*We are pleased to repost this story in "celebration" of another NFL season xoxo J&S*
I can't believe it. My husband and I finally have a night all to ourselves without the NFL (National Football League) interfering. To me, NFL really stands for No Frigging Love.
But tonight that will all change, for I am reclaiming my NUMBER ONE position for my husband's attention and affection. I will no longer accept a third place standing behind the National Anthem and the Sports Announcers. I too, have rights, and a few plays of my own.
I've formulated an offense against my husband's defense. And here's the game plan the way I'm calling it: I'll get my sheer, sexy negligee down from the bedroom shelf, with hopes that it isn't moth eaten (its been there through the full NFL season), take a bubble bath, powder and perfume, and make us a couple of drinks to set the mood.
Wow! This could be a repeat performance of when the NFL went on strike. The football reruns weren't the same, but the reruns from my wedding night sure kicked-off.
Now, after forty years of competing with televised football, I can finally gain some yards of my own to score those first important points. This IS going to be a night to remember. I only hope its going to have a continuous run of tackles while in the "throws" of a touchdown.
Donning the last touches to my uniform (negligee) of green and gold lace that I had Frederick's of Hollywood make, and holding a Manhattan in each hand, I waltz into the den.
He doesn't even look over at me. I'm unnoticed. I'm UN-NOTICED! He's engrossed in a football program about the strategy used in past games.
Okay, this calls for some strategy on my part. It's football reruns versus my marital rights. And if he chooses football, he knows his jock strap will be thrown right out the door behind him.
But I have to admit that when it comes to the sport of marital rights, and its sexual techniques, I have a few good maneuvers of my own. It's just a matter of making that first down.
Dashing to the opposite side of the room, I set the drinks on the end table to pull a draw play...but that doesn't work. Stripping down to my nakedness, I maneuver an illegal bump and bend over in his face.
Still nothing!
I then run an end sweep with tits bouncing and an illegal backfield in motion, joining him on the couch. As I'm huddling with him, waiting for him to make a forward pass, or some type of quarter back sneak, he let's out a yell (as I think he's finally noticed me) and shakes a fist. It seems the place kicker failed to score, which made two of us...putting me in an uproar.
Good! The reruns are over. Now he will notice and respond.
He picks up his drink and throws me a hand signal from his crotch that he's going to make a pass. Gosh, he drank his Manhattan in one gulp.
Oooh, I know why he drank that Manhattan so fast. That sneaky devil is in a hurry to get in the mood because alcohol stimulates his passions. Mine too, so I also gulp my drink.
Setting his glass down, he reaches over and grabs me to him in a tight huddle, fondling my breasts. His tongue searches out my mouth while his hands moved down my stomach to stroke my most vulnerable spot. His fingers explore its inner cavity, and then my clit, as I feel my juices flow, igniting my flames of passion. "Honey," he says. "That drink was great; and you're sure a good sport."
Good sport, huh? Well, let's see how good a sport HE is at MY game. While he's holding me, my Manhattan smeared lips impart a salacious kiss placed ever so seductively on the edge of his lips. I strip his sports jersey off and pull his sweat pants down. He's naked under his clothes. I then start kissing him down his chest, to his stomach, to his pelvis, to his dick, enticing him to want more. He lies back on the couch and allows me to have my way with him. I lick his balls and then take them into my mouth ever so gently, thinking, now I have the ball, and I'm taking it all the way for a touch- down. My tongue carefully performs acrobatics with his balls. I move from the balls to the shaft of his cock and start licking upwards, covering all sides. Then I slip my mouth partially over its tip. I roll my tongue around the tip, searching its slit. He groans, pushing my head down, shoving his pecker further into my mouth.
I start to suck at it like a baby does at the teat of its mother. He moans in ecstasy and moves his body up and down. As some of his liquids start to leak into my mouth, I pull my mouth away. He can't get-off now; we're not done yet. With my lips posed in a half open gesture, I look at him and see he's in deep lust, and I again run my tongue along his big shaft. He pulls my head back down to suck him off. But I want to feel him inside me. So I slide my breasts up his dick and let it rest between them. I squeeze the sides of my beasts tight against his shaft and massage it between their softness. He pulls me to him and his tongue seeks out my mouth. I roll around on his rock hard cock and then maneuver my body for it to slide into my moist, pulsating slit. Then I sit up on him and rock back and forth, back and forth, arching my back even further to push hard down on him so his hardness reaches its limits within me. I release more warm juices, letting him know that he has almost made it to a touchdown.
But he dives short, dropping the ball on the five-yard line. I feel his warm breath on my neck, and I think, oh, he just wants to catch his breath for the final punt. So I melt further into his quarterback body and purr in his ear, "I love...you. I want you." He says nothing. I grab his dick and begin to jerk him off, hoping to restore its hardness. With my passions still ablaze, I nibble on his ear, then whisper dirty words that I know turns him on. "Honey, you are fantastic in the fuck department. Your tongue is so educated that no one could ever satisfy my clit as much as you do."
He lays there moaning, engrossed in my words and acts of seduction. As I inwardly yell, "Yes! Yes! I, too will experience two games in one night. I just hope my quarterback will make the plays!"
And then I hear... zzzzz ... zzzz. You're kidding! He's fallen asleep, while I'm consumed with ardor. I leap up, jarring him from slumber. He gives me a half-time grin and says, "Good night, babe."
Why that lousy back-sneaker. He pulled a Red-Dog and upset my offensive play.
Originally published August 2005 - "Sultry, Sexy Summer"