Getting my own way.

It was one of those nights. I was at home, watching television, feeling a little randy. Hubby hadn’t got back from a golf day with his mates. I knew he’d probably be slightly the worse for wear and of no damn use to me. My mind wandered a little, thinking of sex. My hand wandered a little, too.
I was shocked back to reality when I heard the taxi door slam shut and heard him fumbling with his keys in the front door. Sure enough, he was a little drunk. He came into the lounge and staggered about saying he wasn’t drunk, just very tired. I think I’ll get to bed, he mumbled. Me too and I followed him into the bedroom. It was comical watching him strip off. I started to undress somewhat provocatively, trying to get his attention. Standing there, in my knickers and bra, walking about, picking up his clothes. All to no avail. I took my bra off and still couldn’t hold his attention. He got in bed and just lay there grunting.
In a last ditch bid to get him interested, I slipped out of my knickers and slipped into some silky French Knickers. I put on a matching top, nicely low-cut and strappy. I stood at his side of the bed, hands on my hips and asked if he wanted an aspirin. No, just sleep.
I climbed into bed. Our bedside lamps were on, so I reached over him, my tits brushing against his chest, and turned his off. I lay down and, reaching round his front, my nipples against his back, I slipped my hand down his pants and asked if there was anything else I could do for him. Maybe in the morning was the only thing he offered.
So that was that, or was it. I had to have some relief, so I lay there, my hand down my knickers, just gently touching my pussy. I'd spent some time, that morning, trimming my hairs. Such a neat triangle, very close cut, the perfect geometrical shape. Then, venturing between my legs, perfectly smooth, not a hair to be felt. My pussy lips, already slightly moistened from my thoughts alone. A finger ventured inside. Still so nice and tight from not having c***dren. My lips moving as the finger ventured inside and then out, flicking my clit on its adventurous journey. Wetter and wetter, another finger joined in. I parted my legs further as a third finger joined in. I'm usually a stickler for detail, when I write, but I can't recall what I was thinking about. Was it a cock, a girl licking me, I honestly can't remember. Suffice to say, both hands were down my knickers now, all ten digits working in perfect unison, inside and out, expertly making me cream.
One of my husband’s favourite things is to watch me touching myself. I know, as well, that, after a skinful of beer, he doesn’t sleep soundly. He’s continually twitching as he snores.
So, instead of trying to disguise what I was doing, I exaggerated my movements. As I played, I moved my elbow which lifted the duvet cover ever so slightly. I lifted one knee which obviously pulled the cover sharply. Rubbing away, the cover was now being pulled tight across his body. With each movement of my elbow, the duvet went taut, then relaxed. This went on for about 15 minutes. Then, his faint snoring stopped, an obvious sign he had woken up. I carried on, now letting out little gasps. I sat up ever so slowly, pretending that I was trying not to disturb him, and slipped my top over my head. I threw it on the floor. I lay back down. I raised my bum and slid my knickers down my legs, my hand ever so slightly touching his bum. As soon as it did, I moved a little away from him, again keeping up the pretence that I don’t want to wake him. I pushed the duvet down off my chest, one hand now tweaking my nipples, in turn, as my other hand carried on its work between my legs. My feet pressed into the mattress as I lifted my knees and pushed my knickers to my feet. Raising each foot, in turn I removed my knickers. As I pulled them towards me, they brushed against his legs. I dropped them by his lower back, the silk and lace pushing against him, with each movement of my arm. He loves the feel of my silky underwear. Sends him crazy.
Still no snoring. I got back to work. I was ever so wet now. Obviously, my own fingers were doing the business, but the knowledge that he was listening made it more exciting. I raised a knee again. God, the splashy splashy sound was getting louder. God, was that movement from him ? I felt the duvet pulling from his side. He was wanking. Awesome. I spread my legs wide, this time I put one leg right over his body and, quite literally, fingered myself stupid. As I felt his hand wanking his cock against my leg, I squirted all over his bum.
No sooner had I done that, he turned over and rammed his cock straight in me. It was one of those frantic fucks that can’t possibly last more than ten minutes. Just pure sex, leaving us both gasping and covered in sweat, squirt and spunk.
As we lay there afterwards, I asked how long he’d been listening to me masturbating. He said he’d known what I was doing for at least 10 minutes before I got naked. Did it turn you on, I asked. I think you’ve just had the answer to that, he smiled.
He kissed me on the lips before turning his back towards me. I lay back down and smiled, smugly. Well, I'd got my own way, after all, hadn't I ?