The secret to domestic bliss is keeping your husband’s cock hard for you. I’m not just a good wife; I’m a fantastic one. My alarm went off more than an hour before Mike was due to get up. That gave me time to find my black panties from the previous night, the ones he’d pulled off of me with his teeth, and put them on while I prepared my husband’s breakfast and tended to his pre-work needs. Other than the cum-soiled panties, I only wore a short, thin, satin robe. Then, just before his alarm was due to erupt in cacophonous, eardrum-shattering squalls, I went into the bedroom, turned off the alarm, and quietly crept between his sleeping legs.

I pulled back the covers ever so gently, exposing his flaccid cock. Smirking, I took it into my mouth, gently sucking it to hardness. As it grew longer and thicker in response to my efforts, I increased the suction and pumped my slutty mouth up and down his now-hard member. Soon, it was thick, hard, and firm in my mouth, and I could hear him moaning in his sleep.

His hips began thrusting up to meet my oral lunges, and his moans grew in intensity and volume. His hands, one of them running all over my back and groping at my tits, the other holding my head in place, alerted me that he had woken up. He groped at my panties with his free hand while he fucked my mouth.

“Mary Anne, your mouth feels so good. I want to wake up like this every morning.”

I pulled my mouth off his quivering shaft, making a popping noise as my lips broke the suction. Long tendrils of saliva dripped from my mouth, bridging the gap between my lips and the swollen head of his cock.

“Tell me what a great cocksucker I am, tiger.”

“You’re the best, Mary Anne. Oh, fuck.”

“Cocksucker,” I repeated. “Tell your wife that she’s a great cocksucker.”

I could feel his flesh pulsing under my tongue.

“You... ah, so close... you are a great cocksucker, Mary Anne.”

Redoubling my efforts, I plunged my mouth over his cock, sinking all the way down until my lips grazed his pubes. Gurgling and gagging, I forced myself to take his full length down my throat. I was rewarded by his cock pulsing, growing more turgid, and he moaned loudly.

Right before he was about to erupt in my mouth, I sadistically decreased my pace and suction, slowly moving my mouth up and off his throbbing cock.

“That should hold you over until tonight,” I cooed. I leaned back, sitting upright and spreading my legs, caressing my soaked pussy through the panties. My handsome husband just stared at my masturbatory gestures, his hard-on waving back and forth.

“You’re not going to finish me off?”

“Nope. I want you to be so horny for me that you can’t restrain yourself. I promise you that I’ll be worth the wait. Now, go shower and come eat your breakfast.”

My darling breadwinner grumbled and whined like a little boy, but went to the shower. I prepared a hearty breakfast for the both of us and sat down to eat my food. Then inspiration overtook me, and I tore off my soiled, saturated panties and put them in his briefcase. When he got to his office and opened it, he’d be delighted that his wife was such a horny vixen.

“Oh,” I said as we ate. “I need to buy a dress for tonight. What’s our budget?”

“You have a hundred dresses,” he observed. “Why not wear one of those?”

I’d anticipated the response and had my reply ready. “Well, you super-hung stud, since I dyed my hair blond, I can hardly wear anything I own. Nothing goes well with my skin tone and hair color anymore.”

Just to keep him focused, my bare foot slid up his leg and rested on his cock. I ran up and down its length as I spoke.

I continued. “I could just dye it back to the same, old, mousy brown if you don’t want your wife looking her best to represent you, tonight.”

About a week ago, an actress I somewhat resembled was in a movie we were watching, and her hair had been dyed a pale, brilliant blond for her role. Mike was so turned on by her looks that he was a primal savage in bed that night. So I went to the salon to test the theory that blonds have more fun. Since then, he's been in a constant state of heat for me.

“Take my credit card, then.” he surrendered. “Buy whatever you want.”

I opened my robe, stood up, and then grabbed the charge card off the table and ran the plastic over my tits, flicking the edge against my nipples. Then, I slowly drew the VISA down over my taut stomach and slid it against my pussy lips. If he noticed that my panties were missing, he didn’t mention it.

“Do you think I’d look sexier if I shaved that little landing strip off?” For effect, I ran the long edge of the plastic over my newly-trimmed pubes, hearing the stubble-scuffing sound it made.

“Um err, keep it, please. I like it.”

“Are you sure?” I placed the charge card back on the table, smiling at the sea-dwelling cartoon character on the front, and spread my cunt wide open with my fingers. “I bet if I shaved it bare, it would feel extra sexy when your tongue was right here.” My index finger pointed to my clit.

To illustrate, I flicked my sensitive nub with my crimson-painted, long fingernail, feeling my clit swell and grow burning hot under my self-administered attention.

Mike was almost late for work because I just couldn’t let him leave without passionately kissing him in the doorway, my hands roaming over his buttocks. Then, during our embrace, I just had to caress and fondle his manhood until his cock was fully erect, once more.

“Be a good boy at work, and tonight I’ll let you lick my pussy and cum on me wherever you want.”

“Anywhere?”

“You dirty pervert. You want to shoot your cum all over my face as I moan in ecstasy, don’t you? Does it turn you on thinking about blasting your load all over my pretty face?”

I watched from the front door, my robe still open, as he trudged out into the morning heat and left for work. Although it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. yet, the air was already hazy with heat. It was going to be a scorcher. However, it was Friday morning; I had my husband’s silly credit card and needed to shop. I’d endure the torturous temperatures; I just needed to dress for the weather. That meant light, breezy, thin clothing.

A hot, steaming shower, with the massage head blasting my clit into oblivion, was the perfect preparation for my busy day. With my back pressed against the cold, wet travertine, the forceful streams of pulsating water pummeled my orgasm button into two leg-shaking orgasms before I decided that it was time to get dressed and head into the city. I needed to select the perfect wine for the evening, pick up some new table-setting accessories, and find a dress that complimented my new hair and smooth, creamy skin tone.

I could have taken the expressway into town, but, despite the oppressive heat, the sun was shining, and so long as I drove fast with the windows open, a stimulating, cool-seeming breeze cascaded over my scantily-clad body. With the sky brilliant blue and wispy clouds meandering across it, I decided to take the scenic route. That added quite some time to my travels, but I needed to think about what sort of dress I wanted.

When I was a brunette, with my medium, smooth complexion, I could get away with just about any color or style of garment. With my long hair dyed such a brassy, vivid blond, the fabric, cut, and especially the color became of paramount import. My mind ran through possible clothing choices as I drove, listening to my music and taking in the rural scenery.

I could easily go with a satiny, solid-colored dress. That would give me a femme fatale look. My hand idly dropped to my thigh as I drove, pondering the length of the slit that would look good on my shapely, toned legs. With the bold femme fatale slant to my attire, my hair would be a bold statement, understated by wearing a low-cut, high-slit dress. I’d be sexy and sultry, with the obvious fake color becoming a sexual statement.

Or, I could opt to go with dark, somber colors with a sort of punk-goth flavor. Then, my golden tresses would be a stark statement, showing that I knew my hair looked too light for my skin tone, but I didn’t give a single fuck. That would be super hot and sexy. With that harsh, starkly-contrasted look, I could get away with not wearing a bra.

My hand, already on my sun-heated thigh, traveled up, beneath my short skirt, and idly caressed my moist cunt lips. Before I knew it, I was absentmindedly fingering myself as I drove. Although I was going clothes shopping, I was currently without underwear. My skirt was short enough to be alluring, but not so short that I’d flash my nude pussy all over town.

The light, wispy cotton skirt provided easy access to my overheated treasure box, and I took advantage of that, spreading my legs slightly and plunging two fingers inside my cunt as I used my thumb to tickle my clit. My foot reflexively pushed down on the accelerator, and, soon, I was driving over the country highway at a roaring eighty miles per hour.

The backcountry roads are seldom traveled, so I had no concerns about being seen. Still musing over what sort of dress to buy, I moaned, cursed, and screamed as loudly as the music on the stereo as I fingered my aching twat. With the two fingers inserted, I could clench my hand a bit, which drew my thumb over my throbbing clit and caused my fingers to press into the upper reaches of my love canal. The sensation was so horny and lusty that I had to pull over to keep myself from swerving off the road. While I was deep in the throes of passion, fingering myself in my car on the side of the road, my phone chirped with an incoming message.

“Found your panties. I’m so hard for you, Mary Anne.”

“Smell them. I made sure they were extra wet for you.”

Mike paused, not replying immediately. Then, he texted back, “I’d rather smell the ones you’re wearing.”

“The washer’s not draining, remember? Can’t do laundry. No panties.” I grabbed the phone from its cradle and took a picture of my wet cunt. My sexual juices were glistening on my thighs, and the seat between my legs was saturated.

I sent him the picture of my bare pussy along with the message, “Keep it hard for me. I’ll be in public like this all day. Love you.”

His first response was a gratifying, “fuck,” followed by a long pause, and then, “Love you, too.”

My masturbation forestalled, I resumed my drive into town. I considered going with a light-colored Betty dress. The classic, retro styling with the flaring skirt and 1950s appeal would work. But, again, with my hair so brassy, I’d need to be extremely careful about the fit, pattern, and color.

You see, there’s quite a bit more to being a traditional wife than one would think. Part of the dynamic is supporting your spouse. As a housewife, it is my duty to ensure that my behavior bolsters everyone’s opinion of my husband. That meant that I needed to be a good, sincere friend to all the women, wives, and lady neighbors we might associate with, as well as earn the staunch approval of all the males. Men are easy, though.

To build up my husband’s image in the eyes of his manly peers, I simply needed to make them all want to fuck me. Being a trad wife is partially like being a trophy wife. I needed to dress to entice, but not so slutty that it seemed intentional; if all the men wanted to fuck me, then Mike was a man’s man, worthy of their respect and admiration. I also enjoyed the lusty eyes roaming over my body, and the thinly-veiled innuendo.

With my fingers still flying over my clit, I entered the outskirts of the city, As traffic grew denser, I had to stop pleasuring my cunt and concentrate on driving. Soon, I arrived at a quaint, designer boutique that specialized in stylish dresses of all sorts. They sold high-quality clothing at reasonable prices.

While I tried every imaginable look from skater-girl to punk, then from demure to whorish, I ultimately settled on a darling A-line dress with the perfect amount of billowy flaring at the hem and a sexy, suggestive V-notch in the neck. It was effortlessly sexy, making me desirable and wanton without looking like a cheap whore. Additionally, it was a designer brand. Whether or not a garment has a pretentious name tag wasn’t a concern, but the better-crafted clothes accent and enhance my body’s natural charms eloquently and stylishly.

The dress was a muted, dark gray, almost charcoal. Lighter swatches, tendrils of heather, were woven in, giving it a subdued-color effect as well as lots of character. It made the stark radiance of my blond locks seem less garish, which was perfect. The addition of a matching, lacy choker, a feminine strip of allure, from the impulse buy display on the checkout counter, drew attention to my features and away from my hair. The overall effect was demure, alluring, and well-balanced.

In that dress, I was part Betty Crocker and part punk rocker. It was simultaneously demure and provocative—perfect. The lace choker drew the eyes toward my exposed flesh, not my hair, giving me a fun and flirty aura with strong hints of something wilder just beneath the surface. My handsome husband’s VISA card, with Sponge Bob on the front, didn’t even flinch at the huge price tag. Mike would try to complain, but I planned on making him so insane with lust that the money I’d spent would be the furthest thing from his mind.

I dropped the dress off at the one-hour cleaners and went to the mall to finish my shopping. As soon as I entered the shopping mecca, the overly-frigid air conditioning assailed my sweaty body. My braless breasts tingled under the thin fabric of my cotton top, the nipples growing taut and sticking out for everyone to leer at. And stare they did. Young men and mall employees gawked at my bouncing boobs and poking nipples.

 A naughty smile crossed my lips as I otherwise ignored my fans, well, my tits’ admirers, lusty gazes. Mentally, I counted the number of people who stole glances at my boobs. The thin material of my short skirt clung to my overheated flesh, highlighting my pantiless ass more than concealing it. Spying the restrooms, I quickly went into the ladies’ room and took a selfie of my hard nipples poking through my shirt.

I sent my husband the picture along with the message, “Everyone’s staring at my tits. I wonder why.” His approving response was almost immediate.

Feeling emboldened, I tugged and pulled on my nipples until they were so swollen that they tingled, and then I exited the bathroom. Wandering the labyrinth of consumerism, I found one of those crafts and housewares stores that should have what I needed. I barely knew Allison and had met Ben only once, when we’d first moved into the neighborhood. Our dinner was a “get to know each other” affair, so I wanted to make a good impression.

It took some time, with the store’s clerk coming up to me three times to ask if I needed any assistance, but, I finally found the perfect table-setting pieces. An ornate candleholder that spiraled up and out of a similarly decorated tray would make the perfect centerpiece. Then, I just needed to find some spring-like flowers or ivy and a candle in the proper color. I imagined that a yellowish or vibrant green would do nicely.

I was perusing the candle section when I suddenly saw the perfect candle. At almost four inches in diameter, it was the perfect size for the holder. It was a mossy, forest green with bas-relief geometric designs highlighted in a golden yellow. With a joyous clap, I bent low to reach it, as it was at the back of the bottom shelf.

“Are you sure you don’t…oh, wow,” I heard from behind me.

Suddenly, I remembered that I was deeply bent over and not wearing panties. I snapped my head around, my cheeks already flushing crimson, to see that the store clerk had walked up behind me. His words caught in his throat when he saw my bare ass, my short skirt riding up, and the swell of my pussy framed between my thighs.

“Like the view?” I wiggled my ass just a bit since he’d already seen it, before standing up. He just stood there, stunned.

I placed the candle in my shopping cart along with the holder tray, matching placemats, and spring-themed, linen napkins. Looking him up and down, I strolled toward the checkout counter.

“I guess you did,” I taunted as I passed, reaching out to gently pat his hard-on through his pants.

I paid for my wares and noted that I had several more minutes before my dress was done being dry-cleaned. Since the lingerie store was right on my path out, I stopped and bought a matching set of thigh-highs with a bust-enhancing bra and thong panties. Finally, I sat in the common area, an iced latte in my hand, and whiled away the remaining time with a tasty beverage.

As shocking and embarrassing as it was, my mind kept replaying the store clerk staring at my nude ass. I was slightly mortified and humiliated, but also surprisingly aroused. While I mused over the event, I pulled out my phone and took a quick upskirt shot after ensuring nobody was looking.

“A guy working in the store caught me bent over and saw my exposed ass,” I texted Mike. Then, when I realized that I may have taken things too far, I texted, “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

My worry was ill-placed. “In a meeting, you made me so hard,” was his response.

Feeling emboldened, I immediately answered. “Since you don’t mind, I’m currently in the food court, sipping a coffee, and my legs are spread. Anyone can see my bare, wet pussy.” To remain honest, I spread my thighs a bit, and the naughty, taboo feeling overwhelmed me. I was buried in an avalanche of my lust. Eventually, I had to get up and go back to the cleaners to pick up my dress.

Wanting to impress our neighbors, I decided to cook sirloin tips, because all men love steak. A quick stop at the butcher's, and I was ready to head home. This time, I took the expressway home, so the trip was only a few minutes rather than the better part of an hour.

Everything was, initially, timed perfectly. Our guests were due to arrive around 6:30, and my husband would be home mere minutes after that. If I kept my focus, I’d have everything perfect just in time. The first thing I did was strip out of my sticky clothes. Even though my skirt was light and wispy and my top was just the thinnest cotton, the torridity of the weather made me perspire, and my clothes clung to my bare flesh like a very wet second skin. I showered quickly and then shrugged into a loose, long t-shirt, nothing else, and began turning our immaculately-kept home into an impressive domicile.

I was ahead of schedule until I passed by the bay window in the living room while vacuuming. Bobby Crenshaw, the oldest son of the neighbors across the street, was home from college and was mowing the front lawn. On a half-ride sports scholarship for his baseball skills, Bobby was in prime physical condition, and he was wearing only sneakers and loose shorts. His toned, muscular body glistened with sweat, and his shaggy hair cascaded about his head in sexy, random twirls.

Mesmerized, I turned off the sweeper and stood at the window, watching him. When he turned, I had a perfect view of his tight, young ass and bristling back muscles. I seriously debated asking him inside for a cool glass of iced tea and a hot housewife when he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow, then showed off his vein-lined arm muscles, restarting it. Instead, I watched, a perverted voyeur with her fingers buried in her cunt.

My phone pinged as I watched that fine specimen of masculinity in his sexual prime go about his sweaty chores. It was my husband. “Did anyone see?”

I didn’t want to lie to him, so I gave him a veiled version of the truth. “How’s this?” I texted. “I’m currently fingering my wet pussy because I’m so fucking horny.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I'm fantasizing about being taken hard, on the front lawn, a hard cock deep inside me, and a sweaty, muscular body heaving over me.” It was true; it just wasn’t Mike’s cock or sweaty body I was fantasizing about.

“Cum for me.”

“Later,” I teased. “Be a good boy, tiger, and you’ll get yours tonight.” For good measure, I snapped another picture with my phone. This one had two of my fingers inserted into my cunt, my sex juice coating them.

It felt like only moments, but I gawked at Bobby’s statuesque body, musing over what his cock would look like and how it would feel pounding into my pussy, until he’d finished. Then, I noticed the time. I’d lost almost half an hour! I quickly grabbed my phone and sent my husband another picture of my dripping twat. I sent him the text, “I’m so wet and horny right now,” which was the complete truth.

Although I knew better, I couldn’t stand the arousing anguish any longer. My young neighbor was hunched over the ailing lawnmower, clearing out grass clippings from the deck. He was so muscular that I could see the veins in his arms even from across the street. In a frenzy, I spread my legs wide enough to allow me to furiously fuck myself. One hand attacked my aching clit while the other tried to fill my honey hole.

It didn’t take long for an intense, leg-shaking orgasm to consume me. The visual stimulation, being caught in public with my butt on display, and Mike’s reactions had me so worked up that a strong breeze probably could have gotten me off. I fell to the floor in my throes of rapture. My mouth screamed, “Fuck,” over and over as waves of pleasure eroded my body and cast it anew.

When I got up, hoping that Bobby couldn’t hear my orgasmic wails, I was both shocked and surprised to see Allison, without her husband, walking up to my front door. I stood there, frozen in place, as she walked up to the front door.

“Just a minute,” I cried out when she pressed the doorbell.

I straightened my T-shirt, already creating excuses as to why I wasn’t dressed, and put on my most cheerful, warm smile.

“You’re early, Allison,” I observed. “Please come in and excuse my appearance. I was tidying up so you’d feel comfortable and welcomed into our home. Where’s your husband?”

“Call me Ginger,” she smiled. “And your home is pristine. Do you have a maid or something?” She stepped inside and looked around, approvingly. “Ben’s busy on campus and will be along, shortly. I thought I’d come over early and help you cook, although it doesn’t look like you need any.”

She stopped yammering long enough to grab two pieces of gumdrop-looking candy out of a shiny, ziplock bag she was holding and pop them into her mouth.

She held the bag out to me. “Edible? What can I help you with?”

To Be Continued...