Cheryl's head is buried in her device. Again.

Of course that isn't unusual these days.  I'm just as often guilty of it. We've been stuck in the house for weeks, alternately anxious, bored and detached, numbing ourselves out with our screens. For the first month or so we have been so disjointed in adjusting to the new lifestyle, we were only having sex once or twice a week, and when we did it was pretty perfunctory. Enjoyable yes, but maybe not as engaged with each other as usual while we were doing it.

I'm thinking tonight might be a good night to hit on my wife and see if we can get a round going.

I try to get her attention.  "What are you so engrossed in?" I ask.

"Just reading a book."

"What's it about?"

"You know, I'm not even sure yet."  She looks up at me and smiles sweetly. "I'll tell you when I sort out what it all means."

"Can't wait."

She gives me a sultry look.  "Aww, feeling neglected?"

"Well, I'm not going to let myself be jealous of a dumb little book-reading app.  But I will point out the kids are in bed, and we're down here alone."

"Huh." She fans her hand in front of her face. "Suddenly ... I feel sooo ... hot."  She is wearing an oversized t-shirt and starts waving the bottom of it up and down to fan herself more - flashing me her cute belly and the bottom curves of her tits. In the decade we've been together and had kids, she advanced from a nice B-cup to more of a voluptuous D when she was nursing, and now she's settled back into a still-generous C. In other words, it's a damn fine view. 

I lean down and kiss her on the neck. "Well, we'd better get you out of those clothes and cool you down."

She takes on a silly, fake-sexy, breathy tone, like the one Marilyn Monroe used to sing "Happy Birthday, Mister President."   She says, "I do declare, I think I might be about to catch fire," flipping her long honey-blonde hair, something that gets me every time.

"Yeah, you're smokin', all right"

She holds up her phone as if to speak into it, still using the baby-doll voice. "Hello, 9-1-1? I'm calling to report a fire. I need a big, strong fireMAN to come.  Er, come rescue me."

It dawns on me she wants to do a little role-playing. This isn't something we've done before, as we've always been pretty direct in our lovemaking, but I'm game.

I take on a more authoritative tone.  "Yes, ma'am. Uh, Chief ... er ... Johnson! ... reporting for duty.  I'll take you somewhere safe."

"Oh thank you, Chief ... Johnson, was it? I think a solid Johnson is exactly what I need right now," she says with a giggle.

I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom.  We have an older house, the kind with one of the bedrooms on the main floor.  Now that the kids are old enough to handle being upstairs without us, that room is ours now - giving us free rein over the whole main floor to ourselves, and a whole lot more privacy, after their bedtime.  Having this arrangement the last couple of years has definitely improved our sex life.

I'm standing next to the bed, still holding her in my arms. "Oh my, chief Johnson, it's a long way to that trampoline down there,"  gesturing down to the bed - and still using the over-the-top sexy voice.  "I think you'll have to drop me," she giggles.  

"Well, ma'am, let's hope it breaks your fall - and nothing else." I'm still using my man-in-charge voice.

"I'm sure if I get hurt you'll take care of me."

"Oh, I'll take care of you, all right."

"Oh my goodness, I think the fire is closing in.  You'd better drop me now!" I throw her into the center of the bed, and she lands in a pile of down.  She falls into the bed, pulls the covers over herself and starts kicking and fussing around under them.

All at once the covers fly off.  She's lying on her back stark naked, legs up in the air. grinning a mile wide. That's my wife, everyone! Damn, she is awesome.

"Chief, there's still a fire in the hole," she says, pointing to her pussy. "Did you bring a long hose?

"Ma'am, I bring my hose everywhere I go, just in case. Let me show you," I say as I get undressed.

"Oh my, what a big hose you have! You never know when you might need it ... or who you might need to use it on," she says with a wink.  "And ... it seems to be extendable?  Look, it's getting longer!" Switching from the faux-baby-doll voice to something hoarser and needier, she adds, "Stick it in the hole right now!" 

I climb on the bed, gently sliding my length into her smooth tunnel, which is nearly leaking with her juices.  After a moment of savoring that initial feel of warmth, enveloping not only my cock but seemingly my whole being, I start off with a slow rhythm.  In our many years as a couple we've learned to work our bodies together, our hips rocking in synchrony as I match my thrusts to her rhythm, my pelvic bone grinding against her clit each time I bottom out in her, then every few strokes popping my cock out and plunging it back in. 

Usually I can get Cheryl to cum from regular sex if we're in the missionary position, and not too disconnected from each other emotionally and physically. Sure enough, after a few minutes of this, she is writhing in ecstasy and reaching her plateau.  Once I sense she's nearing her climax, I stop the mental block holding myself back, peaking just half a minute after she does.

Well!  Role-playing has never seemed to hold much interest for me before, but this sure was fun. It has definitely led each of us to one of our better orgasms in recent memory.

A couple of nights later, after we've taken care of the kids and the dishes for the night, Cheryl asks, "Hon, I think I left my phone in the car when I got the groceries earlier.  Can you go get it?"

I go out to the car and grab her phone. Huh? I come back to the door of the house to find it locked.

What the eff? I don't want to risk waking up the kids by ringing the bell or banging too hard on the door, so I knock gently.

I hear an oddly sing-songy, breathy feminine voice, the same one she used the other night. "Just a minute!"

I hear the clanking of the safety chain and she opens the door, the chain keeping it from opening more than two inches. Again in her seductress voice, Cheryl asks, "Is my delivery here, Mister Parcel Service?"

I can see that she's changed into a bathrobe, open enough at the top that I can see a bit of her alluring cleavage.  Ohh-kayyy, here we go again. This is still new territory for us, but in the doldrums of this pandemic, why not spice things up? I'm up for it.

I reply in my best manly voice, "Yes, ma'am, got your package right here."

"Oh good.  I'm desperate for a new ... package."  She unlocks the door and lets me in, letting her robe slip open enough that I can see almost half of each boob.

"Um ... you got a ... uh, slot ... you want this package to go in?" I wrap my arms around her, pressing my package against her.

"Yes, but not ... quite ... yet," she says, leaning back a bit. "First I could use some help from a strong man to move something big to the other room."

"Ma'am, moving things around isn't really in my job description, but I'll see if I can help while I'm here. Show me what you need moved."

She steps back and drops her robe, naked again.  "This," pointing to herself.

"Hmm, let me take a look." I look her over slowly, taking in her pale skin, her ample, still-firm breasts with their hardened, pale-pink nipples, her soft blonde bush, her rounded hips, her tapering legs, all the way down to her cute little toes ... and back up to her cute smirking face. She shivers a bit at the visual inspection. She's such a sight that I shiver a little too.  Did I mention how much I love this woman?  "Yes, ma'am," I reply, "I think I can handle that job."

"Oh, I assure you, this job ," pointing to herself and waggling her hips, "is easy."

I carry her to the bedroom and set her on the bed.

"Okay, ma'am, that's done.  Now you wanna show me the slot I should put this package in?"

"Yes, let me show you my slot." She drops her robe and gets on all fours, pushing her ass out enough to expose her labia from behind. We don't often do it doggy-style, but if she wants it I'm all for it too. Now she points her hand behind her hips and says, "I know it will fit. This hole is soooo loose these days. Don't ease it in. Just shove it."

I take off my clothes, get behind her, moisten the tip of my cock against her very wet vulva, and then shove it inside her as directed, prompting an "ooh!"  I kiss the back of her neck, using my tongue, and massage her breasts with my free hand, squeezing the nipples alternately as I start pumping her. I'm reminded of why we don't do rear-entry very often: it's intense, but so stimulating I usually cum long before she does.  So not surprisingly, after - oh, about forty-five seconds - I'm starting to feel the pressure building.

"Ma'am, I must warn you I'm about to deliver a big load."

"All right, sir, hang on."  She moves forward away from me, lies on her back and grins. "Okay, the dock is ready. Feel free to dump the whole load."  Damn, this is kinda fun.

And dump my load I do. I've only barely been able to hold myself back as she flipped over, so I fill her up with my fluid almost instantly after entering her.  I try to keep going as long as I can afterward, my shrinking dink stirring around the juicy mess inside her cunt until it softens, then shrinks, then flops out, temporarily useless.

She seems fairly worked up, and I don't want to deny her an orgasm if I can help it. So I go down on her beautiful pussy, first taking some of the fleshy labia between my own lips, then tracing my tongue around the outside, gently taking the clit between my lips, then wrapping my lips fully around hers and sucking.  I get a mouthful of my own cum mixed with her own tangy juices, perhaps an acquired taste, but the tangy-creamy mix isn't unpleasant. Anyway, if that's what it takes to get her to an orgasm, I'll do it.  Which it does, surprisingly quickly, having gotten both hands on her tits and started squeezing her nipples, as I perform my varying ministrations on her delectable pussy.

Afterward, we share a long, sloppy, gentle tongue kiss.  As I'm wiping our mixed juices off our faces with a tissue, I mention that I've enjoyed having this recent break in the monotony being stuck at home.  I would not say our sex life had gotten stale by any means - we were both still enthusiastic in bed - but it was a little more to-the-point after the kids came along, and suddenly a little less frequent now that we'd been trapped in the house most of the time.

"Sorry, I guess I have a lot of weird fantasies coming to life," she confesses. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? No, this is fun.  I only hope I can satisfy them."

"Me too."

"What, you think I can't?" I ask, mock-defensively.

"Oh sorry, that isn't a threat! Really, sweetie, I didn't mean it like that.  You know I love you, and you know I will always love sex with you."

"It's okay. But this did just make me think that when we are role-playing, we might need to step out of character for a sec, in case we needed to talk about something or reset before we jump back in the pool." 

"Like if I want you to be my pool boy?" She eyes me slyly.

"I'd skim your pool anytime ... er well, that didn't sound so good ... I'd be happy to dive into your ... I guess pool boys don't actually go IN the pool ... anyway, you know what I mean."  

She chuckles at my awkwardness, then asks, "So, are you saying we should have a safe word?"

"Maybe.  That doesn't mean I want to get into any rough stuff."

"Neither do I," she concurs.

"Okay, what would be a good word? Something obscure. How about ... "  I choose a word that isn't dirty, but sounds like it should be. "kumquat?"

"No, I might actually want to be able to say that," she says with a smirk.

"Uh, watermelon?"

"Well, when it gets to be summer we might have to incorporate cold watermelon into our games," she says with a grin.  "But for now, 'watermelon' will work. Thanks for playing along with all my ideas. I guess it's true that we women come into our sexual prime at this age. My desires have never been stronger. Maybe this whole sequestering thing, and the cabin fever, has my imagination working overtime too."

"Yeah, it's getting to me too. I can't say my imagination has been as creative as yours, though." 

What I didn't tell her is that my imagination has been running too, though not along the lines of this role-playing stuff. Now let me first be clear that I love Cheryl too much to ever betray her, and it doesn't hurt that sex with her is as good as with any other woman I have been with. Not that it was a long list, but before we got together we'd both been around the block enough times to know what we had with each other was as good as it gets.

But ... I'm still a man.  When I'm getting groceries or walking the dog - the only times I see people other than my family - I'm noticing other women more. And picturing myself with them more vividly.  Maybe it's just the effect of confinement. Less social intercourse has me craving ... well, intercourse. How about that.

"Well, I've got a lot more ideas like this," she says. "Okay, that book I was reading the other day? It's by this author, Nancy Friday, who did some big studies decades ago where women wrote to her about their secret desires. I mean, this was back in the Seventies when no one was studying what women wanted ... and I guess it kind of unlocked a door. When I started reading about other women's fantasies, I realized I was having a lot of the same ones, not always conscious of it either, and it struck a chord with me."

"You mean, like the collective sexual unconscious of all women or something? Like what?"

"You'll find out."

"In other words, I can look forward to more of this?"

"Oh, much more, if you're willing."

"With you, of course I'm willing."  Still, I'm thinking: ... willing, huh? I wonder how much more interesting  things are going to get.

The next night, I help her with some projects around the house, trying to pare back the honey-do list, as a lot of us are doing while we're stuck at home all the time. 

First, she needs a painting put up on the wall. After we've sighted out exactly where and how high to hang the picture, she switches to her seductress voice again.  "Hello, Handyman ... ?"

"Wang," I reply.

She giggles.  "Handyman Wang, are you ready to hang this artwork?"

"Hung? That's my specialty, ma'am."

"I'll bet. I need a big strong man to do some ... nailing."

"Happy to nail you, ma'am."

"Do you have a big hammer, Mister Wang?"

"It's big and hard. Can't do the job if it isn't."

"Ooh, big and hard. Good."

I put the nail in the wall, and the room definitely looks better.  I wonder if we're about to run to the bedroom after this relatively minor role-play - heck, I'd go now - but she switches to her normal voice and asks me to come to the kitchen, where a couple of cabinet hinges need tightening.

The voice comes back: "I need a different handyman for this job.  Someone who can really ... drive ... a screw."  Then she giggles, "Maybe I have a couple screws loose."

"Charming, ma'am, you just might have a couple screws loose. Handyman ... er, Cox, here for you. Happy to drive them in for you, ma'am."

"Cox? Is that plural?"

"No, ma'am, just one Cox."

She adopts a pouty look as I get to work tightening the screws.  "That's too bad, there are times I could use the services of multiple Cox."  After a pause she adds, "But that's okay, I'm used to making do with one good Cox." Is this just a playful joke, or an actual hint at more of these secret fantasies she talked about? Maybe she wants two guys? Yikes.

As I finish the last one, she asks, "You made sure to screw those down ... hard, right?"

I take her in my arms and press my hardness up against her.  "Oh, very hard, ma'am. Feel free to check."

She feels my hardness through my pants. "Oh, very nice ... and hard.  But there's one more thing I need fixed.  This will take another repairman."

"What kind of man, ma'am?"

"Well, it calls for a television repairman."

"TV repairman ... uh, Dick, at your service. Harold Dick."

"Well, mister ... " she snickers, "Harry ... Dick ... my, uh ... boob tube needs some adjusting."

"Let me try turning these knobs and see if that helps." She giggles as I reach inside her robe, then swoons as I squeeze her nipples, playfully twisting them a little bit.

She presses her hips harder against mine and gently sways them. "Oh yes, that helps.  My reception is stronger now."  Then she lets her robe fall open, her nude body pressed against my not-so-nude body.

"I must say, that did seem to make you more receptive."

"Okay, that brings me to my last request.  I need a plumber."

"Plumber Johnson, at your service."

"Oh good, I need my pipe rooted out. I think you'll need to send in a probe." She reaches inside my pants and holds my cock in her hand.

She says, "But first I need to make sure the probe is thoroughly washed," and sinks to her knees, pulling down my pants and taking me in her mouth, right there in the dining room. Good thing the blinds are down and the kids are sound asleep.

After a couple of minutes of talented sucking, she has me lie down on the floor and she straddles me, her delicious breasts hanging in front of my face, fruit ripe for me to pick.  Which I do, but for all too short of a time before we flip, and then I plunge into her from above until we both cum.

After we've cleaned up and gone to bed, having given some more thought to the fun we'd been having lately, I ask, "So do all these fantasies of yours that we're tapping involve role-playing?"

"Well, maybe not all of them. Hmm, I guess a lot of them do, though."

"Do most of them involve me pretending to be some other man?"

"Well, yes I guess a lot of them do.  Oh, baby, I don't mean to make you feel inadequate! I would never put another man ahead of you. I'm sorry if I haven't made clear how I am enjoying having sex with YOU."

I guess that is reassuring, but I did notice the way she put that. Sure, I was first, but it didn't necessarily mean only.  Was this a hint about having sex with other men? Well duh - of course she would fantasize about that! Who am I kidding? God knows I'm doing the same thing, more than ever being cooped up in the house all the time.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be accusatory.  Sure, so what if you do have fantasies about other guys? I have no right to be jealous that way. It's perfectly natural to find other people attractive. I can't control you like that, being offended by your private thoughts." 

"Thank you.  Besides, I bet there are other women you think are cute."

A little bashfully, I reply, "Well, I suppose so, but I would never ..."

"Of course you would never! I know that. We have known from the day we got together at our ten-year reunion that we are each other's true love. Okay, we knew it in high school too, we just didn't follow through then. And we would never want to hurt each other.  I"m just asking ... even if you would never act on it, you must at least imagine being with other women sometimes, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," I admit, "and ... well, maybe it's happening more that we're all cooped up."  To say the least! There were even a couple of times when I went out running this week, I saw cute women walking their dogs and pictured myself with them so clearly, I almost had an erection inside my shorts.  That hadn't been a problem since I was a teenager. As much as I love Cheryl - and literally would choose her over any other woman in the world -  the desire for other women isn't keeping itself to the background as well as it used to.

She assures me, "Don't worry, I'm not jealous. Seriously! If anything, just the opposite. The idea of other women wanting you just makes you my studmuffin even more. And you know what? Maybe sometimes I pretend I'm another woman when you're fucking me." 

"Really? Well, okay, I guess I also have to admit that when I'm playing the fireman or whatever, sometimes I imagine I'm that guy doing it with you, and not myself.  Reminds me of what a hot wife I have, that so many other guys would want you."

"See? It's okay to talk about these fantasies. It kind of spices things up a little - and it reminds us of how much we mean to each other."

"I guess so.  So how many guys have I pretended to be this week?"

"Not enough," she says with a playful smirk.  "Seriously, though, I hope this hasn't just been about my fantasies.  Are there other women you would like me to be for you?"

I shrug.  She continues, "Cashier at the grocery store? Bikini babe at the beach? The admin at your office? Hot realtor letting you in to see her hot property, and screw her in every bedroom? See, I have lots of ideas there too. I can be any of those women, and I won't be hurt if you pretend you're doing them and not me."

Looking me directly in the eyes, she emphasizes, "You know why? Because I trust you, and I know we would always come back to each other." Smiling again, she asks, "How would you like to bang a sexy French maid?"

"Oui, oui," I reply.

"Voila," she says, pressing her breasts against me and reaching inside my pajamas.  "I clean more than just your house," she says with a bad French accent as she shifts positions and takes me in her mouth - again! - moistened lips firmly clamped on my manhood as she slowly bobs up and down.

"Oh la la." I counter, getting her on top of me so we can 69.  I just love making Cheryl squirm with my mouth and tongue as she slurps on me at the same time.  If it were up to me, every session would start off with a 69. In fact, I love it so much that sometimes I could be satisfied with us both coming that way and my cock not even entering her pussy.  Fortunately, she knows how much I like it and indulges me in my favorite position often enough, at least as foreplay.

This time it's one of those wonderful times that our 69 session isn't just a warmup.  I lick and suck her all around down there, getting her to cum while she is on top of me, shortly thereafter filling her mouth with my cum in one of the more memorable orgasms I've had in a while.  Which is saying something, since that's not the first time that has happened just this week.  

As I fall asleep in bliss - and my beautiful, amazing wife's arms - I wonder how far this journey will go. Being holed up in our house has been definitely building up sexual pressure, though so far we are doing a damn good job of releasing it. The sex we've had the last week is as good as when we first got together. Can we keep this up? Will we run out of ideas and have sex become more routine again? Or will we keep escalating things - and take the risk of it all crashing down?

It feels like Cheryl is driving toward something. This is the first time we have ever directly talked about our fantasies for other people before, but it doesn't sound to me like she wants it to end there. She hasn't explicitly asked to open our marriage exactly, but I have a hunch she's going to. I'd better figure out my answer.

First question I ask myself is this: do I want to be able to have sex with other women? Oh, fuck yes. I can think of a couple of other women I'd still have the energy to bang tonight, even after doing Cheryl twice. Could I do that and still put Cheryl above everyone else? 

Absolutely! I am certainly not looking for anyone to replace her, certainly not emotionally. The quarantine has brought us closer together than ever, and right now I am also enthralled by her sexual openness and honesty.  And Lord knows she seems to trust me, if she's asking me these questions.

Next question: Would I be okay - no jealously allowed - with other guys fucking my wife? The real deal. Other guy's cocks (maybe some of them bigger than mine) sliding in her pussy, which for the last ten years has been all mine? 

You know, I think so. We're equals and grownups. I respect her enough to allow her the same freedom she allows me, and I trust her to come back to me.  Hell, I might even be willing to watch. Or help, since it sounds like she might want to try two at once.  I fall asleep with a hard-on thinking about this, realizing my answer to her question will be "Yes."