The Housewife's Dilemma

She sweeps the floor mechanically

Expertly tilting the corner of the broom

To remove the smallest crumbs

Nestled firmly in the corner

Her head wrapped in thoughts of him

How will she get out of it tonight…

He’ll want it, of course,

But the thought of slipping

His yeasty, gritty cock  

Between her thin, polite lips

Involuntarily makes her shudder. 

He can’t get if off his mind,

These blow jobs,

But she has other things to think about

And his insatiable dick isn't one of them 

Although, she must make him happy,

She must at least try,

So, she wipes clean

The little puddles of milk on the counter

Trying to come up with ideas, with counter stories,

A blazing headache…

An injury…

Perhaps she will start her period...

These thoughts making her tired

And melancholy.

She needn’t worry so much.

He’s in his office with the door

Cleverly locked and the lights turned off

Slick red lips perusing the length

Of his hardness

Up and down like a piston

His fist clutching platinum blonde locks

And he tries not to make a fool of himself

While he loses control

While he cums

Into her hot, red mouth

He feels a little sick

Looking at her  

As the cum begins to drip

In thin lines down her chin,

Her eyes narrow and astute

Because she knows what he really is,

Oh, she knows.    

And in the back of his mind

He hates his prudent wife

Hates her dainty, feminine excuses;

Who is at the moment, scrubbing the spaghetti

Sauce off of his shirt from last night’s dinner.