Speaker 1: It's Wednesday, September seventeenth, and time for your daily fuck.
Speaker 1: The restaurant is a hushed cathedral of fine dining. A
Speaker 1: string quartet plays softly in the corner. The light from
Speaker 1: the crystal chandelier casts a warm, golden glow, and the
Speaker 1: air smells of old money and expensive wine. We're here
Speaker 1: to celebrate ten years of marriage. Seated at a secluded
Speaker 1: corner table with a long white tablecloth that drapes to
Speaker 1: the floor. Next to me, my husband Mark looks as
Speaker 1: handsome as the day I met him, the soft candlelight
Speaker 1: catching the silver at his temples. He's telling a funny
Speaker 1: story about our disastrous first apartment, and I'm smiling and nodding,
Speaker 1: completely lost in the warm, comfortable glow of our shared history.
Speaker 1: I look at this man who knows every secret, every flaw,
Speaker 1: and every inch of my body, and a wave of pure,
Speaker 1: unadulterated lust washes over me, as potent and thrilling as
Speaker 1: it was a decade ago. It's time to play our game.
Speaker 1: It's been too long since the last time we played it,
Speaker 1: and I smile a wickedly romantic smile. While he's speaking
Speaker 1: to the somalier. I slip my high heel off under
Speaker 1: the table. I slowly, deliberately why my bare foot up
Speaker 1: the inside of his tailored trousers from his ankle to
Speaker 1: his knee. He doesn't flinch, doesn't break eye contact with
Speaker 1: a wine expert, but I see it, a slight, almost
Speaker 1: imperceptible flaring of his nostrils. The game is on the
Speaker 1: smallia leaves, and Mark raises his glass to me to
Speaker 1: ten years. His eyes are twinkling with a new secret fire,
Speaker 1: and to the next ten. I take a sip under
Speaker 1: the table. I reach down and unhook the daughter holding
Speaker 1: up my left stocking. I slowly, painstakeingly roll the silk
Speaker 1: down my leg, the sensation of the fabric whispering against
Speaker 1: my skin making me shiver. I ballo up the stalking
Speaker 1: and slip it into his lap, a secret trophy. A
Speaker 1: few minutes later, as the waiter places our appetizers before us,
Speaker 1: I feel Mark's hand on my knee under the table.
Speaker 1: It rests there for a moment, a warm, possessive weight,
Speaker 1: before his fingers begin to inch their way up the
Speaker 1: inside of my thigh, exploring the bare skin where the
Speaker 1: stalking used to be. His touch is delicious torture, his
Speaker 1: fingers tracing lazy circles higher and higher, until he brush
Speaker 1: against the damp lace of my panties. I decide that hescily.
Speaker 1: I lean forward, pretending to retrieve my napkin. My hands
Speaker 1: disappear under the table. I find a zipper of his trousers,
Speaker 1: the meadow cold against my finger tips. I pull it
Speaker 1: down slowly, my knuckles brushing against the hard, thick ridge
Speaker 1: of his cock. He doesn't wear underwear, something I discovered
Speaker 1: on our second day. He takes a sharp sign of breath,
Speaker 1: but his face, visible to the rest of the room,
Speaker 1: remains a mask of calm conversation. I free him, his
Speaker 1: cockspringing hot and heavy into my palm. I begin to
Speaker 1: stroke him a slow, steady rhythm, my eyes locked on his.
Speaker 1: He's talking about a work project, his voice a perfect,
Speaker 1: even baritone, while I'm giving him a hand job. Three
Speaker 1: feet away from a woman describing her trick to Tuscany.
Speaker 1: The risk is an intoxicating drug, making my own pussy
Speaker 1: clench an ache with need. He sets his fork down,
Speaker 1: excuse me for a moment. His hand disappears under the table.
Speaker 1: He finds me with an unerring familiar confidence, his fingers
Speaker 1: slipping past the lace to find my wet, swollen folds.
Speaker 1: Two can play this games. He fingers me with an
Speaker 1: expert touch, his thumb, finding my clit and circling it
Speaker 1: with a name perfect pressure. I whirled narrows to the
Speaker 1: two realities above the table, on the picture of elegance,
Speaker 1: sipping my wine and nodding politely below the table, and
Speaker 1: a mess of pure sensation, my husband's fingers deep inside me,
Speaker 1: while my own hand is wrapped around his cock. The
Speaker 1: last time we played this game, I came so hard
Speaker 1: I knocked the table over. I shouldn't let orgasm begin
Speaker 1: to build, a deep, coiling heat that threatens to shatter
Speaker 1: my composure. I can't come here. Mark knows my orgasms,
Speaker 1: but hope does he know them well? And he knows
Speaker 1: I'm loud and lose control of my body. He loves that.
Speaker 1: But I got the other diner's will. I kick his
Speaker 1: foot under the table, a frantic, desperate signal. He understands. Immediately,
Speaker 1: check please, he calls to a passing waiter. The ride
Speaker 1: home is a frantic, breathless blur of hands and mouths
Speaker 1: in the back of the car. Our driver has seen
Speaker 1: it all. I'm sure, but probably it's not what a
Speaker 1: pair our age. The flawed makes me smile as we
Speaker 1: stumble out onto the curb and Mark fumbles with the keys.
Speaker 1: The moment the front door swings open, the damn of
Speaker 1: our carefully constructed restraint breaks. He shoves me against the door,
Speaker 1: his mouth crashing down on mine. I hear the delicate
Speaker 1: fabric of my dress rip as he hikes it up
Speaker 1: to my waist. There's no time for the bedroom. He
Speaker 1: enters me right there against the door and the entryway,
Speaker 1: a single, deep, powerful thrust that makes me cry out.
Speaker 1: The fuck is a frantic, explosive release of all the
Speaker 1: tension we spent the last hour building. It's messy and
Speaker 1: desperate and absolutely perfect. We come together in a matter
Speaker 1: of minutes, our shared screams swallowed by the walls of
Speaker 1: our home. My legs are quivering and can't hold me up,
Speaker 1: but Mark has me pressed against the door. We collapse
Speaker 1: in a heap on the fourier floor, a tangle of
Speaker 1: limbs and ruined formal wear, breathless and laughing. Ten years
Speaker 1: of marriage and we still know how to make each
Speaker 1: other feel like we were teenagers. With a dirty, delicious secret.
Speaker 1: The anniversary dinner was perfect. We just never got around
Speaker 1: a Desser