Page 25 of Eager Housewife

“Yes, husband,” I whisper.

His grin widens. “And there’s an extra bonus.” Pulling up his trousers and underwear in one, he slowly buckles himself up. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a remote control.

Oh. Shoot.

It’s then that I notice part of the plug is right over my now-sensitised clit.

“I can do this any time, from any distance,” he says conversationally as he punches a button with his thumb and the toy buzzes to life.

I cry out, doubling over as the vibrations wrack me, so good it’s almost painful.

“That’s it,” he croons, guiding me to the bed and laying me down as he ramps up the intensity. “It upset you that you couldn’t come all day? Well. I’ll make up for it. I’ll make you come whenever you like.”

“Uugghhh.”

“Or wheneverIlike.” His smile is downright sinful. “And if you send me horny nudes, wifey…” He flicks his thumb on the remote and the vibrations increase again, too much on my clit, forcing me nearly to… “I might decide to get my own back.”

I’m coming again, shaking and shouting as Duncan stands over me, drinking in my peak with a satisfied expression.

“That’s it.” He caresses my knee tenderly as I break apart with this orgasm. It’s not as good as the ones with him inside me—sharper and more intense but without the depth and sweetness—but it tingles right to my toes all the same. And Duncan watching on, doing this to me with utter calm after he was shattered only minutes ago, is magic. He eases down the vibrations in sync with my climax, and I’m left lying on the bed, still totally naked as he slips the remote back into his pocket. A threat and a promise.

Then he leans over and climbs on top of me, holding himself aloof. He cups my jaw and strokes my cheek, looking into my eyes, the blue in his irises as endless as the sky.

“I love…” He pauses and for a moment I’m sure—so sure—that he is going to say, “you”. But he tilts his head and gives me a rueful smile. “That you bought underwear.”

Disappointment crashes through me, a tropical disease that brings me back to reality.

“Those white lace ones are quite beautiful. But, Mrs Blackstone, I haven’t changed my mind. You still can’t wear knickers.”

12

DUNCAN

She makes dinner for me. We have a chef, but this weekend she told me she was arranging the food for our trip to the Lochside house in Scotland. She has insisted on cooking, and wearing a dress like a mid-century housewife. Blythe has the naughtiest smile tonight.

On a normal weekday evening, I rail my wife as soon as I walk in the door, but our time at Lochside is totally different. I almost look forward to her weekends off where we talk and spend time together without my lust making the whole thing filthy. It’s a break from some of the guilt.

Some.

This is our fourth weekend away, and we eat and drink at the solid oak table, flirting over the candles and the delicately-prepared food that I compliment extravagantly. It’s not as good as what the chef cooks, but I love that Blythe has done this. She preens at my compliments, and I can tell she’s pleased that I’m happy.

My gaze lingers on her waist when she gets up to clear our plates from the main course. I don’t help as I would usually, because she seems to have this idea about being my housewife that she wants to take care of me.

And far be it from me to remove any joy of my wife’s.

“Here’s dessert.” She gives me a proud smile as she places a perfect little creation of meringue and fruit and cake and flowers before me.

“That looks amazing. Nowhere near as good as you, but delicious all the same,” I tell her with a wink. Then I frown as I notice there’s only one portion. “What are you having for dessert? Didn’t you make yourself one?”

“Nope. I’m having a different dessert.”

“What is this bullshit!” I explode. “Is this about your weight? I’ve told you before…”

She’s laughing at me as lowers herself down before me and, ducking beneath the table, slides her little hands up my thighs.

“Blythe.”

Reaching for my belt, she undoes it with nibble fingers, and I can’t breathe.