The Bachelorette Party
Published in Closet Desire IV: Flights of Fancy
My husband roused me with a slap on the ass that turned into a caress. "Get up, Lazy," he said. "You’ll be late if you don’t get out of this bed right now." I didn’t want to go to the party, and I told him so as I rolled over and ran my hand down his naked chest. He grinned as my hand drifted lower down his body. "You’re greedy, you know that?"
"I know," I replied, "but it’s your fault. If I didn’t enjoy it so much I wouldn’t keep coming back for more." The "it" I referred to was the steamy sex we had enjoyed all throughout our 20-year marriage. We were in the throes of one of our marathon sex sessions and I was loath to get out of bed, even for Sharon’s "fuck-her-wear" party. The party promised to be memorable, Sharon’s always were, but I was having a memorable evening right where I was.
"Come on," Bill said, "rack out. I need a break before we start up again. Besides, Sharon’s feelings will be hurt if you don’t show up." He was right on both counts. Making love two or three times a day for several days in a row left me in a constant state of semi-arousal and always ready for action. Bill, however, needed food (at the very least) before our next round. Truth be told, I needed sustenance as well. Plus, it would have been very rude to ditch Sharon’s party at the last minute. She had carefully planned every detail and was looking forward to having all of her friends celebrate her upcoming marriage with her.
"OK," I said as I headed for the shower, "but once I go I’ll be out late. You know how Sharon’s parties are; this one will probably last half the night. Are you sure you won’t miss me too much?"
"You can wake me when you get home," he said. "You know how."
