She bent over the bed, tugging at the stubborn corner pocket of the fitted sheet. Fucking thing always got stuck half-way over, and she always had to crawl up the bed to wrest it into position.

She always tried to do it the “easy” way, throwing the corner over the edge and tugging the sides of the sheet. Always wound up, hands and knees, fighting to get the third corner over and tightly down.

He stood leaning against the door frame, watching the soft cotton of her baby-blue panties snug up tight around her ass as she crawled up the bed. His oversized plaid shirt, flannel flocking long ago worn away, hung loose on her, and he caught interesting glimpses of pale flesh as she moved.

She made little annoyed sounds under her breath, half-formed words of complaint and protest.

And she swore at the sheet.

She was so fucking cute, he thought, though his cock thought longer, stronger, harder thoughts about her.

His cock envisioned him striding across the room, pressing his hand to the center of her back, right between her shoulders so she could not straighten up, and holding her there.

Down, vulnerable, accessible.

Her holes open and available for use.

He was standing beside the bed as she started to arch up, stretching her back. He didn’t remember crossing the room. His hands pressed her hard, down.

She gasped with the sudden, unexpected force of His hands upon her.  She froze, prey obeying instinct.

His free hand clawed at the panties that delineated her nether curves.  Pushing the cotton aside, He roughly fingered her cunt. She moaned and cried out. Not wet, not yet.

He’d startled her when she was doing fucking housework, was her first thought. She was too busy for this, for now. She had to finish this and get onto the kids’ rooms before they got home from school, and ..and…

His fingers continued probing her pussy, the wetness growing, dewing her channel, his now rampant cock whispering of dark caverns taken roughly.

His fingers pulled out and she knew a moment of relief. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, words dying in her throat as she saw the look on his face.



His cock went halfway on the first thrust, his knees spread to lend him purchase, his hands moving to her hips as his rocked, pistoning his hard shaft deeper into her well.

He saw, through the red haze of his lust, the look of shock on her face. To be taken this way, so raw, unleashed the last of the lock  on his control and he began pumping harder, faster, deeper.

Her eyes shut, her chin pressed into her shoulder as she became immobile with her growing lust.

He’d never used her quite this way before. They’d explored a bit of darker sex play over the years, but this…this was different. His hands caressed her round belly, soft with middle-age, soft from bearing his sprouted seed, once, twice, three times.  The body remembered, and he remembered as he touched each inch of her.

His cock, thick and full, plowed into her, thrusting with a vigor that surprised them both. Her head fell to the mattress, her fingers fisting in the half-attached sheet as a steady moan slid from her half-open mouth.

Seeing her this way, heavy-lidded, and overcome with her own lust, feeling the wetness that slurped with every thrust in, and leaked down her thighs with every withdrawal inspired his lust.

His hand reached down, pulling her head up by her hair, arching her back, freeing her tits to his grasping fingers. He played her nipples, plucking them like ripe fruits, twisting and pulling, and forcing her to arch high, higher as the pain in her tits danced with the pleasure of her pussy.

Lovers for a lifetime, he knew her signs, knew she was coming, felt the welcoming squeezes from her inner muscles. When she would have collapsed to the mattress, spent, he kept her up by his hands on her tits, pulling at her nipples, making her cry out as the sensitive buds under his hands tightened.

He fucked. He fucked hard, deep, pumping steadily. He felt the need growing, the slow boil in his balls, the tightness pulling him harder and harder…yet he continued to take, to give, to dive again and again into her welcoming heat.

He felt her begin to tremble and writhe, and urged another orgasm from her. His hand left her nipple, and searched for her swollen clit. It reached out to his questing fingers, and he rubbed and tugged the sensitive button, as she began growling, mewling, moaning.

She came, came again, uncertain then, or later, whether it was many orgasms or one long, rolling crescendo.  Her heart was beating a mad rhythm in her chest, his fingers doing wicked and wonderful things to her nipple, her clit, and pleasure and pain were braided so inextricably that she thought she might die if he stopped…and might if he continued.

He felt the mad rushing of his seed begin its meteoric rise through his shaft, felt the pulsing thrust as it hurtled through the head, gushed through the little hole and geysered deeply inside of his wife’s pussy.

His eyes closed, his hands grabbed at her hips like a drowning man clings to a life vest, the veins in his neck thick and pulsing, even as his cock was thickly pulsing deep inside her belly. His head was arched back, primal man in lust, in release.

When it was done, they collapsed together in a tangle of arms and legs, breathing through raw throats, breath rasping in unison. He gathered her close, pulling them, spoon-like, into the tangle of fresh sheets.