You guys liked the last one that I wrote like this, so here’s to a happy new year – with lots of boinking for all of us!
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Small world, huh? You and I both here, and for once, we even want the same thing, him to come back to us, and only us.
But no, I haven’t seen him, not for a while now. An hour, maybe? Yes, it’s almost time for lunch, I think he left around eleven. I’m sure he’ll be back soon, you just wait.
You don’t have to look at me like that, I’m not hiding him under my skirt or nothing. It’s not like I could just pull him out and hand him to ya, it doesn’t work that way. He decides when and if he’ll pull out, that is how it works.
But if you want, go ahead, see for yourself. Get down there, feel me, touch my sticky thighs and look for clues. I mean, sure, he was there, nobody’s denying that. But you didn’t ask me where he’s been, did you? Because he’s been places, and he’s taken me to them, as well. And it’s true, I have no idea where he’s at right now, I’m not lying.
Maybe you’ll find him if you licked me a little, get a taste for how he has been misbehavin’. Maybe it’ll lead you on his track, and you can shuffle on all fours and bark as you go look for him.
Look, I know, you can’t really stand me, even before I ever did anything. Truth be told, your dislike of me is why I ever even considered any of this, and that suspicious look on your face is why I wear a skirt to work that is so easy to push up, and drag down again. It’s why not a day goes by where I don’t feel his hands on my cheeks, all four of them.
You standing there with lightning bolts in your eyes is the sole reason why I ever started flirting with him, and why I didn’t tell him off when he started flirting back. He didn’t even start this, you idiot, and I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t treated me like a slut, even before I became one.
This isn’t love, my dear, this is spite, and I’m dripping with it right now. We both lean here, on opposite sides of the room, but you and I are not the same. For one, you look like you are wearing panties, and you look like they are up in a bunch.
And why, really? You couldn’t possibly know what he’s done with me, there aren’t any cameras in the storage room. Nobody saw us going inside or him coming inside, or either of us leaving again.
No, this is just your default way to view the world, this unfocused anger that radiates from your clenched teeth and your stupid square head. I mean, look at you, arms all cross, muscles all tightened, almost ready to explode just by standing around like a Christmas tree.
I bet you don’t even know how soft he gets when someone is soft with him, do you? You have no softness left in your heart, if there ever was any. You probably have a calendar mark for the days you let him fuck you, and it’s once per quarter because it takes too much time out of your busy days. Busy with what, one might ask, what is it that you even do?
Let me tell you: It’s nothing, you do nothing, and you fill all your days with that nothingness inside your heart. You guys have money, enough so that you pay someone to cook, someone else to clean. Your daughter left you before she even came of age, moving in with her first boyfriend, and leaving him right when she stood on her own feet.
But you never did that, did you? Standing on your own feet, achieving anything in your life? Is that why you hate me? Is it knowing that I worked to get here, where I am today? That I am here because your husband needs me, that he would pay me just the same if we weren’t fucking?
Oh sure, that is exactly it, you hate it that I have a career. Maybe not the most spectacular one, but nothing to scoff at, either. I went through job interviews to get my first job, and then I worked hard to get promoted. I went through more jobs and interviews, and when I got here, it was even kind of a step back — but a good one. Less stress, more life quality, and the pay was just about the same. I have a good life here, your hubby treats his workers right, and we all like him for it.
He’s a good boss, did you know that? There are people who ask him for advice, and he usually has some to give. Nobody is afraid of being called into his office, because he doesn’t get off on hurting anyone. It is my job to buy the bottles of wine that he hands out to everyone on their birthdays, and there is always some kind of coin collection going on for someone’s wedding.
He makes sure that everyone in here can feel respected, especially us women. We can walk in here and out of here, never once feeling like we are just meat to him, barely intelligent enough to handle paperwork. No, he treats you with respect, and he would never overstep his bounds.
I mean, sure, he oversteps with me all day, but only because I let him. The others? He leaves them alone, asks them how they are doing, if they need any help with anything. Just to ask, he says, then goes on about his day.
And if any of them ever wink at him, he makes sure they get the point that he’s off limits. We all here understand that, everyone knows that you are his one and only wife. Few people want to cross you, but absolutely no one wants to cross him, why would we?
He’s a good boss, to everyone, and he always looks happy to hand out promotions when the time has come. He always gives some kind of present, and he usually talks to me at length about what he thinks would be best to get. Something that matters, something they like, and something they are proud of. He loves to walk over to Jones and ask him for the time, and to see him playfully knock the watch on his wrist.
It’s broken again, Boss, he will say, time for another promotion.
And he will laugh, pat his shoulder, tell him to keep on dreaming. He will say something about people who are promoted past their own abilities, and Jones will nod with a sad face and go back to work. And everyone is happy, nobody takes that serious, and the watch wasn’t expensive enough for anyone else to get envious about.
It’s hard not to like him, your hubby, and nobody is ever afraid of admitting a mistake to him — no matter how big.
Look at me, here, standing with my thighs pressed together so that I can feel him dry on my skin. I had no issues admitting to him this morning that I forgot my panties at home, and all he did was laugh. He could have yelled at me, chewed me out, and granted, he kind of did. I love it when he kisses me down there, and when he explores me with his tongue. When he mumbles something, and I don’t understand him, but then I kind of do. I know that what he’s saying doesn’t matter, as long as he keeps kissing and licking me where it hurts.
And I know that whenever he gets rough with me, he does so caringly, and out of the kindness of his heart. When he puts his hand around the back of my neck and makes me wince with his strong grip — he only does it to show me how well he understands my needs.
And when he fumbles on his belt, I always know that he’s about to ask me with his eyes, and he would stop immediately if he ever saw any hesitation in them. He would stop, or he would read my eyes and try adapting to my wishes — but it always seems like I am on board with what he has in mind.
I’ve never known another guy like him, frankly, who could make me feel at ease with not knowing what I want. Do I want to look into his eyes? Do I want to wrap my arms around his neck, have him lift me up and fuck me against the wall?
Or do I want to feel the cold floor on my knees, my palms, do I want to head to the bathroom to clean my dirty hands after he has cleaned my dirty mind for me?
Or maybe, do I want him to get even dirtier with me? Do I want his penis inside of me, and his thumb as well? Oh yes, I think I do, and I think I want all that today. When you have left, when the room still feels like you are there, I want him to fuck me right in here, in his office. I’ll wait until it’s getting late, until everyone else has gone home.
But him and I, we still have work to do, and I will beg him with my eyes to hurry up. When we are finished with the paperwork, I want him to finish inside of me, or maybe all over me. Right on the front of my skirt, right where prying eyes could see it, and where even you couldn’t miss it if you showed up again.
And then, when he is done with me, I’ll get up from his desk and pull my skirt straight again. And I will look him in the eyes, and I will tell him that I’m running low on panties, and if he can lend me one of his wife’s.
He will look at me, laugh, and he will understand where I am coming from, because he knows I had to handle you today. And he will come to me tomorrow, and help me put them on. The cute ones, the ones that don’t fit you anyway, because nothing about you is cute.
And now, it’s time for lunch, you bitch, and I really need to stuff some food in me. Have fun waiting, I hope it’s worth it for you.-
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/zzvef1/no_i_havent_seen_your_husband_fmcheatingvanillaf32