Janet McCoy: The wife next door

"Could I have some coffee, dear?" At last, he had spoken to her. Emma sensed the absurdity of being elated by this minor victory. She looked critically at her husband as he ate and drank and read. He was a good-looking man. His smooth regular features and his neat, closely trimmed beard and mustache made him look very mature and very wise. Emma felt a renewed surge of desire for him as she recalled how his skin smelled very close up, how his beard grazed softly against her cheek. He had such a wonderfully soft beard!

She checked herself as her pussy began to flare hotly. May as well forget it this time around, she told herself. There'll be no rousing Einstein this morning.

Emma and Harry had been married for three years. They had met when she was an undergraduate and he on the last legs of his climb to a Ph.D.. She had been very impressed. She had thought Harry knew everything. And about physics, he probably did know close to everything. His teachers conceded he was a genius.

Where Emma had made her mistake, she realized now, was in thinking Harry knew everything about everything. He did not. One thing he knew practically nothing about was women.

They fucked when he felt like fucking. They did not communicate about sex. He never took the trouble to find out what her real needs and desires were. He assumed he had a perfectly satisfied wife. He liked to assume that. That freed him to think about physics eighteen hours out of the day. The other six hours, he slept.

Emma knew she was bored. She felt guilty about being bored. Harry was a good kind man. He deserved all the love she could give him. And she did love him. But she wanted more out of life than a permanent post as the guardian and watchdog of a professional thinking machine.

She was a woman, with real live hopes and dreams and desires. And needs. Needs that were not being fulfilled.

Once again her thoughts strayed back to her hot aching cunt. If only Harry could get his nose out of his papers long enough to fuck her for just a few minutes.

It wasn't that they didn't fuck often. They did. But it was beginning to seem dull and repetitive to Emma. She didn't know it it was natural to feel the way she did, but she wanted sex to be more adventurous than a hurried, furious coupling before sleep each night. At times she felt more like a fixture in somebody's wet dream than a wife.

"More coffee, Harry?" she asked dully, holding the coffee pot poised over her mate's cup.

"What… huh…? Oh, no thanks, honey. I've got to be going. I've got an important meeting this morning. I want to be there early. I've got some things I want to talk over with Jackson before we start."

"Good… well, you'd better be going, Harry. You don't have much time." Emma wanted him gone now. She needed some time alone, to think things out, maybe to get rid of this awful nagging ache down in her pussy.

"Okay… I'll see you later, honey." He was still leafing through his papers as he left the house, briefcase and raincoat tucked precariously under one arm.

When Emma was alone, she automatically headed back to the bedroom. She felt she had some unfinished business in there. She pulled open the doors of her closet and looked at herself in the mirror hanging on one side.

There she was. A full-blown woman, just ever so slightly on the plump side. Her tits were full and firm. Her waist tucked in provocatively between breasts and hips. Her legs were long and strong. Her light brown hair fell softly around her pouting, sensuous-looking face. Tall and strong, she looked like a statuesque Scandinavian princess.

"I am sexy," she told her mirror emphatically. "How could he possibly be alone with me and not notice me once all morning?" Her nipples and dark cunt-hair were like lures beneath the filmy material of her negligee. She parted the folds and admired her naked chest and belly. She watched, fascinated, as her hand trailed down over her firm stomach and burrowed into her thick thatch of cunt-hair. The fingers made almost immediate contact with the hidden nub of her clitoris. The effect was electric. The little gland stood up in eager erection.

"Mmmmmm!" She watched her blue eyes become hazy, watched her lower lip fell open slackly. Her face, naturally sensuous, became a molten landscape of naked desire. She was hot!

Her pussy palpitating with need, the shy Emma began to sort through ideas for giving her body the satisfaction it craved. It would not be enough for her to just masturbate. She wanted to let her frustrated sexuality come out. She wanted to be wanton.

She went into the bathroom and pulled out her makeup pouch. She almost never wore makeup. Amongst the wives at the lab, it was fashionable to sport the natural look. To let the wrinkles and lines sprout where they may. Emma kept the makeup for very special occasions – for the times when she was alone and she wanted to feel very sexy.

With deft strokes, she began to apply eyeliner and mascara, eye shadow and rouge. A bright red lipstick added a provocative finishing touch. Now she looked like a whore-garishly beautiful instead of her usual quiet attractiveness. She liked the feel of her negligee flowing over her back and buttocks while her front remained bare. She felt very sexy, very daring.

She went to the living room and poured herself a scotch-on-the-rocks from the closet bar. She downed it quickly and poured a second. The tingling sensation from the alcohol went straight to her pussy. It pulsed with excitement. Glass in hand, she went back to the bedroom and again inspected herself in the full-length minor. What she saw made her pussy flare expectantly.

While she sipped her scotch, she began to investigate the thick patch at her pussy once again. Again her fingers tickled her clitoris. Only this time, she let them go farther. She let them work round and round the erect peak of her clitoris, then press at the yielding hole of her cunt.

"Oooohh, my pussy feels good," she groaned, looking straight into her own eyes in the mirror. She took a long swallow of her drink, then set it on the bedside table. She began to fondle her breasts with one hand while the other caressed her wet cunt.

Emma was able to sit on the bed and still enjoy the picture of herself playing with her most private pads. She spread her legs wide, so she could get a full view of her glistening, hair-fringed pussy. Her fingers moved hypnotically along her cunt-channel. Lust-darts were soaring from the tender spots where her fingers moved. She was literally shaking with excitement. This was the kind of forbidden turn-on she was never able to enjoy with Harry.

This was the kind of thrill that made her pussy wettest.

"Uuuhhh, Jee-zuz," she grunted. Two fingers were embedded inside her cunt now, and they began to wriggle back and forth. Her debauched excitement was intensified by the sight of her fingers, gleaming with her juices, emerging from her tight pussy. Her inner muscles closed her fingers convulsively on every in stroke. Her body was so open, so aroused. Her cunt was so hungry for the magic of orgasm. "Hhnnnhh, I love acting like a whore! I love being depraved! Christ, my fingers feel so wonderful up inside my cunt!"

Her face heavy with sensual abandon, she watched her hands caress her breasts and her pussy. She imagined she was performing her abandoned act for the pleasure of an onlooker – a handsome man who would fuck her silly when she had male herself cum. But that was the first requirement of the arrangement. First, she had to make herself cum.

"Uuuuhh, I want to cum… I want to cum so bad!" Her fingers began to fly in and out of her cunt-hole while her thumb worried the swollen nubbin of her clitoris. The quaking sensations assaulting her lewdly clad body were becoming more and more urgent. She watched her heavily made-up face in the mirror. Watched her tongue flicker lewdly over her red lips. Watched her dark, wide eyes with their blue irises grow wider and wider with the surprise of her feeling.