The Trophy Wife

The day had slipped by, as they tend to do, when I looked up at the kitchen clock and realized that it was time for me to start getting ready for my husband to get home.  It was already 4:30 and here I was still in the white tennis dress that I'd worn to my afternoon lesson at the club.  Roger would be home around 5:45, so I put down the copy of Cosmopolitan that I'd been leafing through (50 Ways to Light His Fire!) and went upstairs to make myself pretty for him.

 

Our shower is large enough to fit two comfortably, and as I luxuriated in the spray and steam, I let my mind wander back to the last time that it had.  Just last week I'd been taking my morning shower when Roger, who'd been up since dawn getting ready for an important business meeting, slipped into the shower with me.  He grabbed me by my hips and turned me around to face him, kissing me hard on the lips and pulling my body close to his.  As his tongue parted my lips, I returned his kiss and let my soft, smooth body melt against his hard, hairy one.  Roger's hands drifted down to my ass and squeezed as he broke the kiss.  "Damn, you are one sexy bitch!", he growled, looking into my eyes.  I felt my face flush as my nipples stiffened against his hairy chest.  "Roger, what's gotten into you this morning?," I asked, as my hands drifted up to caress his muscular flanks.  "I've been working on the PharmTech merger and just thinking about how I was going to screw those bastards made me think about how much I'd rather screw my gorgeous wife."  The look of lust in his eyes was quite flattering, as was the proof of his statement that I felt hardening against my soapy belly.  I reached down and grasped my husband's member, amazed by its throbbing heat as it grew to its full (and impressive!) length in my hand...