Fleeting Glimpses of an Angry Wife - Sex Stories

Fleeting Glimpses of an Angry Wife

... any of this. Who, I realize now, does not at all seem unsuspecting. Who - horror - is looking expectantly at the two of us going through our pantomime. Who leans forward with great interest when my wife pulls up her skirt, drops her panties and exposes her hairy cunt for all to see. 'Don't make me wait. You know I hate to wait. What did I tell you about making me wait?' That a man who loves his wife never makes her wait for anything. That I owe her reverence, after the many years of neglect and betrayal. That she owns me. That I can leave if I don't like it. Bla bla bla. The hands. They are no longer smooth and slender as they used to be. They have matured, the fingers are thick and the joints are slightly swollen and the fingernails, long and slender but they have curved and now rather look like claws. Brown stains from cigarettes discolour the insides of the index and middle finger. But I love those hands. They used to caress my face. They used to gently stroke my genitals, the soft flesh of my groin, around my balls and into the cleavage of my ass. Now they just slap and yank and scratch. I love them just the same. The hands come down and pull the cunt apart. The cunt spreads and the inner lips protrude and part, revealing the cavernous pink flesh inside. What is it about these fleshy folds that mesmerizes me every time I come face to face with them? What is it about these mysterious depths that completely strips me of all reason and renders me to mere putty in my wife's ...

... hands? There's magic in this cunt. I'm on my knees before the gates of heaven. I can hardly wait for them to open and flood me, but the pissing part is only half the fun for my wife. It is watching me kneel before her, totally at her disposal. It is flashing her genitals in my face, overwhelming me with the crude smells of her orifices. It is marking her territory, taking possession of me with the wastes of her body. It is discharging the contempt women have built up against men since the beginning of time. It is also shedding the burden her mother and womanhood have cast upon her shoulders: having to be decent, having to be nice, having to be respectable. From earliest age, women are taught you are either a slut or a lady. You cannot be both. There is such freedom in being dirty. There is such power in being slutty. But it always comes with a cost, losing the precious lady status. Some pay the price, others cling to their self-respect. Few manage the peaceful co-existence of both. It is, ultimately, reclaiming power. Power over her body. Power over her life. Power over me. It is important for her that I like what she does to me. I have to crave what is despicable to her. It reduces me to the size that fits her, while it raises her to goddess level. Every women at heart craves for deification. Worship is her soul food. 'Open up.' I open my mouth. She takes a hand off her cunt and positions my head into an upward angle, forcing me to look up at her and at the same time making ...