I was silently cursing speed limits and every other car on the road as we returned home from breakfast.  I knew I was in for it when I asked her if she was ready to go and my wife walked out of the bedroom in that outfit.

She was wearing a black and white striped, sleeveless top that really put her gorgeous tits on display – with plenty of bared cleavage.  Her jet-black leggings were capri-length and form-fitting enough to be questionable as public attire.

She’d taken wicked delight in me trying to hide an erection more than once while we were out.

Once we were back in the car, she’d raised the stakes even higher.  I glanced at her before starting the car, and it was impossible to miss that she’d scooted in the seat in such a way to form a camel toe in those leggings.  Once we were on the road, she’d started absently tracing a fingertip up and down the crease between her labial mounds.

My wife laughed when she caught me looking yet again, and adjusting the uncomfortable bulge in my jeans.  “Eyes on the road and hands on the wheel,” she playfully admonished.

“Easier said than done,” I responded.

My phone dinged a couple of blocks from home.  I glanced at the notification just before the screen faded to black and saw it was another text message from the floor manager at work.  The first arrived just before we left the restaurant.  It was something about a driver up from Mexico, and the new one was probably more of the same.

I ignored it.

My wife tugged at her leggings when I shut off the car.  She loved to show off – and tease me – but walking around with a camel toe where our neighbors could see her was a bridge too far.

I’d barely closed the door behind us when she pulled me into a hungry kiss.  She finished by sucking my bottom lip and asked, “Now, what was this about sausage?”

I didn’t even need to look when my phone started ringing.  I’d set a unique ringtone for all the work numbers and the mobile numbers of everybody there who had mine.  My wife knew it as well.

She let the leg she’d lifted to grind against me drop to the floor and said, “Go ahead and answer it.”

“Whatever it is–”

She cut me off as she stepped back, slipping away from the hand squeezing her ass.  “Just answer it.  You’re going to be anxious if you don’t.”

Unfortunately, she was right.  Whatever was going wrong would be a thousand times worse for not being handled properly by the time I returned to work the next day.

My wife strutted over to the couch and sat down as I retrieved my phone.  I followed as I answered it.  “Hello?”

Mike was obviously at his wits’ end.  There was some paperwork he needed that driver from Mexico to deal with, and there was a serious language barrier.  I sat down on the couch next to my wife as he explained.

Once he finally took a breath, I said, “Mike, slow down.  Just go over to the line and grab Arturo to translate.  It’s not a big deal.  Waylon is used to it.  I do it all the time.  I...  Really...”  I sighed as he anxiously rambled and then took the first opportunity to say, “Just go give the phone to Waylon.  I’ll take care of it.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, turned to my wife and rolled my eyes as Mike crossed the building.  A crooked grin spread across her face.

I vigorously shook my head as she slipped off the couch onto her knees.  Her eyes narrowed and she slowly – deliberately – nodded before leaning forward to grab my belt.

I’d promised her sausage after breakfast, and she wasn’t going to wait any longer.

The sound of machinery mingled with forklifts rolling by in my ear while my wife made short work of the fastenings on my pants.  I defiantly refused to lift my butt to help her, but she wrestled my jeans down to my thighs anyway.

I clenched my teeth and somehow kept the groan trapped in my throat when she gave my cock a long, wet lick.

The machinery humming and banging drowned out everything else as Mike approached the line.  It was all I could do to hold it together with my sexy wife’s tongue slathering all over my erection.  I faintly heard Mike telling Waylon why he was there, and then Waylon answered the phone.

“Hey Waylon.  Mike needs to borrow Arturo...” My voice jumped a little when my wife sucked the head of my cock and tantalized it with the tip of her tongue.  “To translate for a driver,” I finished.

Trying to concentrate and hear what he was saying was somewhat difficult with my wife’s hot mouth sliding over my cock.

“I know.  I told him that, but I guess he didn’t believe me.  Yeah.  Some day off.  Thanks.”

She wasn’t screwing around.  My wife’s head bobbed in my lap at a steady pace, making me writhe.

“All good?” I asked when Mike took the phone back.  My ears started burning when I failed to completely suppress a grunt brought on by my wife blowing me.

For the love of god, I thought when he asked me to stay on the phone until he had the driver sorted out – just in case.

The sound of machinery faded as Mike and Arturo walked back through the building to the loading dock.  My wife slurped her way back to the head of my cock and looked up at me wearing a grin.

You’re fucking evil, I mouthed to her.

She giggled and engulfed my cock again.

I thought those two were never going to make it back to the dock.  My wife was relentless between my legs.  Finally, I heard Arturo and the driver speaking in Spanish, and hoped it wouldn’t take long.

I quickly jerked my phone away from my ear and slung my hand back over the back of the couch when my wife swallowed my cock.  I grabbed a handful of long, dark hair, but it didn’t deter her in the slightest.  All I could do was pray that the noise on the dock was enough to cover up the glock, glock, glock of her deepthroating me, and my growling grunt.

She sucked in an alarmingly loud gasp when she jerked out of my lap.  My dick was covered in slobber, and it was dangling from her lips.  She did at least lean back, turn away, and cover her mouth and nose with a hand when she sniffled.

I allowed myself a quiet groan when she sat back on her heels, wiping the drool off her chin.  I brought the phone back to my ear, and I could still hear a conversation going on in Spanish.  My wife swallowed, blinked her watery eyes, and sniffled again.

The sense of relief I felt when she stood up was profound – but short-lived.  She walked over to the recliner, popped the footrest, and then climbed into it facing away from me.  Down went her leggings, revealing that perfect ass and pussy to me.  She wasn’t wearing panties.  There was a wet spot in the crotch, and hints of white where some of it had dried.  She’d been wet for a while.

My wife looked over her shoulder and beckoned me with a crooked finger.  I pulled the phone away from my ear and shook my head in such an exaggerated way that it was nearly a full 180̊ arch.

She grabbed her leggings as if to pull them back up and whispered loud enough for me to hear it.  “Fine, but if these go back up, they’re not coming back down.”

I don’t know if she was serious or not, but the tone of her voice certainly suggested it.  I rocked off the couch and stood.  She covered her mouth and giggled at the sight of me shuffling toward her with my jeans around my thighs.

Once there, I was in a conundrum.  There was no chance of getting in behind her encumbered by my jeans.  As I was considering what to do about the phone while I stripped them off, she reached over and put the footrest down.  A little shifting put her right on the edge of the seat cushion, and she reached between her legs.

I sidled in behind her, and her fingers curled around the head of my cock.  She unerringly slipped it between her nether lips, and I buried it inside her.  My wife slammed her face into the chair back and groaned into the foam.

I left my cock to the hilt inside her, and thankfully she was fine with that.  I don’t think I could have managed if I’d actually had to fuck her.  She kept her face pressed against the chair back and rubbed her clit.

Thank you, I thought with heartfelt gratitude when I heard what sounded like an end to the Spanish conversation.  Mike got back on the phone.

“You’re welcome.  No, It’s fine.  Uh-huh,” I responded to my co-worker,   I was standing there balls deep in my wife’s pussy, having a mundane conversation – and it was sheer torture.

It felt like an eternity, but at long last, Mike hung up the phone.  I made sure the call was ended, slapped my phone down on my wife’s ass, grabbed her hip with the other hand, pulled back, and slammed into her.

She yelped, and then laughed.

“God damn, babe,” I growled as I gyrated my hips, letting her tight, wet pussy caress me.

She moaned and wiggled her ass.  “That was so much fun.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” I responded, but the tone of my voice betrayed that with the danger over, I was able to appreciate her naughty little game as well.

She reached back and pushed on my hip.  I pulled back a little, and when her outstretched fingers continued to push, I pulled out.  She was so wet that it made a slurping sound as my cock slipped out of her.  I picked up my phone from her ass, and she dropped her feet to the floor.

“Bedroom.  Now,” she said as she sauntered toward the hall.

I yanked my pants up so I could walk without looking like an idiot, and followed hot on her heels.