Wife welcomes sailor home after long trip.
She was wearing white cotton slacks, a burgundy blouse, and sandals. Her toe nails were painted black, she had a silver ring on each second toe. She leaned toward him and lifted her face to his and kissed him. She tasted of cheese and peppers and vinegar and egg.
That quick kiss left him dizzy.
She laughed at the desire in his eyes, "Can't do much here. Not with all those moms over there." She kissed him again and he felt her tongue. She took his hand and put it on her waist and as he pulled her to him, he felt his cock stir with eagerness.
She pulled away and looked up at him. Her tongue slipped along her lip, picking up a stray sliver of grated carrot. "Don't want to shock them."
She bent and undid her sandals. He admired the way the form of her breasts pressed against her knees. She laid the sandals on his lap. "Hang onto them," she instructed.
She stood up, turned to face him, undid her slacks, hooked her fingers in her belt and dropped her pants and her panties to her feet. She turned and ran the ten feet to the pond, jumped the no-swimming-tape and splashed in and dove shallowly into the water. He jumped up but otherwise froze watching.
She swam several strokes underwater. Her hair fluttered about her head like a jellyfish's tentacles. She twisted and stood. "Yuck! Cold slimy muck!" She splashed back out and ran dripping to him. He could see her bra clearly through her blouse. "Come on, we gotta get moving. Those moms'll all have cell phones. One's sure to call 911."
She pulled her slacks over her wet legs, the fabric turning dark and translucent where it touched her skin. "Come on, oh and get the trash and throw it in that barrel. Don't forget my shoes."
She ran down the path to the parking lot. He caught up to her at the car, panting, unused to running. "You drive," she said handing him the keys. He started the car as she huddled down on the floor. "Just be calm and slow. That's the ticket." As they turned onto the residential street a police car with flashing blue lights flew up from the opposite direction. It passed them without pause and turned into the park.
When he turned onto the main drag that would take them back to the supermarket he expected her to sit up. He felt her hand on his thigh. "Keep both hands on the wheel and concentrate on what you're doing," she warned, "Don't be afraid to bounce me about if you need to slam the brakes."
He felt her fingers on his fly, felt his zipper opened, felt her fingers slip through the fly of his jockey shorts. He couldn't remember how presentable the pair was, his wife had stopped caring when the elastic gave out and the cotton got discolored. He felt her lips on his cock. He didn't like this, he'd never let a woman go down on him, he'd always imagined it to be wet and slimy and unpleasant. When his wife'd tried, early in their relationship he'd put a stop to it quick.
He glanced down at her. She was leaning across the passenger seat, the stick shift under her right armpit. Her face was inches from his cock. "Stop," he croaked.
"If there's a light or a stop sign, don't tell ME about it,"she said, "You're in the driver's seat."
Then he felt her tongue run up from his balls to his tip and he gasped. He no longer wanted her to stop. Her fingers gripped him, she pulled him up into an easier angle and took him into her mouth.
His leg working the clutch shifted her head, moving the gear shift pushed against her chest or arm, he felt her teeth on his cock, then her tongue. She lifted her head. "Never asked if you knew how to drive a stick," she grinned, "Still don't know if you know how to drive this baby down here." Then she dropped back down on him. It took all his concentration to turn the car into the supermarket parking lot. He shifted her again as he braked and clutched and turned the car off.
He put his hand on her head, feeling her wet hair, feeling her head bob and turn. It felt so incredible. "My pants, my clothes," he gasped thinking of stains, looking around for a Kleenex.
"Not to worry," she slurred.