She typed the text and sent the selfie. “If ya got it, flaunt it!”

The shoulder straps of her deeply plunged, split-front, fit-and-flare black dress were off her shoulders; her breasts perched outside, nipples erect. She’d debated between a long strand of pearls or several gold necklaces in different lengths around her neck. She decided to wear all of them. An intentional fashion faux pas.

The photo showed pillows behind her back. She sat semi-upright against the bed’s headboard. In her right hand was a crystal water goblet full of red wine. Dangling diamond earrings hung on her ears. Her dark hair was collar length and tucked behind them.

She didn’t forget her fuck-me heels either. She spread her legs wide and dug her heel points into the bed. One red, one black. They accentuated her off-key elegance. The spread legs highlighted a newly shaved vajayjay.

Of course, the shoes didn’t go together. That was the point. Like wine in a water goblet instead of a wine glass, like the dangling diamond earrings with gold necklaces and pearls, like the fit-and-flare dress with a split-front that hugged her waistline…and rode up her legs to display her pussy at its best.

She wore the image of a decadent upper class MILF with perfection.

Earlier she’d sent him an email telling him what she wanted tonight. The subject line said “An Aviance Night in Minneapolis”. He’d know her meaning. They’d watched the famous perfume commercials from the late ‘70s. Her scent on Aviance night was, appropriately, Prince Matchabelli.

“She's been sweet, and she's been good, she's had a whole full day of motherhood, and she's going to have an Aviance night...”

She said she’d be decadent and he should be home at seven if he wanted to enjoy what she had to offer. It was approaching seven when she sent the selfie to tease him.

On her left side was a small plate of unwrapped Ghiradelli chocolate squares: peppermint, orange, cherry, and salty caramels. Michael Bublé’s voice came from the stereo; the long taper candles flickered, casting deep shadows around the room. Oh, yes, it was going to be an Aviance night for her and her husband.

She smiled as she heard the garage door open and then close. He was near. So very close.

She spread her legs wider. Oh, yes. She was ready for him. She’d said in her email, “If you’re not home at seven, I’m calling our new neighbor with the big muscles and asking him to fill in for you. I’ve always fancied having a bald-headed man with tattoos licking me between my thighs. Don’t be late.“ Her husband would enjoy her tease. She knew him so well.

She reached into the chocolates and held one up to her lips just as the door to the bedroom opened.

“Just in time. I thought you might be. Remember, no talking.” She smiled, took a sip of wine, bit into the chocolate, and let the flavors meld in her mouth.

She allowed him to savor the visuals: her dress hiked up to her waist, her shaved glory fully exposed to him, her goblet of red wine, her bared breasts and nipples, and her piece of chocolate touching her full red lips. She knew how to whet her husband’s appetite.

He stood for several moments taking it all in. These moments were rare in real life. It would be stupid not to remember a scene like this one. He was there to sate her desire.

Is there anything more beautiful than a woman with sex on her mind? In this moment of time, she was spectacular.

She couldn’t see his face in the shadows created by the candles but she did see the bulky outline of him pause. His blackened shape appeared to be on the balls of his feet. It gave the impression he was leaning into the moment.

Frozen in the act of predation? Perhaps. The wolf had found Red Riding Hood in bed. It was her fantasy to be eaten to orgasm by the animal she knew her husband could become but even animals salivate in the expectation of a meal. He and his shadow swallowed.

“Service me,” she commanded and bit into the chocolate a second time.

He seemed to separate from the shadows and he moved forward. The bed creaked as he lay between her legs still fully clothed. She felt his tongue touch her womanhood. She spread her legs wider and dug her heels deeper into the bed. He was so good at this. She’d told him once before he probably earned a Ph.D. in Oral Arts while he was in college. All the women before her should have been very happy with his predation.

“Service me until I tell you to stop.”

She raised her goblet for a sip and then languorously spread her arms out wide to simply lay there with her heels dug into the sheets. Tonight she desired a man who knew what to do with a MILF in bed…and who wouldn’t muck up the moment by saying something at the wrong damn time?

“Lick me.” Her tone was imperial. He was expected to obey.

Upon command, he buried his face deep into her hips. She heard him grunt satisfaction with shaved labia that he found. He licked or purled or tugged the most erotic parts of her sex. There was no doubt he’d earned his Ph.D. from late night study sessions as a tutor for young co-eds. His pressure, his sequence, his pace, each brought her to quick and intense arousal. Her internal heat flared. She closed her eyes and focused solely on her pleasure. He did, too.

It was so good to be serviced by him. She opened her knees wider to allow him deeper. She sipped and swished her wine and she tongue-rolled her chocolate. Savoring the taste of each, her toes curled in her shoes as he continued to lap at her cunt. Her thighs perspired. She indulged her thirst for wine often and fed her appetite for chocolate while he licked her. She permitted him to express his best oral passion for her pussy.

Her once full goblet of wine was working its magic on her. A slight fog of sensations enveloped. She wasn’t boozy, just warm and content. She peered through half-opened eyes to see him between her thighs. Too dark and a little too blurry from the wine, she could see the shadow between her thighs. He could have been anybody. He simply looked anonymous through the dimmed light and her fogged eyes. She pushed a piece of chocolate towards him.

“Take this and lick me.” Another imperial tone was used.

He obeyed and took it between his lips; to let it melt in his mouth. A fresh scent of orange wafted its way to her nose as his tongue pushed the melted chocolate against the bud of her. He licked her.

She moaned, “Lick my pussy like you paid for it.”

With vigor, her brain suggested. She sipped again from the goblet as her anonymous and shadowed husband doubled his efforts.

He was returning to the heated passionate animal she knew he could be. She’d been missing this from him the past few months. He’d been adequate in bed, of course, but tonight he was more like a younger version of himself.

He pushed his face deeper into her lips and he licked her from bottom to top. Long strokes, not rapid ones. Her swollen lips welcomed his attention. “So fuckin’ good,” she whispered.

He licked faster and longer and harder into her sex.

“I said to lick my pussy like you paid for it,” she commanded again.

He moved up to place his mouth over her clit. He sucked and teased. He slipped two fingers inside and stroked rapidly to gift her more pleasure and he licked the shit out of her clit.

Good Lord, she thought. He’s an animal tonight. She hadn’t seen this much passion from him in a long time. She completely surrendered her pussy to him. He owned it tonight.

She didn’t care whether it was the wine or his shellacking that drove her pleasure. Her thighs began to tighten and she wanted it. The big one. The kind she knew he could deliver.

The shadow between her thighs placed both hands on her haunches and pushed her legs up to her chest to expose more of her snatch.

This was something new from him. This wasn’t something he typically did. He pressed her legs down into her chest causing her fuck-me heels to go high into the air. Her cunt was fully exposed to the candlelight. He paused to examine it. He took an extra moment.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer. I told you to lick my pussy like you paid for it.”

Just as she’d told him to do, he took her pussy exactly as if he’d paid for it. Crudely, roughly, savagely. He licked her, he ate her; he rubbed his nose around and across her clit, several times, and then he licked her again. He ravaged and savaged the pussy in front of him.

Her orgasm was coming soon. She gulped another mouthful of wine as the edge of her orgasm began to curl in her thighs. Suddenly, she clamped her legs together around his head to hold him in place.

Oh, shit! What the hell? He has no hair! What the fuck? I don’t feel any hair!

Almost instantaneously her orgasm announced there was no turning back! The man between her legs had no fuckin’ hair. This wasn’t her husband and she was about to cum.

Oh-my-fuckin’-god-this-isn’t-John!-Oh-fuck-this-orgasm-is-happening!-Right-the-fuck-now.-No-Stop!-No!-I-can’t-do-this-Not-with…not-with…

She popped her legs open wide to take her legs away from the bald-headed man sucking her pussy and then just as quickly she slammed them shut again when his tongue touched her electrified clit.

Mistake!-Mistake!-Mistake!–His-fucking-bald-head-is-touching-me-again!

She jerked her legs open again and as soon as he had a shot, he lapped his tongue over her clit again!

Her brain split into two commands:

Slam-your-legs-shut-Don’t-let-him-touch-your-clit-or-you’ll-cum-Slam-them-hard!

Open-your-damn-legs-You’re-holding-a-bald-man-captive-between-your-thighs-What-the-fuck’s-wrong–with-you?

She slammed her legs open again and her hips thrust her clit onto his waiting tongue. She felt the fullness of his face all over her pussy.

Oh-Shit-Mistake-Mistake-Mistake.

She slammed her legs together again. She felt the bald head again between her thighs.

My-god-I’m-having-an-orgasm-with-the-bald-headed-man-next-door!-Noooo!

It was sexually dirty to have his bald head touching her! This had to stop!

I-can’t-have-this-fuckin’-orgasm! Where’s-John? What-the-fuck? Oh-My-God!

A rolling orgasm was poised inside. She felt it. She bucked her hips and then her body buckled in half; she slammed her legs open and closed again to avoid all possible sensations. It was the worst thing to do to stop her orgasm but the best thing to do to make it memorable.

Sweet-Jesus!-This-has-to-stop!-I-have-to-make-it-stop! I-cannot-have-this-orgasm-go-all-the-way! No-fucking-way!

She smashed the water goblet on the bald head between her thighs. As his head came up he started to say “What the fu…” She hit him with both hands on the top of his head, the edge of the broken goblet slicing into his scalp. With all her fury, she shoved and pushed him out of her legs.

“What the fuck, Millie? Stop it!” he shouted.

She stopped in mid-punch. Was this John? No, it couldn’t be. Her husband had hair that combed straight back and well, maybe it receded a little at the temples but John had fuckin’ hair and this man had none.

The man reached up and grabbed Millie’s hands in his to stop her from hitting him. “What the fuck, Mill? I thought you were enjoying this. Why’d you hit me?”

“John? Where’s your hair, John? Where’s your god damn hair? This isn’t funny.”

John’s steely eyes stared into hers. “Mill, the barber shaved it today…for you…for your fantasy. I couldn’t get a tattoo. Not enough time. I thought you’d like this.”

The blood dripped into his face from the goblet cuts on his head. Through the dim light, Millie could see that John, her John, was indeed bald. She reached up to touch him. Regardless of his voice, touching his head was proof that it was John, her husband, with a shaven head.

“Oh, John. I thought you were the man next door and that you or he or someone was playing a horrible and despicable joke on me. I didn’t know it was really you.“

“You thought I was the guy with the muscles, tattoos, and bald head? And you beat me with the wine glass to stop him?”

“Water goblet,” she corrected.

“In the middle of your orgasm, you smashed my head with a goblet because you thought I was somebody else and you weren't going to cum with another man?” A look of astonishment crossed his face as the full import of his wife’s ferocity finally sunk in. No matter what her biology was telling her to do, she wasn’t going to climax with another man. She just wouldn’t have it and that was that.

Millie looked at the blood dripping off his head. Head cuts always bled the most. She gave a half smile, nodded slightly, and peered into John’s eyes. “Guess so.”

Through the fog of wine, chocolate, and a ruined orgasm, she saw the humor of what just played out and she smiled. John smiled back. Then they both laughed. The kind of husband and wife laugh that means everything to a long time married couple like John and Millie.

They kissed. Millie ignored the blood that trickled down her face. God, she loved this man even if she almost killed him. He shaved his head for her. The big lug.

John broke their kiss.

“Harley, you can turn the camera off. Nothing’s going to happen tonight or any other night. I just learned how much my wife really loves me and we are done.”

Harley flicked the room lights on and pressed the stop button on the camera.

Millie’s eyes first blazed with surprise and then with fury. The tattooed, muscled, and bald-headed man stood in the corner of the room with a camera in his hand.

“Can I keep the video, John?”

“No, you can’t. Go home, Harley. I have a few things to explain to Millie about this Aviance night.”