I never masturbate alone

Monday night was CSI Miami night. My wife would curl up on the couch and watch David Caruso be the coolest scientist who favored his gut over science. She watched every show and it didn’t matter if it was a rerun. My wife would be there. For all I know, she masturbated whenever David took off his glasses in a dramatic fashion.

I wouldn’t know because Monday nights at 10 was my masturbation time. It was the only time in the week I knew my wife would not come into the bedroom. At ten o’clock sharp I would slip under the sheets wearing only my boxers and pull four lotion infused tissues from the nightstand. My cock would already be hard and ready.

But I never masturbate alone.

Across town, Stephanie is getting into bed as well. Her husband is playing some sort of game online and Monday nights is some sort of quest night. He’ll stay up too late organizing raids and trying to get his virtual knight up another level. Meanwhile his wife is pulling out her purple dildo. I didn’t buy it for her, but I did tell her how big it needed to be to match my size.

It may sound strange, but I clean up for our Monday night rendezvous. I don’t use cologne because that would be suspicious but I do wash my face and clean my cock. I also always use a fresh pair of boxers. Even my hair gets a quick comb through. For me it’s the closest I get to having a date night and I enjoy the little ounce of preparation.

I have never asked Stephanie, but I like to think she does the same thing. I hope she wears lingerie, switching it up from week to week. Maybe she trims her bush and maybe she puts on the tiniest hint of perfume between her thighs. Her own husband ignores her enough as it is, I hope she knows I would appreciate the little things.

The tissues seal around my cock and my hand pumps on. My cock never feels as hard or big as it does on Monday Nights. Just knowing that she is out there, thinking of me, makes me feel like a Sex God. I am Zeus, Thor, Shiva, Superman, Batman, James Bond, Clark Gable, Brad Pitt and Colin Ferrel. At 10 o’clock, I feel less like a husband in a rocky marriage and more like a lover.

The bed sheets lewdly cover my masturbating, appearing to emphasis the dirty act rather than hide it. I can hear the bed springs creak but I know that the springs could never be heard over the loud special science effects going on in the living room. The only light comes from the clock, safely telling me I have another 55 minutes. I know it’s only my bedroom but I can’t help feel as wonderfully dirty and sinful as if we were in a motel room rented by the hour.

I masturbate and I think of Stephanie. I have never seen her naked but I have so many sexy memories to chose from. I flip through them as I stroke. I picture her in that luscious green dress she wore for the Christmas party. I remember her in that blue t-shirt that she got so sweaty in last summer. I think of her wearing her that low cut red blouse that she wore only that once to my wife’s birthday party. Hundreds of images I have filed in my mind, all stored away for Monday night.

Once we were at a restaurant and Stephanie bent over to pick up a fork. I saw down her shirt and caught a glimpse of a black lace bra. In my mind, she wears that bra every time. I imagine sucking her nipple through those lacy cups. I picture seeing them when she rips her shirt off. I imagine taking her bra off and keeping it as a memento for the dozens of nights our fingers have rendezvoused in late night masturbations.

I don’t know what Stephanie imagines when she fingers herself. When we agreed to this once a week affair, we knew that too much knowledge would ruin it. Or maybe we felt that too much knowledge would be closer to a real affair than we were comfortable with. We don’t talk about it. We don’t tell each other our fantasies and we don’t give details. There is no physical evidence and the only time we have ever discussed it was that beautiful time at the beach when she first suggested the idea.

I used to hate the lack of talking but now, I see the wisdom. On Monday nights, Stephanie does anything I want her to. She sucks my cock and swallows every drop. She rides me, I fuck her from behind and she never complains when I want her up against the wall. There is no end to the kinks we explore. I have tied her up, I have made her beg and I have spanked her till her ass was crimson. I have climaxed on her face, her breasts and ass and she always asks for me.

Tonight I take her from behind. I fuck her hard and we shake the bed. My hands hold her black lace bra like it was a bridle as I pound into her cunt from behind. She moans, groans and screams when she comes. I keep fucking. She’s sensitive and overwhelmed but I keep fucking her from behind until I feel my climax come upon me.

The tissues absorb my semen as I climax on her face, her ass, her green Christmas dress, that black lace bra and again on her face. It’s a powerful orgasm tonight and I relish the way my toes are curling. My heart is pounding and my grip tightens around my cock. I’m squeezing out the last of my seed and picturing Stephanie licking that last drop.

I drop the tissues in the bedside garbage can. My body is exhausted yet glowing. This is why people have affairs; for that brief intimate moment when you know that someone has just fucked you not because they feel obligated but because you wanted to fuck each other’s brains out. I curl over on my side and close my eyes with a big smile on my face.

I know that Stephanie is smiling too.