You're So Dirty When You're Clean.

In the shower, your lover's skin feels entirely different.

Soap up your hands. Run them over her. Slick, light, wanton. A thin sheet of soapy water between palm and chest. Slip behind her. Feel her head loll against your shoulder, catching hot rain from above, wet hair spreading, sticking to your skin. Your arms under hers. Try to hold her breasts, slick, escaping, all the more stirring. Run your slippery hands over them, make her moan softly in your ear. Wonder if this could, in any conceivable way, feel as good to her as it does to you.

On your knees. Newly soaped hands. Massage up one leg. Smooth ... She shaved this morning, she had her suspicions about tonight. Slowly up a thigh, hand-over-hand. Linger near the top, then switch legs, starting at the ankle again. This one will go much faster because, let's face it, your patience is wearing thin. Your cock so hard it barely bobs as you move. You want to grab that cunt. It's the point of water's egress, the rivulets running off and around her breasts, flashflood through the valley, cascading past her stomach, compelled to the same place you want.

The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more. She's wet, but you wonder if she's wet. Look up at her: Water bouncing off her head, with light, making a halo. Smile back at her. Turn her sideways, and now both hands work, one plays in the furrow, one slides in the crack of her ass. Wonder if spending this much time on her ass gives away your intentions. Wonder how much you care if you give yourself away.

Standing again, slick erection pressed against her back. Maybe more shampoo than you need in the palm of your hand, but this is not a moment for economy. Work fingers through her thick curls, deep into her head. From the forehead, work backwards, many fingers pressing many circles, moving to the side of the head. Again. This time, from the base of the neck, up through the thicket, too dense to reach the forehead. More. Above the ears, working hands to the queen's crown until fingers interlace. Once more. No one ever, ever follows the bottle's instructions, but tonight you will most definitely Rinse and Repeat. Hell, you may even do the conditioner twice.

Your slow pace is not sped up in any way when she reaches behind her and plays with your cock, her touch distracted, her intentions anything but.

"What about you?" she finally asks. "Don't you want to get clean?"

You are sure you look smug when you lace your fingers behind your head, spread your legs a bit, lean against the shower wall, and wait for her service ... but you go with it. After all, it's that sense of humor that caught her in the first place.

She rushes to get to your cock and balls, and then spends a lot of time there. Then one hand works underneath, between your legs, back, to your ass; she has to stoop down a little to reach, and she smiles wickedly as she does this. She wraps her arms around you, soaping your back, into scratching your back, into embracing, pushing her chest out and against you. Wet tits against soapy chest. Almost no friction at all, just silky wetness. Softer than the twined tongues.

It's a sensory banquet. Never enough. But you know it's already late. If anything else is going to happen, you'll need to get a move on.

***
We had used the guest bathroom for the shower because it's further from the kids' bedrooms. For the same reason, we moved to the guest bedroom, wearing only towels. Amy tossed off hers when she jumped in the bed. I stood on it, straddling her and instructing her to remove my towel. In no time, my knees were against her armpits and she was hungrily sucking my cock, her hands placing mine on the back of her head, an indication that she wanted me to fuck her mouth. I obliged. "Beautiful," I said. "You suck cock so well. So beautiful."

She pushed my cock between her breasts. Something she's been doing a lot recently. Not that I'm complaining. Tit fucking is one of my favorite pastimes — just like baseball and campfire songs! — and I'm fortunate to have a lover whose tits were made to be fucked. I like to linger on the upstroke, let her take the head back in her mouth, a little added lubrication, before I pull back through her cleavage again.

At some point I couldn't stand it: I had to kiss her deep, experience that hot, shower-softened mouth, lips further swollen from cocksucking, a vague taste of dick and precum. I stretched my legs out, lowered down on top of her, rubbing my cock against her cunt as we chewed each other's lips, lost in lust.

"Where do you want me to go?" I whispered. I wasn't even sure what I was asking, honestly, it just sounded good at the moment. She rolled over, offering me her ass. Really? Down I went, devouring each globe. Nipping, kissing, licking. Working toward the crack, and then away. A rush, a feint. A charge, a bluff.

We were on the verge of new territory here. I was so hungry to eat her ass, I can't even describe it. I wondered if I could control myself. But I knew there was still an uneasiness for her. I made one more move, my lips approaching her asshole. She was surprisingly relaxed. Still, I paused.

"Are you game?" I asked, my lips still partly pressed against her ass.

She laughed, and then let out an overly dramatic, nervous moan. "Mmmmmmmmmmm ... Probably not tonight, I don't think."

"No worries," I said. I masked my deep disappointment well.

"Sorry," she said between kisses, back up beside her again. "I probably gave you a mixed signal when I turned over like that. I'm not sure why I did it."

I whisper in her ear, "We won't do anything you're not ready for." And then I can't help to add: "But something tells me when you finally let me do it ... you're going to love it."

I reached behind me for the bottle of lube.

"Awwww, you came prepared!" she said.

"Slipped it in my pocket earlier tonight." I hoped I didn't sound too presumptuous. I dribbled the lube on her pussy, worked it into her lips with one hand. I encouraged her to show me how to masturbate her. "Is this too soft?"

"A little," she whispered. After a moment: "Now, too hard."

"In between that," I wondered aloud.

"Not hard, but with purpose," she said. An instruction that came off too enigmatic for me in the heat of the moment. Instead, I ask for one of her palms, fill it with lube, and put the slickened hand on my cock.

"I've been thinking a lot about you jacking me off," I said. It was true. Handjobs haven't really interested me in the past. For some reason, I haven't been able to get the image out of my head. I think it's the exhibitionistic/voyeuristic aspect of it: Handjobs, unlike most blowjobs, are delivered with eyes open, and I love when she watches me come. We continued to masturbate each other.

I hooked my arm underneath her knees, and lifted her legs. Pushed my cock into her. From that position, I could watch her almost as a third person. I encouraged her to play with herself while we fuck. She obliged, a breast in one hand, the other frigging herself. The pace was slow. Sometimes, she'd use her heels against my ass to push my cock deeper.

And the sight, the sound, the feel ... it was just too much tonight: I came very quickly, a low-key climax, where she's not even one-hundred-percent sure it really happened. She asked. "Yep, I sure did," I sighed, making no effort this time to hide disappointment.

"Well, you're going to have to go down on me and give me mine," she said. It took me by surprise — both for her bluntness, and because ... well, of course I was going to go down on her. Did she really think I'd miss a chance to eat her out?

After, as she came down off her climax, Amy asked, "So, you really don't mind going down on me with all that lube and cum?"

"You're kidding, right?" I punctuated that with another deep thrust of my tongue.

"Of course," she said. "What was I thinking. You're the guy who eats everything."

"Wild Card" Coupon Fantasy Options (Pt. 2)

And now, the dramatic conclusion to the two-part miniseries.

Previously, on Denis Perhaps Broadens His and His Wife's Sexual Horizons and Gets Pleasured in the Process (Oh, bite me -- It's a working title):

• I wrote about some coupons Amy gave me on Christmas Day. One of these coupons promised that, upon redemption, she would basically do anything I wanted to do -- "Just ask." (I'm pretty sure she meant sexually.)
  
  
• A "wild card?" Color me a kid in a candy store. I decided to catalog the strongest fantasies I have about Amy. Six of those fantasies appeared earlier. I'm finishing off the list (at least for now) in this post.

Restrain Amy to the bed, blindfold her, and have my filthy, teasing way with her.
There are few things that bother me about sex with Amy, but one small peeve is the fact that she wants to get to the, um, "punchline" too quickly. I suppose if you were to ask her, she'd tell you that one of the things that bugs her the most is when I'm taking too long to get to the same punchline. Touché. But hey, it's my damn fantasy! And it would be my pleasure to tie her to the bed with a couple of my work neckties, gently kiss her eyelids and slip a soft blindfold over them ... and provide her with a long evening of pleasure. I tried something similar very early on in our relationship, but it was too soon ... and I screwed it up royally. (I know that that statement begs for more elucidation, but that's a separate post.) This time 'round, we're older, wiser, and a helluva lot more trusting. It could be electric. (Swear to God: This one was already on my list before la fille mariée's insanely hot blog entry about a very similar fantasy.)
Fulfillment Probability Meter (the likelihood of this fantasy really happening, on a scale of 1 to 10): 9. She's good, giving and game. There's nothing too challenging here. It would be fun. We could totally do this one, and even if it's not what I end up using the coupon for, I hope we eventually do this.


The roleplay's the thing: Two strangers meet in a bar and fuck.
Probably requires a hotel stay. I depart our room and take up residence at the hotel bar. After Amy preps, and she enters sometime later and sits at another part of the bar. It would be awfully tempting to just leave her there on the other side of the bar for a good long time, just to see if any other men hit on her. Heh heh. But eventually, I amble over and introduce myself (as someone else), and she does the same. We talk. We flirt. A proposal is offered and accepted. And we'd go back to our (her? my?) room and go at it.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 6. Roleplay is not something either of us have a lot of experience with. (I don't believe she's ever played with it; a college girlfriend and I messed around with it spontaneously one day -- to explosive results, I might add.) I have a background in theater, and to a lesser extent so does Amy. But improvisation comes more naturally to me, and I think she's intimidated by how quick on my feet I can be. It's scary, the tightrope-walking quality of public roleplay: No script, no idea what the other character will say at any point. On top of that, she says she's lost her ability to flirt. But I bet we could find it together. She just needs to practice. (That's one of the reasons it would be tempting to leave her alone to talk to other men....)


A good, old-fashioned fuck in the car.
Preferably in a parking lot, to make it semi-public. This appeals, I think, because of the youthfulness of it. I must not have done enough of this in high school.) Oh, that reminds me of a great story about a car-fuck I had back then. Hmmmmmmm .... Oh, sorry. Anyway. Yes. Amy. Me. A leather backseat.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 8. And the only reason this isn't a ten is because, in her "old age," Amy has demanded more comfort when having sex. The cramped quarters of a back seat may not be her idea of a great time. But great sex isn't the only thing going on here. I would hope the fantasy would help make up for any of the less comfortable aspects of the encounter.


Play around in semi-secret at a restaurant table.
It's a bit cliché, but you can't really help what turns you on, can you? In my version, Amy goes to the restroom and, at my request, returns with her panties in her purse. Hands wander from there, and we both try to play it straight from the waist up. I'm not interested in embarrassing the poor girl: The restaurant would need to have strategically long tablecloths for cover. And possibly a waiter/waitress who would be open and discreet.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 4. This is one that I suspect would be better in theory than in practice. And I'm not sure if Amy -- or me, for that matter -- could get past the publicness of it. I mean, it's not just what you're doing under the table, it's the expressions and activity that would be apparent above the table. The exposed part of the iceberg, as it were. My guess is that this fantasy would test how serious she was when she wrote "anything" on that coupon.


Amy snowballs me.
It's not so much that I love the taste of cum; I'm okay with it. The power of snowballing is the aspect of intimacy, the eroticism of sharing it. I don't come in Amy's mouth often -- and definitely less than earlier in our relationship -- but I also don't ask her to because, hey, an orgasm is an orgasm, right? To some of you, the answer to that is: "Well, yes and no." There is something more powerful ... more accepting ... more complete about a lover taking your load orally. For me, it becomes even more powerful if she's so moved by the orgasm that she wants to share it with me. I don't think I'd even be thinking about the taste of the cum; the power of that kiss would make it the sweetest ever.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 4. Or maybe 5. No, you know what? 6. I'm not sure Amy feels the same way I do about the act itself being incredibly charged. But I always seem to forget how GGG she is. If I pulled the coupon on her and called this one up, she just might go for it. Would she enjoy it? That, I'd put at a 3 or 4. Which makes me wonder if I want to ask for that.


I want to toss Amy's salad.
God, do I ever. And I'm so gonna do this. Such a strong sense of taboo here, and yet rimjobs are becoming more and more "mainstream." They're not for everyone, but they are so for me. But Amy has some hang-ups about the butt, mostly dealing with cleanliness. So the obvious locale for this fantasy is a nice, big tub or shower, where we've just made sure we're both squeaky clean. God, does even thinking about this make me rock hard. I masturbated in bed (as she slept next to me) to this very fantasy a couple of nights ago.
Fulfillment Probability Meter: 7. I think I can pull this one off without the coupon too, probably. If the moment's right, if she's feeling sufficiently clean, and I tell her this is what I want to try, she just might be cool to let me try it once. And then I'm going to keep all fingers and toes crossed that the experience sends her into heretofore unseen levels of pleasure.


Whew.

Okay, so ... Which of these, between this post and the last one, do you think I should ask for? Or, knowing what (little?) you know about my predilections, is there anything you think I should be asking for instead?

Looking forward to your comments.