It’s Funny, but you Smell Like Sex

I joined NovelTrove last night and posted a story for their contest with the theme, swinging. My story came in last of ten. Maybe due to being entered just as the contest was closing or maybe it just wasn’t sexy/ slutty enough. I liked it. I wrote it in an hour, including the time I pulled it together in my mind before typing anything. Usually I type as I think. This delayed start was better. I had to remember all my ideas and that helped as the story developed.

Click the link to see the story on the site and give it a vote if you liked it. If you didn’t like it, just don’t bother to vote. Seems simple enough to me.

It’s Funny, but you Smell Like Sex

I am sitting alone, still enjoying ripples of an orgasm, when my husband comes back. He has our car keys and doesn’t look very pleased.

“Maybe you’re right. All this swinging is for people not like us.” He passes me my coat. I’m surprised it was right where I had left it, folded neatly on the seat next to me.

Taking my hand, something he hadn’t done in a very long time, he led me to the back door and the parking lot. He opened my door first and waited for me to get inside the car before closing the door for me. It was nice.

On the way home he talked about the woman he had ended up with. She was older than she had looked, wore a lot of make-up and he didn’t really like her eagerness for the swinging scene. Three children later and my husband still likes to think he is the sexual guru in our relationship. My disinterest in sex hasn’t really bothered him, other than being an inconvenience at times.

“It’s funny, but you smell like sex.” He says.

“So do you.” I reply.

“I guess so, we were both there after all. Want to stop for a coffee? Make it a bit more of a night out?”

Drive through coffee because neither of us feels like getting out of the car yet. He feels out of sorts and me… I’m just feeling content and languid.

I take the coffee cup and notice the bit of paper I’ve had in my fist all this time. He notices too.

“What’s that?” He asks.

I open it and then push it into my purse. “Someone gave me their phone number.”

“And you’re going to keep it?” He says, startled, a little annoyed.

“Well, I don’t want to litter in the parking lot. I’ll find it the next time I clean out my purse and toss it out then.”

He seems satisfied with that, more or less. I say nothing more about it.

At home I leave him to pay the babysitter and check on the kids, lock up the house and all those other rituals. I strip off my dress in the bathroom. My panties are gone and I’m surprised he didn’t notice my boobs swinging around half in and half out of my open bra. But, I’m the good wife, he only looks at me that way once in awhile.

My clothes go into the laundry basket. I stand looking at my naked reflection in the bathroom mirror while waiting for the shower to get hot. Tonight I want a hot shower. I don’t want anything cold touching me, taking away the feeling of being touched by strong, knowing, and patient hands. My pussy is still leaking. It feels strange after all this time. But, I like it. I’m even a little proud, or maybe it’s defiance.

His idea to go to a swingers party, not mine. His idea to leave me sitting there, the good wife. I didn’t look for anything, other than a cocktail or two. I forget what they were called now.

Stepping into the shower, the steam rises around me and the hot water pours over me. I wash away the evidence while I relive the encounter.

A kiss at the back of my neck. Strong, big fingers stroking my back, making me feel like a purring cat. Something he whispered near my ear that I didn’t really understand. Hands on my hips, under my dress, my panties slipped down. I felt a tall, wide, male body pressed against my back. Then he gently pushed me to lean forward. His fingers just a little cold but quickly warming between the lips of my pussy. Playing with my clit, slow and then a little faster and then slowing right down again as I started the first wave of orgasm. Slowing, slower and so slow I thought the orgasm would stay at the pinnacle of just starting forever. Crashing, thudding and trembling inside of me, so strong I hadn’t even noticed he was gone and I was alone again.

Another orgasm in the shower. My husband coming down the hallway to our bedroom and our king sized bed, the best way to share a bed while not sharing anything.

The Rain at Night

The Rain at Night by Darla Darling

I love the rain at night.man-standing-in-rain

The sky is so dark and slick looking. Just a little thunder and lightening. The big storm has passed and now the rain just soaks down from the sky.

I like the raindrops running down your bare skin. You’re so white in some places.

Your hair is plastered to your scalp and you are wet right through now. I bet you’re cold too.

“Pirouette boy!” I call out to you.

Putting your arms over your head you turn a circle around. I can see the mud squishing between your toes.

“On your tippy toes, like a ballerina!”

“Now hop a bit, put a bit of a skip into it!”. I laugh quietly. There is humiliation and then just plain meanness. You won’t like it if I’m laughing at you. But, there isn’t a lot sexy about a naked man hopping in the rain. The rain itself though…. I love the rain at night.

You’re cold, wet and I think your lips look on the blue side of pale. Another minute…. but not more than that.

I pull a hot towel out of the dryer and bring it with me out into the rain. I get a few photographs of the rain, the darkness and your wet skin. This is the turn on for me. Not your suffering, or your humiliation. Those are the things you want. I wanted the sensation of the rain, the sensuality of the drops running down your skin, through your hair and your breath in the night sky.

I’m quick, snap, click and a small adjustment of your pose for a last photo of your wet face up close.

I wrap you in the warm towel and lead you to the sliding glass door and the heat and light of the indoors.

I stay outside, by myself and play in the rain. I photograph the sky, up there far into the darkness. How far can the camera see? How many raindrops will be in the photo, captured in that blink of a lens?  I want to catch the rain on film before it’s all gone.

You come out, all dry and warm now. You’re wearing your rain coat this time and under it I know you will be dressed in your soft flannel workshirt and worn jeans. Your feet are in Wellingtons now, shiny with rain.

I love your smile as you wrap me up in a big hug and the worn, old quilt from our bed.

“Come inside now.” You say. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper for a man. It’s sexy and you’re warm and sexier now too. I don’t mind leaving the rain behind.

Originally posted to Sex Kitten, October, 2014.  Hot Flash Fiction Friday: The Rain at Night