Caught with My Pants Down

Photo by Kurt Francois

My husband called me at my office to tell me he had to work late. That seemed to have been happening more frequently, I couldn’t help wondering if he was having an affair. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought.

To keep my mind off of that unsettling possibility, I became engrossed in my own office tasks and was a bit late leaving work myself. Since I was so late, I needed to rush home, because the supper I had put on a timer that morning to cook would be ready to come out of the oven soon.

I parked the car in our driveway and dashed into the house to run to the bathroom for much-needed relief from not taking the time before leaving the office. The release was near nirvana.

Letting my panties drop around my ankles, I reached between my legs to stoke the fire I felt coming on from my convoluted emotions when thinking about my husband’s possible infidelity, and my own unmet desires. I needed to do something to take my mind off of the situation and satisfy myself with a release of my inner tensions.

As I began stroking, the moans came naturally as I raised my head up and back. The strokes felt so damned good — near cathartic — until I noticed the shower curtain move. I stopped my hand and looked more closely, hoping I had imagined the moving curtain. But then I saw masculine fingers grasp the fabric and plastic barrier to pull aside cautiously.

I gasped and stood to run but realized I couldn’t move my feet because they were hobbled by my underwear. I stooped down to pull them up when a body was suddenly next to me. Arms were around my body and dragged me to the nearby bedroom.

I started to scream, when a deep voice said, “Don’t make a sound.”

I was scared and pissed at the same time. This couldn’t be happening. Who had invaded our home?

I was thrown onto the bed, my face buried into the duvet, and felt my panties pulled from my feet. As I tried to twist around, the man’s body was soon on top of my butt to keep me from moving.

My skirt was bunched at my waist, and I felt my blouse pulled away from my arms then up and over my head. My bra was unsnapped.

I tried to turn my head enough to breathe easier when I felt hands rubbing my back and then my arms gently. That was curious. Was I going to be raped or soothed before my death?

I wiggled and tried to twist away but was held firmly by the body that sat atop me.

When I felt movement, I realized the man was taking off his own shirt and tossing it aside. Then I sensed that he began unzipping his pants.

“Oh, God,” I muttered into the fabric, my fear escalating.

Photo by Gwen Mamanoleas

With one hand on my back, and a gruff voice telling me not to move, I felt him slide away from me long enough for him to jerk his pants from his legs. My time to make a move.

The hand on my back wasn’t enough to keep me from rolling away from it at that moment and that’s what I did.

I kept rolling to the other side of the bed and onto the floor then under the bed. At least that would make it more difficult for the attacker to get to me, I thought, until hands grabbed my feet and my body was pulled from my short-lived sanctuary.

Being naked and vulnerable were the least of my worries when I was scooped up by strong arms and thrown back onto the bed. I held my eyes shut tight, not wanting to see the horrible face of the man who would soon defile me.

“Be still,” the deep voice commanded.

Facing up allowed me to hear more clearly, and I realized that the voice sounded vaguely familiar. I dared take a peek out from under my eyelashes and was astounded to see a familiar face staring down at me.

“You bastard!” I cried out as my eyelids flew open. “What are you doing? You nearly scared me to death!”

He put his hand over my mouth and said, “Hush,” as he leaned down to kiss me.

I didn’t know if I wanted to bite his lip or devour it in passion, as I felt my fear subside.

I reached up to pull my husband close just as he found his way into my wetness with his very ready member and pushed hard and deep, then out and in.

“Oh, dear God!” I kept repeating.

With each thrust from his engorged cock, I matched his moans of pleasure. And then he stopped moving.

“What?!” I yelped. “What are you doing?” I was ready to explode. “Why did you stop?” I was panting. I was so close to erupting.

He just smiled as he pulled away from me while scooting down between my spread legs then buried his head into my wet crotch. My body lurched upward to meet his exploring tongue.

“Oh, baby!” I exclaimed in surprise.

I kept moaning with the rhythm of his tongue, which brought me to that volcanic moment I had needed. I screamed out the pure guttural cry of the release I felt from the tip of my toes throughout my whole body then laid back, spent.

But he wasn’t finished with me.

Photo by Ramez E. Nassif

He crawled back on top and rammed his throbbing mass into me resuming where we had left off a few moments ago. He pounded hard, his own guttural sounds of building bliss emanated from his throat with each deep thrust. His moans grew in volume until we simultaneously yelled out our cry of orgasmic ecstasy.

My husband plopped down onto my body, panting. “I so love you,” he muttered.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, adding, “That was the best sex we’ve had in a really long time. Whatever got into you? I love it!”

“I wanted to have a little fun,” he whispered, “since I have been working late so much. And knowing how your mind works, you’ve likely been thinking I was having an affair or something equally ridiculous. So, I thought that since some of the best sex can come from the relief after a good scare, I’d try out the theory.”

I laughed. “It sure worked this time. What a scare you gave me. I shudder at remembering the fear I felt.”

Then I climbed on top of him. It didn’t take long to feel his cock harden, and we began again.