Massage parlor wife

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"Lynn, aren't you ever coming to bed?"

Lynn West, an attractive brunette of thirty-nine, didn't look up from the television set. "Later, Bill," she called to her husband. "I want to finish watching this movie."

Bill flopped down beside her on the couch and glared at the set. "What's so great about it?" he said.

"Ssssh," said Lynn.

She wished he would go away. The movie, a foreign film and relatively uncensored, was really making her horny. The young hero was the kind of lover she fantasized about, absolutely radiating sexuality. She wanted to enjoy it undisturbed, maybe even finger-fuck herself to a climax during one of the love scenes.

She glanced at her husband. At forty Bill was still a very attractive man, tall and muscular, his thick black hair going silver at the temples. He was bright, funny, charming. Yet her cunt didn't get all juicy when she looked at him. Fifteen years was an awfully long time to be married "Honey," said Bill, "you have to get up early."

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