Bill Randolph - Eat out with his wife

Misty Morgan rolled a golden curl of her blonde hair around a finger and sighed. She stared blankly at the television and crossed her long, sexy legs. The twenty-six-year-old curvaceous blonde was bored, and she was damn tired of it!

"Charlie!" she yelled. "You gonna be in there eating all night?"

Charlie Morgan, her husband of eight years, poked his head into the den while reaching back to turn off the kitchen light. His mouth was full and working to chew the last of the sandwich he'd just stuffed into his mouth.

"Haven't eaten all day," he murmured, gulping his food and strolling into the den. "Give me a break!"

Misty glanced up at him and managed a sexy, pouty smirk. She let the folds of her robe part to reveal her luscious, naked legs as she winked.

"I've got something nice and sweet you can eat," she purred. "Remember how you used to stuff yourself with my pussy?"

The dark-haired, thirty-year-old man beamed a patient smile. He reached down and lazily fingered one of his wife's large tits through her robe. He wiggled his finger and parted the top fold of the robe, exposing her lush tit-melons.

"I was just young and dumb and full of come," he said, tweaking one plump, pink nipple with his fingertips.

"And I just loved the shit out of you," she cooed, crooning throatily as he kept pinching her sensitive nipple and making horny spasms ripple all the way down to her throbbing cunt.

"I remember," he whispered. "We had some fun, didn't we? The two of us really shook the sheets."

She nodded and uncrossed her legs. She eased back on her chair, letting her legs fall open and her robe practically gape open, uncovering her nude body. She knew she was just as sexy and shapely as the day they'd married. Men were always turning to stare as she walked by them out in public. And, too, she gave herself a critical examination in the full-length mirror behind her closet door in the bedroom often enough to spot any telltale sagging or loss of shape.

"No reason we can't keep having fun," she said softly, sexily, posing provocatively for his view by casually lifting a hand high over her head and playfully cupping one of her tits with her other hand. "I mean, we aren't exactly ancient, Charlie. Lately, you've been acting like we're bath ninety-two, dried up and ready for the express lane in the sky."

Charlie Morgan chuckled and gave his wife's tit another affectionate squeeze.

"I think I married you for your sense of humor," he murmured.

"That's funny," she said. "I thought you married me for my pussy."

"Well, I got a bonus," he said. "I married you and got both."

"Then why don't you take better care of my pussy, Charlie?" she purred, wanting to keep her tone light and playfully while making a serious point.

Immediately, Misty feared she'd gone too far. Charlie straightened and sighed.

"We've talked about this before, Misty," he said seriously as he turned and walked across the room. He dropped down on the sofa and glanced toward the TV. "You know I've been working my balls off at the store. Jeffers is going to retire this year and I want his recommendation to become manager. It's what I've worked for all these years."

Misty groaned under her breath as she slumped on her chair. Here we go again, she told herself as an angry chill spread over her lush body, souring the hot arousal that had so recently pulsed inside her. Now I'm going to hear how he started out as a bag boy at that fucking grocery store when he was seventeen, graduating high school after a year of experience, then moving right in full-time, working his way to assistant manager. She ran his predictable swords through her brain before he spoke them. She gazed at the TV screen without really seeing the images moving in front of her eyes. Her thoughts were far away.

Her mother had always told her to marry an old, rich man, fuck him to death, then live like a queen into her own old age. But that had been easy to say. At eighteen, Misty had looked around, and of all the boys she'd fucked, there wasn't a suitable prospect for a husband in the bunch. Most of them had been high-school jocks, all too eager to fuck her brains out, but not likely to amount too much. But then she'd caught the eye of the eager, good-looking young guy at the neighborhood supermarket. He'd always been so anxious helping Misty and her mother with their groceries, even occasionally volunteering to deliver them to their house for free.

"That boy is drooling for you, Misty," her mother used to say, snickering. "Give him a wink and he'll drop to his knees and kiss your naked ass in the middle of the parking lot. And, he's been working at that store since he was nothing but a kid." Her mother would wink knowingly and give Misty a little pat on the arm. "He's probably got some money saved, and he's ripe for the right girl to come along and help him spend it. He's looking for a wife, even if he just doesn't know it yet."

Her mother's words from years ago still bounced around in her mind, especially on evenings like this. Her mother had been partly right, Misty had to admit. Compared to Misty's other prospects at the time, Charlie Morgan was indeed a catch. He had money for a down payment on the house in which they still lived, and for the first few years of their eight-year marriage, he did everything but kiss her naked ass in the store parking lot.

But lately their relationship seemed stuck in the mud. He was acting middle-aged, especially when it came to fucking. A couple of times lately she'd even had to work at getting his cock hard enough to fuck, and that had never been one of Charlie's problems. He was butt dragging tired most nights now when he came home from the store, and his hours seemed to get longer and longer as the day of the current manager's retirement drew closer.

Misty had tried to be sympathetic to her husband. She tried telling herself that he was working so hard for her, striving to get this promotion for their security and the chance to move to a bigger house. But telling herself all those things was becoming small comfort for a horny, hot-pants woman like Misty. She needed more than that kind of love and devotion from her moan. She needed his hard and ready prick pumping her overheated pussy. She needed his flicking tongue on her clit, driving her wild as the lust flooded her. She needed a daily diet of rigid fuckmeat to lick and suck and nibble. And lately, her Charlie just wasn't cutting the mustard.

Suddenly, she pushed herself out of her chair and whipped off her robe. She strolled across the floor to her husband, boldly and provocatively flashing her sexy, nude body. Her full lips curved into a pouty smirk as she sank don to her knees in front of him and began fumbling with his pants fly and belt.

"Jesus, Misty, what are you doing?" he said lazily, making no effort to help her or to discourage her action. He sat submissively, letting her do the work.

Finally, she reached into his opened fly and pulled out his limp prick. It lay in her hand like a warm, flabby snake, near lifeless and uninterested. She sighed, trying to hide her disappointment. Then, accepting the challenge, she went right to work.

She ducked her head down and fucked her tongue out over his deflated fuck-knob. At the same time, her fingers got busy skimming up and down his shaft, coaxing the rubbery meat gradually into some form of life.

Eventually, his prick twitched and began to uncoil slowly. And, though happy with the way her work was paying off, Misty also felt a tremor of humiliation both for herself and her husband. She was much too beautiful, young and sexy to have to labor a hard-on out of her man. Shit, any man on the street would get a pulsing boner just watching the sway of her round, firm ass and shapely hips, or the playful, bouncy jiggle of her full, lush tits when she walked by.