The Housewife's Fantasy

The housewife was still in bed. She heard the door slam as her husband left for work. Dishes and vacuuming called her name. She wasn't ready yet, wasn't ready to get up and face the monotony of her life. First, first she was going to think about her husband's business partner.

In reality, she'd hardly ever spoken to her husband's business partner. He was much too attractive for her to think he'd even want to talk to her. His sandy hair, broad chest, sparkling eyes and generous smile, almost like a movie star. She thought, maybe once or twice, she'd caught him looking at her. Once in a mirror, she saw a look of pure lust as she twirled to check her figure and once at a company event, he'd locked eyes with her long enough to make her feel things she hadn't in a long, long time. But maybe it was in her head.

She started to think about the lust she'd seen in his eyes, she could feel herself getting turned on. Before the business partner, sex had been business as usual, something her husband enjoyed on occasion and she very rarely. Sex hadn't been a part of her upbringing, having not even learned of its existence until she was almost 10 and limited sexual experience before meeting her husband in her very early 20s. Before the business partner there was very little reason for her to think about sex. But now, some days she couldn't stop.

She pulled her thick, brown comforter up to her neck, and slipped her hand into her panties. She slowly ran her finger down, finding the place where her lips met, gently teasing the end of her clit. In her mind, she pictured the business partner. They were at a dinner party, it was loud. Fortune of fortune, they'd been seated right next to each other. Just as their main course arrived, he slipped his hand between her legs, moving right into her panties. She gasped and the people next to them turned. She blushed and looked away, pretending she'd spilled a bit of her drink as she dabbed it with her napkin.

His fingers grew bolder, upon finding her wetness, rubbing back and forth on her outer lips. She continued to dap at her spill, he withdrew his hand. From the corner of her eye, she watched as he drew his hand to his lips, licking her juices from them. He then leaned over and whispered in her ear, "dessert."

The housewife continued rubbing her clit, her fingers now dipping into the very opening of her cunt, using her own juices as a lubricant, teasing her body in all the places that felt good. She bit down a little on her comforter.

Sometimes, depending on how long she wanted to spend in bed in the morning, she'd imagine the meal. Sitting next to each other, the air ripe with sexual tension. Brief glances between the two, as she felt herself growing wetter and wetter.

Sometimes she went right to dessert. The dessert course was a chocolate custard, but she didn't touch a bite. As soon as it arrived he stood up, wiped his mouth and sent a final glance at her. She waited a moment and followed suit, the rest of the group was always otherwise occupied, as imagination tends to be convenient like that.

The pair ends up in various places, depending on her mood. On this particular day she imagines them ducking outside into a garden filled with roses. Why roses she never could say, maybe she'd actually been to this restaurant once and they had a rose garden, maybe roses filled some deep romantic hole in her heart.

They stumble into the garden, drunk on lust and Pinot Grigio. His hands ran the length of her body, pausing to caress her breasts. She holds her nipples between her fingers as she imagines him removing her top and taking them into his mouth. She feels her skin becoming erect as his lips, tongue & teeth expertly nip, suck and flick. She moans.

Her hands travel to his belt. She is anxious to have his cock in her hands, but he stops her. He takes her hands and turns her so she faces away from him. He bends her over a bench and lifts up her skirt.

She tries to resist, something about resisting and being forced makes her much more aroused. Her fingers are now in her folds, deep within her cunt. She moves slowly sometimes, quickly others, while imagining him forcing himself on her. He holds her hips and presses his full weight against her, she can feel the head of his cock at her opening. She thinks on how wrong this is, she is a married woman, a housewife, and this, this is her husband's business partner. These thoughts only increase the speed of her rhythm.

The business partner pulls her hips backwards, impaling her on his rod. He leans down and whispers in her ear "you know you want this, you dirty little slut." She whimpers in her bed, biting down further on her comforter. "I'm about to start pounding you, hard." His voice is gruff and urgent, "you'd better goddamn scream for me."

Her wrist is straining against her body and she squirms against the pressure. "You're such a fucking whore." He growls in her ear. Her toes curl, her legs are tense, she can feel the pressure building. "You aren't going to come yet," he commands, she fights against her own rhythm, tries to stop but it's too late, she crosses that final tipping point and comes. She likes to picture him coming at this point as well, deep inside her, perhaps even impregnating her, how dirty, how aroused, that makes her feel

She feels her muscles twitching against her fingers as her breath slows. She brings her hands to her face and sniffs her fingers, she's recently come to love her own scent. She knows it's time to get up now, those dishes won't wash themselves. But tomorrow morning, the business partner will be there waiting to ravish her once again before she returns to the daily drone of reality.