The Consolation Gift Part 1 - Sex Stories

The Consolation Gift Part 1

“Chicken shit!” I muttered at the text I’d just received.

I couldn’t blame Frank for texting. A conversation would have been worse and we both had our careers and sometimes those priorities took precedence, but I had been looking forward to this afternoon and this evening.

Careers and kids! Our secondborn had just gone off to college and for the first time in two decades, we had the house to ourselves. Within hours of Louise driving off our sex life had improved and was no longer limited to the bedroom. How much I’d missed being fucked on the kitchen table! And Frank had been dropping hints, reminiscing about those B.C. (before children) days when we had been so much more adventurous. I smiled at the old, ‘odd’ kitchen chair that stood in the corner with those telltale scratches from so long ago.

The kids had asked and we had deferred. The chair meant so much to Frank and me as his history and, to this day present, as a Pornographer!

We’d gotten our ‘forever’ house complete with a pool, even if it needed a complete overhaul and a retractable winter shelter. The jacuzzi was added a few years later with a publishing deal and then just five years previously when I had gotten tenure, we (I) treated ourselves to a tennis court. All of this had been possible as Frank had taken the brunt of raising the children while I had concentrated on my career. And the truth was that maybe I had concentrated too much on my career and had let our relationship slide a little ...

... into the doldrums.

Still, I had thought I was on an unspoken promise of an afternoon and evening of excessive debauchery.

<Sorry, shit at work. Going to be stuck here for at least five hours. There is a consolation on its way. Sorry, Frank. X.> “Fucking text message, you chicken shit,” I repeated.

I’d spent the morning pampering myself, preparing myself completely for what I hoped lay ahead and even though I’d given up wearing some sexy panties, simply because I had already soaked two pairs, I hadn’t touched myself at all, denying myself release until Frank got home. Well, I had visited the attic and retrieved some of our old toys and now they were going to be put to use! At least I’d had the forethought to get in a stock of batteries and lotions and lube.

“Fuck!” I almost screamed as the doorbell rang. I looked up to the heavens through the ceiling, “Does somebody up there hate me?” I asked a deity I didn’t believe in.

I was tempted just to ignore the doorbell and head straight up to our bedroom and my newly retrieved, cleaned and prepped toys but it would mean passing in front of the glazed panels on either side of the front door. “You better not be a religious nut!” I muttered before I opened the door.

“Hmm…” I mused as I saw the delivery man before me looking down at his clipboard and a rather large cardboard box on a wheeled trolley.

He looked up about to reach for the doorbell once again. “Oh… sorry,” he began and re-checked his clipboard. “Mrs V. ...