hand and gripped me tentatively. She held me with just two fingers and a thumb, barely moving the foreskin more than an inch. Her eyes now focused on her task not giving me any eye contact.
This was great. She was playing like it was the first time she had ever touched a man like this. I had intended from the start to have her blow me but know I decided to amp it up some. She was going submissive and innocent, I would play off her lead.
“Put that cock in your mouth and suck it.”
I got the reaction I expected, Lynn’s checks flushed like a blushing bride.
You have probably noticed that I don’t use vulgarities much. Even with all her adventurous nature, Lynn has never been comfortable with talking dirty. As such, I have learned that by using it sparingly, in the right context it can shock her and sometimes even excite her.
Lynn leaned in, opening her mouth barely, never taking her eyes off my own. Her two fingers continued the light rubbing of my shaft as she put her lips on the tip of the head doing more of a butterfly kiss than oral sex.
She was playing right into what I wanted, “Further in.”
Her lips parted enough for her to now take most of the head in but not all and still keeping a limp hold on the shaft. Her brows were creased in uncertainty and a bit of reluctance. Considering the camping trip where she, of her own choosing, had taken me down her throat just as I was cumming to avoid a mess, it was a different experience.
With a sigh of annoyance I said, “Let go and lean back.”
“Put your hands in your lap.” She did, making a point again of brining arms into her body squeezing her breast together. Lynn was always aware of men being visual creatures. Her hands were resting at the crease between her legs and I would have bet she was struggling to keep from playing with herself.
I reached down and squeezed her right breast, then stepped up, my erect member all but brushing against her face. “Open your mouth.”
She stared at the one-eyed snake in front of her, opening her mouth barely as before.
“All the way.”
Lynn glanced up at me then back down. She opened her mouth wide this time.
“Good girl.” I grabbed the sides of her head, fingers burying into the bun of hair, and pulled her onto my cock and held her.
Although I am not the nine inch monster with the girth of baseball bat you sometimes hear of in these stories—I’m an average six inches, maybe a tad less—I know that Lynn cannot take me into her mouth all the way without throating me. And although she is more than capable of doing such she has a gag reflex and has to focus past it. So I made a point of stopping short of gagging her, pushing a little over half way past those soft lips. I pushed her head back, sliding out and then pulled her back on holding her there enjoying the sensation of her tongue squirming underneath me. Then I pushed her back a second time.
Then I kicked it into high gear, holding her head in place as I thrust my hips forward this time pushing inside her mouth, immediately pulling back a couple inches before repeating the thrust. Back and forth, enjoying the sensation of the underside of my penis sliding over her tongue, getting wetter with each thrust. I continued to increase speed, plunging in as fast as if I was banging her vagina.
Basically, disdain for vulgarities aside, I was face fucking my wife. Her eyes were closed and she held the position, breasts squeezed together, as I had commanded while I used her mouth.
As one can imagine it only took a few minutes before I realized I was going to lose control if I kept this up. I was tempted to unload in her mouth, but I had other plans. At my age, a repeat performance wasn’t necessarily fifteen minutes away like when I was twenty. I really didn’t want to end this with using a vibrator to finish Lynn this time.
I pulled out, let go of her head, and stepped back. I still almost lost it when I saw my bride. Spittle had ran out of her mouth and was hanging off her chin. I took little imagination to see that as a different bodily fluid. She was breathing heavy, her breasts heaving, and her nipples dark and hard with excitement. One hand had slipped between her legs which were parted slightly. It was limp now, but I would have escort balçova guessed she had been playing with her clit just moments before.
When I trusted that I was not going to shot my wad, I spoke. “Stand up.”
A little shaky this time, Lynn did. I shuffled, slacks still around my ankles to the side of her, between her and the bed. I grabbed Lynn’s shoulders turning her away from me and toward the make-up table. I put a hand on her head, the other on her back and bent her over. Lynn grabbed the table with her hands but was far enough away that she could not lie over it.
I pushed her legs apart, and took her butt checks in my hands spreading them apart. We were both wet enough that I had no problem sliding into her. Slowly, still not trusting myself, I pushed the glans into the opening. How Lynne stayed so tight after all these year was a fabulous mystery. I penetrated all the way up my shaft. After not forcing myself all the way into her mouth, being totally engulfed in her warm, wet flesh was bliss.
I held the position for a heartbeat then slowly withdrew completely. I paused a second, then shoved the glans inside again, slowly penetrating Lynn again taking a count of three to fill her. I continued this trend. Count of three to pull out, pause, count of three to slide back in, pause, repeat.
A few minutes of this I was feeling more in control and removed the pause. A couple more minutes and I sped up to a two count. Soon I was down to a single count. By this time I had gotten into an equilibrium where I could focus on the sensation of my wife instead of resorting to old baseball stats. I checked the clock by the bed, we had been playing for close to forty minutes. I felt in control enough to enjoy the multiple views available to me.
The main view was of my shaft sliding in and out of Lynn, made easier to view with my hands spreading her rear, her arched back, and her hair pulling lose from the bun with each thrust. Thanks to some mirrors I had two other options. The make-up desk had a mirror and in it I could see Lynn’s face; eyes closed, mouth open. Strands of hair were falling down her face, pulled lose from the bun by our games so far. To my right, behind the door, was a full length mirror. In that I could see the strand of pearls and Lynn’s breasts swaying back and forth in rhythm with my penetrations.
And enjoying that view I realized I wasn’t nearly as Zen as I thought. I pulled out and Lynn’s hips tried to follow but was unable to succeed with my hands still gripping her.
I put the head of my penis right against the sweet opening and felt her, completely out of her character, struggling to push back onto me. I held her and slide down, between the labia, over the g spot and bumped against her clit. I took my left hand off Lynn’s rear and repositioned my right to keep her pulled apart as best as I could. I held my shaft and directed my head back up, past her entry, her perineum, and her anus to rub the shaft between her checks at the base of her back. I slid back down the pleasurable cannel back down to her clit.
I felt my control coming back and got an idea. I traced my route back and forth a couple more times, feeling her still trying to somehow force me back inside her vagina. I pulled myself back down from the base of her back, tracing down but stopped this time at her anus.
Slowly, steady but not necessarily gently, I pushed the glans into her anus. I looked into the mirror to see her eyes not only open, but wide in surprise.
It was far from her first time, but anal sex was not Lynn’s favorite. It really was something she considered a ‘wifely duty’. The only time she was kind of into it was when I wore the double penetrating ring, but toys were off limits for this game. Pushing in to my scrotum, watching the shaft disappear into her anus, I had definitely brought her back into character.
It was incredible how tight she was, rubbing back and forth I had dried off some and the friction seemed a little more intense. Her hands were gripping the table tightly and her body had gone rigid. We always used safe words. I pulled out, leaving the tip resting at the hole, and paused before pushing back in.
Out of character I said, “Need to travel?” The safe word was Zanzibar, We both were big fans of the old Hope Crosby Road movies.
Eyes shut, breathing through her nose, Lynn shook her head.
“Okay, change your mind, say so.” I grabbed her waist with my hands and pushed back in, a little faster this time and then started thrusting back and forth at a medium pace, then after a minute a little faster. Lynn’s grip never lessened. Her head was down and the bun was undone, leaving her shoulder length hair covering her face. The tightness on my shaft did not ease and the warm friction didn’t let up.
Even a few minutes later, I didn’t hear a sound out of Lynn. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I would hear the occasional gasp or guttural sound in her throat, but not the safe word. I decided to enjoy a few more thrusts then it was time to head on to the end game.
I pulled out and slapped Lynn on the left cheek, leaving a faint red mark. The smack brought her upright and she turned to me, the hint of dirty look on her face but staying in character. I grinned at her, reaching out to pull on her left nipple. She stood their stoic.
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