I was silently cursing speed limits and every other car on the road as we returned home from breakfast. I knew I was in for it when I asked her if she was ready to go and my wife walked out of the bedroom in that outfit.
She was wearing a black and white striped, sleeveless top that really put her gorgeous tits on display – with plenty of bared cleavage. Her jet-black leggings were capri-length and form-fitting enough to be questionable as public attire.
She’d taken wicked delight in me trying to hide an erection more than once while we were out.
Once we were back in the car, she’d raised the stakes even higher. I glanced at her before starting the car, and it was impossible to miss that she’d scooted in the seat in such a way to form a camel toe in those leggings. Once we were on the road, she’d started absently tracing a fingertip up and down the crease between her labial mounds.
My wife laughed when she caught me looking yet again, and adjusting the uncomfortable bulge in my jeans. “Eyes on the road and hands on the wheel,” she playfully admonished.
“Easier said than done,” I responded.
My phone dinged a couple of blocks from home. I glanced at the notification just before the screen faded to black and saw it was another text message from the floor manager at work. The first arrived just before we left the restaurant. It was something about a driver up from Mexico, and the new one was probably more of the same.
I ignored it.
My wife tugged at her leggings when I shut off the car. She loved to show off – and tease me – but walking around with a camel toe where our neighbors could see her was a bridge too far.
I’d barely closed the door behind us when she pulled me into a hungry kiss. She finished by sucking my bottom lip and asked, “Now, what was this about sausage?”
I didn’t even need to look when my phone started ringing. I’d set a unique ringtone for all the work numbers and the mobile numbers of everybody there who had mine. My wife knew it as well.
She let the leg she’d lifted to grind against me drop to the floor and said, “Go ahead and answer it.”
“Whatever it is–”
She cut me off as she stepped back, slipping away from the hand squeezing her ass. “Just answer it. You’re going to be anxious if you don’t.”
Unfortunately, she was right. Whatever was going wrong would be a thousand times worse for not being handled properly by the time I returned to work the next day.
My wife strutted over to the couch and sat down as I retrieved my phone. I followed as I answered it. “Hello?”
Mike was obviously at his wits’ end. There was some paperwork he needed that driver from Mexico to deal with, and there was a serious language barrier. I sat down on the couch next to my wife as he explained.
Once he finally took a breath, I said, “Mike, slow down. Just go over to the line and grab Arturo to translate. It’s not a big deal. Waylon is used to it. I do it all the time. I... Really...” I sighed as he anxiously rambled and then took the first opportunity to say, “Just go give the phone to Waylon. I’ll take care of it.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, turned to my wife and rolled my eyes as Mike crossed the building. A crooked grin spread across her face.
I vigorously shook my head as she slipped off the couch onto her knees. Her eyes narrowed and she slowly – deliberately – nodded before leaning forward to grab my belt.
I’d promised her sausage after breakfast, and she wasn’t going to wait any longer.
The sound of machinery mingled with forklifts rolling by in my ear while my wife made short work of the fastenings on my pants. I defiantly refused to lift my butt to help her, but she wrestled my jeans down to my thighs anyway.
I clenched my teeth and somehow kept the groan trapped in my throat when she gave my cock a long, wet lick.
The machinery humming and banging drowned out everything else as Mike approached the line. It was all I could do to hold it together with my sexy wife’s tongue slathering all over my erection. I faintly heard Mike telling Waylon why he was there, and then Waylon answered the phone.
“Hey Waylon. Mike needs to borrow Arturo...” My voice jumped a little when my wife sucked the head of my cock and tantalized it with the tip of her tongue. “To translate for a driver,” I finished.
Trying to concentrate and hear what he was saying was somewhat difficult with my wife’s hot mouth sliding over my cock.
“I know. I told him that, but I guess he didn’t believe me. Yeah. Some day off. Thanks.”
She wasn’t screwing around. My wife’s head bobbed in my lap at a steady pace, making me writhe.