Eye of the Storm

Angela listened to Chris’s chest rise and fall beside her, perceived the gradual slowing of his breaths and heartbeats, felt his seed spilling from her vulva onto the not-so-clean-anymore bedsheets, basked in the afterglow that comes from a half-dozen orgasms at the well-practiced hand of her husband-lover (who was now almost comatose with satisfaction).  She had earlier been just about ready to drop off to sleep herself when he’d turned to her with a silly grin and a “Well, how about it?”  And now afterward she was quite awake, and had something on her mind.

Chris.  Chris, don’t go to sleep yet, I have a bone I need to pick with you.

“Mmmphhh…Okay, Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”  “That last climax too powerful for you to handle? ”

She waited for the echo of her swat on his naughty bottom to die down before she replied.  Chris, I read your latest story that you wrote about our marriageheat.  Nice story, but…”Do you really think our sex life is all that boring?  Is having me for a wife really so unstimulating?

Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!!!   Ding-ding-ding!!1  Red Alert, Red Alert!  Proceed with caution, Chris, Caution.  Or not at all.

Chris reviewed the options for replying to this lose-lose query and quickly chose the latter path, Not at All.  He muttered a barely discernable word, then drifted off into a fairly good imitation of a man whose wife has just scr****d his brains out, a man who has been chronically sleep deprived, a man who loves his woman enough to close his eyes when he must.  The single word?  Hurricane.

Hurricane.  Hurricane.  Ah, yes…  What a night that was…

Her nerves are frayed, hands are shaking and her pulse is racing.  Although the kids are safely tucked in bed, Chris isn’t home yet, long overdue from work and the wind is picking up.  And the weather forecast says Hurricane Warning!  Where is that man?

Finally he burst through the front door, slamming it shut with some small difficulty against the rising gale.  I’m home dear!  She is instantly in his arms, holding onto him for dear life, planting her lips against his, eventually letting his tongue slide into her mouth, feeling him gently probe her with his deep kiss, relaxing a little as her breasts are cupped in his tender hands.  She breaks away long enough to gaze into his eyes.

Chris, you’re home!  Thank God!  Sorry Angela, didn’t mean to worry you.  Apparently the wind has knocked out the phone.  They say that in just a couple years we may be able to get this new invention called a “cell phone”, and then I’ll always be able to call you.

Chris, there’s a hurricane warning!  Don’t you feel it?  Angela, the storm passed over the Atlantic coast over twelve hours ago, and we’re two hundred miles inland.  We’ll be fine, winds a little strong and wet, but our community is safe.  Let’s go out and look.  Turn on the baby monitor and join me for a walk in the backyard.

So out they go, with howling winds making a lot of racket, but not bending the trees like she saw earlier on the news.  She is starting to relax.  The rain is surprisingly light, and the air is unseasonably warm.  There is an strange yet familiar scent in the air, what is it?  Why, it’s the smell of the ocean!  Unbidden erotic memories of their Gulf Beach honeymoon immediately fill the senses of this land-locked couple, and his penis stiffens just as quickly as the dampness forms between her thighs.

It doesn’t seems to matter that the houses on either side are only twenty feet away.  All the lights are out, and even in the middle of a postage-stamp backyard in a city nighborhood, they are alone.

With barely a spoken word they know.  And agree.  Clothes are abandoned and allowed to blow across the yard to decorate the neighbor’s fence.  A soft bare place under the huge old lilac bush is chosen as the spot for the consummation of their passion.  Lips and hands are soon everywhere they can reach, teeth are nibbling on her outer lips and clitoris, large rigid phallus is finding its way down her throat, and now they’ve moved a little and his swollen glans is rubbing against the entrance to her pulasating womanhood, while she bites and sucks on his neck, digs her nails into his flanks…

She was faintly surprised at herself, at her own fingers twirling her pubic hair, rubbing her clitoris, and now entering her vagina, using his semen as a handy lubricant.  Really, Angela, self-satisfaction at your age!  And with a willing and able husband right beside you.  Well, willing maybe, but in his present unconscious state not really able.  And man, did it ever feel good, her hand really knew what it was doing!  She decided to let Chris keep sleeping, her fingers keep dancing, and her memory to keep playing…

The wind suddenly dies down, the smell of seawater becomes even stronger, and the rain has stopped.  Glancing up they see a circular break in the cloud cover expanding to the horizons, and figure this is the remnant of the eye of the storm.  She needs him, aches for him, wants to cry out demanding he penetrate her.

And then he does it.  With vigor, with authority, with gentle sweet brute force.  She is reeling around, suddenly on her knees in the soft leafy earth, grasping for balance onto the rough bark of the lilac, positioned like a wild animal in heat, like one of the alley cats that frequented the neighborhood, yowling and writhing, twisting her pelvis against her mate, daring him wait even one more second before penetrating her sex.

And now in one swift movement he is inside her, she feels the tip of his cock bump against her womb deep within, feels the not-so-tender hands pawing on her breasts, groping her nipples, fingering her clit.  Feels her man pumping into her core like one possessed.  Feels the contractions starting to mount within her, feels the fire start to spread across her neck and chest.  Hears unknown sounds escape from her lips.

The wind picks up again, and the rain once more spatters against their skin.  The eye has passed over.  With the suddenly renewed howling resounding in their ears, they each are wracked with the powerful blissful convulsions of climactic orgiastic eruptions that seems to go on and on and on…

Angela, eyes tightly closed, legs splayed apart and spine arched backward into the mattress, pushed herself over the edge with one last pinch of the clitoris, felt the orgasm flow out from her vulva into the rest of her quivering body, and then applied a few more deep finishing strokes with three fingers in her soaked vagina.  Yeah, baby, yeah, that’s it, that’s it!!

She bit her lips so as to keep quiet, not wanting to wake Chris.  Even after all these years, she still felt slightly uncomfortable with him knowing what she sometimes did while he was away overnight, and where she put her fingers.

Aahhh…That was the spot, and another climax rolled through her body.  Wait a minute, that was the spot, but those were not her fingers.  Felt more like…No, couldn’t be, he’s asleep.

Her eyes flew open, and sure enough, there was the very wide-awake Chris hovering over her glistening, jiggling body, his engorged penis buried deep within the erotic viola or her being and busily bowing across her lovestrings in a vigorous crescendo on love music, and here came the massive shudder of his own climax, and then came the fresh new flood of sperm dripping from her vulva as he rolled to the side as his breathing slowed down.

Chris, you liar!  You said you were asleep!  You watched!  you were watching me play with…well, you know.  What have you got to say for yourself?

One word formed on his lips, and he whispered it into the darkness.  The word:?  Skiing.

And the new memory was instantly there.  But that will have to wait before acting on it.  Need some sleep…