Her Secret Sex Life by Willie Maiket

perhaps accomplish their original purpose of having her driven out of the house as an unfit wife and mother. No, she would just have to take that chance. She knew that she needed love and the security of being wanted by this gentle, intellectual man who shared so much in common with her. It was true that she had her own shop and could earn a good living, but the prospect of lonely years as a career girl-and at thirty-four she couldn't really call herself a girl any longer-frightened her. No, she had made a bargain, and she would keep it, cost what it may…
    She had left him watching the ending of the late show to go to her room and to change into a seductive black nylon nightie and open-toe sandals, applying perfume to her armpits and the valley of her breasts as well as the insides of her thighs. Glancing down at herself, she could see a few faint bruises on her shoulders and the insides of her thighs where young Tim's sinewy fingers had gripped her last night. And a wave of lascivious awareness came over her as she hastily drew on the filmy sheath which outlined the magnificence of her breasts, the smoothness of her round belly, the litheness of her waist and the jouncy hillocks of her bottom. Then quickly she moved down the hall into her husband's room and, drawing back the covers, got quickly into bed and waited for him.
    When the door opened about ten minutes later, she whispered huskily, "Hurry, darling, I'm ready for you, I need you so."
    His eyes widened with surprise at the sight of the gauzy nightie, for it was one she hadn't worn fill now. "It won't take me a minute, Rachel darling," he said, his voice thickening with anticipation. In his mind there swirled the exotic night with Eleanor, the meaningful restoration of his virility. He went to his dresser and took out a pair of pajamas, then hurried into the bathroom to shower and to be ready for her. A few minutes later, wearing just the pajama bottoms, he came out and went to the bed, took her by the shoulders, bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Rachel closed her eyes, linking her soft arms round his neck as she drew him down to her. "My darling husband," she breathed. "It feels like ages since we were alone together. Do get in beside me, hurry, darling!"
    He reached to turn out the little night lamp beside the bed, and then joined her. He turned, on his left side to her, his left arm under her shoulders, his right hand gently stroked her swelling breasts, then the supple contour of one lovely hip as their lips met in a long ardent kiss.
    Rachel felt the flesh of her inner thighs twitching and prickling with a new desire. What had taken place last night came back into her senses now, but with a new and singular meaning. She still believed that it was the male's traditional prerogative to take the initiative. And until now, he always had, even though they hadn't yet achieved the successful union she had dreamed of. But she felt that it was terribly vital that he continue in his right until at last their magical moment would come upon them both, and then there would be no problems left in this household.
    Certainly he was proceeding satisfactorily. Without haste, his right hand squeezing each of her swelling breasts in turn, plying her with long hot kisses, delicately probing the tip of his tongue just between her eagerly parted lips, Tim Woodling wooed his beautiful brunette wife. She had turned on her left side to be closer to him, till their bellies pressed together and till she could feel the hard structure of his legs against the soft, round yielding columns of her quivering thighs. His right hand moved now to her buttocks, kneading them, and she caught her breath with a little gasp and pressed herself ardently against him. Her eyes widened with joy to feel the significant turgidity of his maleness against the filmy crotch of the nightie. Oh, let it be right for them both tonight, she prayed.
    Her hands stroked his back, and she could feel the muscular