Bluebeard’s wife

I shrugged. “A little. But my curiosity got the better of me.” Kelly grinned. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” I bit my lip. “Ok, so I stayed up to hear him make a call.”

“Did he?” She leaned forward, her eyes bright.

“No, but I found out that I was wrong about him not…” I lowered my voice.

“Masturbating.”

“Really?” Kelly raised her eyebrows. “You caught him?” I nodded. “He was doing it in the middle of the night. I guess I’ve just kind of slept through it.”

Kelly snorted. “You definitely sleep like a woman who’s never had kids.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” I confessed, standing up and putting my bag into the locker.

“Well, I know what I would have done.” Kelly winked as she stuffed her own back into a locker.

“What?”

“I would have rolled over and helped him, dummy!” She laughed and poked me in the shoulder.

I knew Kelly probably would have-but I had always been jealous of her sex life, ever since we started sharing details about our husbands. Chris was all about sharing fantasies with her, telling her what he wanted. She had told me about lots of times when she had dressed up for him, revealing different sexual things they had done that we hadn’t even thought about. Ok, maybe I’d thought about them-and apparently, John had, too-we just hadn’t ever talked about them.

“I thought about it.” I remembered the slick sound of his hand stroking his cock, how exciting it had been to hear him. “But I was afraid-”

“Of what?” She sat down on the bench.

“I guess I was afraid of scaring him off or something.” I shrugged. “I mean, it’s been three years, and he hasn’t ever told me anything, Kel. Not one little fantasy. He wouldn’t even admit he ever jerked-off! Maybe this way, I can actually find out what he’s thinking.”

Kelly raised her eyebrows. “What are you thinking about doing, Tara?” I remembered the sound of John’s hand on his cock, how excited it made me to listen to him, to hear his fantasies.

“I’m going to wait for him to make a phone call.”

* * * *

Kelly kept complaining about my pushing our morning gym date back. I couldn’t help it. I stayed up until one or two in the morning and slept in later and later. I knew I was lucky to have the free time I did. John worked hard, and his business was very successful. I was grateful that I could do my freelance work from home and not worry about it being a primary source of income. I should have been incredibly happy.

Instead, I was staying up until the wee hours, feigning sleep and listening to my husband snore, wondering what he was dreaming about. What did he really want? Why couldn’t he tell me what he was thinking, what he was feeling? Were his fantasies so strange? Was he into some bizarre fetish? I was aching to know.

I finally got my first opportunity to hear one of his fantasies, although it came when I least expected it-soon after John and I had finished having sex.

I loved Fridays, because he always came home so much more relaxed. Tired, yes, but ready for and anticipating the weekend break. I always made a good dinner on Fridays, something a little extra special. Even if it had been the busiest week in the world for him-which often happened around tax season-I knew that we would connect on Fridays.

We spent most of the night watching a movie, and then I tugged on his hand, pulling him with me towards the bedroom. We both undressed, crawling beneath the covers. Most other days, I wore a t-shirt to bed, and John wore boxers, but never on Fridays. I snuggled my body next to him, sliding my leg up over his, and reaching my hand down between his legs.

There were minor variations on this theme. Sometimes he would turn to me first, but it was rare. Usually it was me, reaching between his legs for his cock, which was already half-hard in anticipation. Like Pavlov’s dogs, it knew just what to expect on Fridays. I loved feeling him grow harder in my hand, his flesh thickening as I squeezed him, responding to my touch.

I would stroke him, pressing my breasts into his side, rubbing my soft thigh over his, until I felt pre-cum beginning to develop at the tip. Then I usually couldn’t resist tossing off the covers and putting my mouth on his cock to taste it. He loved to play with and lick my pussy while I gave him head, and he would pull my hips and position me over his face while I sucked him.

He knew me well, I admit. His tongue knew just where to find my clit, making me moan and grind against him. He would slip two fingers into me, moving them slowly in and out at first, and then faster. I couldn’t help moaning around his cock, sucking and stroking him eagerly, hearing the wet, sloppy noises my pussy made with his fingers slipping in and out.