Chapter Text
The sounds of actors and actresses spilling from your boxy television had become nothing more than background noise, like the humming of a refrigerator. It was a slow, lazy sort of day. It always was. Being a stay-at-home wife didn't give you much else to do, especially after all the chores had been done. However, there was one sound that stood out. The familiar click of dress shoes moving from the kitchen to the living room, where you were currently lounging.
You caught him out of the corner of your eye. Hendrick, your husband, was trying to slip past you and make it out the door before you could notice him. He had some sort of work trip today. He mentioned it offhandedly during dinner last night. It'd be weeks, maybe even months, before you'd see him again. Before you'd be able to touch him again. It'd certainly drive you mad if you didn't take this opportunity. Letters and occasional phone calls wouldn't be enough to satiate you. So, you crept up behind him, quiet as a church mouse, and firmly planted your hands on his hips, pushing him flush against the front door. Before he could even let out a gasp, you leaned down and whispered in his ear. "Where are you off to?"
His body trembled under your grip. Possibly from anxiety, more likely from arousal. Arousal that was red hot and coursing through his veins the moment you put your hands on him. He was so in love with you that it made him stupid. He couldn't resist your touch even if he wanted to. And as you pressed your body against the back of his own, running your hands up and down his sides, you knew he certainly had no desire to stop you.
"Just leaving for a work trip, darling. I told you about it yesterday, didn't I?" his voice wavered as he spoke. When he turned his head to look at you, you could see how red his cheeks had gotten in such a short amount of time. The dim lighting of the room couldn't hide how his pale cheeks glowed with arousal. You loved this. This effect you had on him, how he melted under your words, how easily he gave himself to you, and how desperate he was to be used.
"Mhm. I know. It's going to be an awful long time until I see my pretty girl again, though," you murmured into his ear. His knees nearly buckled at that. You snaked your hands down to his groin, squeezing his already erect cock through his slacks. "Are you wearing them?" you asked. He nodded immediately. Perfect.
Loosening his belt and sliding it through the loops with a teasing slowness, you made quick work of his pants, letting them drop to his ankles to reveal that pretty lace adorning his crotch. You couldn't help but trace the patterns of the lace, feeling him up from his sunken-in stomach down to his thighs. You pushed your foot between both of his, forcing his legs to part for you. Pulling his panties to the side, you watched his cock slip from the lace already hard and drooling at the tip. He wasn't very big, even when aroused, but that didn't matter to you. It's not like he was putting it to much use anyway.
You fisted his cock in your hand, stroking him from base to head just as he liked. He was practically weeping at the tip, making your fist a slick sleeve to get him off. "Tighter. Please," he pleaded. It was impossible to deny him when he asked so nicely in that pretty high-pitched whine. You obliged, turning your hand into an even tighter tunnel as you worked him up.
When you began to kiss down his neck, he started to thrust into your hand, trying to get himself off without your permission. You would cull that behavior quickly. He should know better by now. You abruptly stopped all movement and instead gripped the base of his cock too harshly even for his masochistic tendencies. He whimpered loudly like a dog having its tail stepped on. Tears welled up in his eyes. Whether it was from the pain or the absence of stimulation, you could not say for certain. "Did I say you could do that?" you asked, moving your free hand from his hip to instead tangle in his sparse hair, craning his neck back to get a better look at that guilt-ridden face and sweaty pores.
"No. No, you didn't, sweetheart," Hendrick replied, voice wobbly and unsure of itself. The pleasure-pain running rampant in his system was inhibiting his ability to speak as clearly as he probably wanted to. You could tell it was humiliating for him, which only made his dick pulse harder. "It won't happen again. I promise."
You grinned at his response. "Good girl," you purred before finally loosening your grip and stroking him once more, a little faster this time. A slight reward for being so obedient. His hips bucked involuntarily at the unexpected movement. You would forgive that. He couldn't help the way his body reacted to your ministrations after all. And you could tell he was trying very hard not to take his own pleasure. You almost admired his restraint.
As you continued to grip and stroke him, you sank your teeth into the sensitive flesh of his shoulder. You fully intended to leave a mark, a physical reminder of his wife while he was miles and miles away from her, and you knew you had achieved your goal when you felt beads of blood blossom beneath the cotton of his dress shirt. He throbbed especially hard as he felt the blood stain his shirt and dribble down his shoulder. "Fuck..." he gasped out, grasping at the door for some sort of reprieve. "I'm...fuck, oh God," he managed to sputter out as he finished across your hand.
If he thought you were done just because he finished, then he was sorely mistaken. You continued to stroke him through his orgasm right into another. His body shuddered hard as a second, much weaker wave of pleasure crashed over his frayed nerves. You knew he was getting too old to be pushed this far, but you were also acutely aware of how much he loved it at the same time. He'd tell you to stop when he was ready.
It wasn't until the fifth consecutive orgasm where he was shooting nothing but blanks that he finally gave in and asked you to stop. You did, of course, and stepped away so he could compose himself somewhat. It was always a treat to watch him in this state. Trembling, pants still around his ankles, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. It was a beautiful sight.
You knew you should help him to the bathroom so he could make himself presentable again before he really had to leave, but you knew he'd shoo you away if you tried. "You should get cleaned up, darling. You're a mess," you commented in that condescending tone you knew he secretly loved before turning on your heel and pretending to busy yourself with some light cleaning.