And so the two of them stood there, silhouetted against the six o'clock sun, as Gayle continued to twist my nipple like a radio dial, and as I tried desperately to think up an explanation of what was going on that might be at all plausible. And then I watched a series of fleeting emotions wash through my wife's eyes---first a long period of disbelief, then some shock, a brief period of amazement, then a narrowing of her eyes that I took for anger, and then two final expressions that I couldn't place at first. Her mouth tightened ever so slightly, and her eyes narrowed even more, and I realized it was the grimace of revenge. And then she turned slightly sidewise to Tom, who smirked just a bit.
"I can see what's going on here, can't you, Tom? We've been left behind." And as my wife stared pointedly at the hand reaching across my chest under my shirt to grasp the other side of my chest, Gayle started her ministrations again, eliciting a sharp gasp from me. Her gaze drifted down to the tent that started to appear at my crotch, as I became hard, then harder, responding to the pain and pleasure all at once.
It was then that I recognized the last emotion on her face, the one that stayed there as she took a step or two across the kitchen floor and reached for my fly, pulling it down quickly and freeing what was now a rampant cock, loosing it for all to see. It was the throw all cares and cautions to the wind look, the damn the devil look, the I'll do anything look, the look that said please do me, please please do me, do something for me, it was lust with a capitol L.
She turned to face Tom, putting a hand in the middle of his chest, sticking her tongue out just enough to lick her lips back and forth, which she parted and then ran her tongue over the lower lip yet again, and then smiled archly at him. "Can we catch up, can we ever catch up?" she said, looking him straight in the eye.
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