I tried to watch just one more possession, in the desperate hope the Tigers could pull another ‘rabbit out of the hat’ but Pat was having none of that. Pulling me by the hand, she led me upstairs where she had outfits spread out on the bed for both of us.
“Do you think these will look good on me?” She indicated a pair of lacy black panties, that wouldn’t cover the hair around her pussy, much less anything else, and a black bra that was almost there; it might hide her nipples, but I doubted it.
“They’ll look sexy on you, but sure ain’t gonna cover much.”
“Sure they will–they’ll look great. Let me show you.” In a flash she’d shed her regular undies and turned toward me. That’s when I realized she wasn’t concerned about the sexy black panties not hiding her hair; she’d shaved it all off. Her mons was as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“You like?” she gave me a good look before slithering into them. “Here, help me snap this thing.” She was trying to corral her breast into that black bra. It was like trying to stuff ten pounds of meat in a five pound bag.
After getting her snapped up she gave a twirl, displaying all her assets, and giving me an instant hard-on. I reached for her, but she adroitly dodged my hands. “No, no, no–no touching; this is for looking only.” Then she wiggled into the LBD she’d laid out earlier. “Zip me up. Then you can get dressed while I finish my hair.”
In my mind I screamed, ‘No you stupid Bitch! I’ve had enough of your shit. That’s my pussy and I’m getting some now.’ That’s what I thought, but what I really said was, “Yes Honey.”
Okay, so you think I’m not just a wimp, but a pussy whipped wimp–news flash, you’re right. I hate confrontation with a capital H. Why? I don’t know, but I always have, I’d always take the path of less resistance–guess I’m like an electron in that respect. Yeah, I’m an electronic nerd–love the crap. It makes more sense to me than a lot of people and the crap thy do–like my wife Pat, for instance.
Why would she act like she does? I make a good salary, in fact a very good salary; I don’t give her a bunch of shit about spending money on her wild whims–things like taking a couple of her girlfriends on a shopping trip to NYC, at my expense.
I don’t know if she’s screwing around on me yet, but if she ain’t, she soon will be. Shit, I don’t know why I said that. She really hasn’t done anything yet–that I know of, but then she’s slick; she wouldn’t blatantly do anything. No, not her, she’d be too slick to get caught, at least that’s how she’d see herself.
Well maybe she wasn’t as slick as she thought. Just this afternoon, while I was working on strengthening my grip, I’d overheard her on the phone with Mr. Jamison, her boss, except this afternoon she’d called him “Harry, honey.” After that she added “You’re such a bad boy,” and the way she giggled really pissed me off. I’d heard that giggle and tone of voice before, usually when she’s horny and needing a good screwing, but like the wimp I am, instead of throwing her on the bed and fucking her until she’s screaming for mercy, (Hey a guy can dream, can’t he?) I’m here now helping her get dressed.