A Wife's Indulgence

…… from the home of WannabeGinger

(3)

 

Ginger's wife wants to put their relationship into context, and show how a marriage does grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. Only 24 hours has passed since the first chapter began….. and already some thoughts about her indulgence occur to his wife……..

 

The second evening…… It's 5 o'clock and, it being the weekend, that means time for a fuck, if both of us felt so moved. I did so… and made it clear. We always enjoyed a fuck at this time - sometimes a real quick one, sometimes a long slow and luxuriating one. Last evening had been a long, long one – and wonderful by any standards. As I prepared myself to make the suggestion, my pulse began to quicken. Tonight was bound to be different, because of last night….. Maybe not better, hopefully, not worse…. but different, certainly.

Now, we're back upstairs after a morning's "regret", "guilt", or even "shame"…. at least, it had seemed that way. What emotions had he gone through? What turmoil in his mind? By comparison, I was simply purring over the love-making we had enjoyed together. He was thoughtful and quiet all day – until I had said "It's 5 o'clock, are you busy?" I was feeling like a million Bucks, it's true. How was he feeling – it soon became clear. He was a willing and, indeed, an eager participant in what had been so enjoyable. We both wanted more.

I confess, writing this years later, that it was all unplanned, how it began, but it seemed so natural for us both – maybe not for everyone – but nothing to be ashamed of, guilty about, or regretful for. I say that, even though there have been big ups and downs since then – maybe some of which I'll write about. I guess, you could say that I had opened Pandora's Box without any knowledge of what was inside.

I couldn't foresee or plan for where "it" would go. "It?" His crossdressing. There had been none of that up to this time – the second evening. By then, I knew it would go further….. "It" again… It has a mind of its own perhaps. But I didn't know how far and how fast. Looking back, I think it's gone fast enough and the "Downs" have only come when "it" has gone too fast… or too much of a big step at one time.

Back to the evening concerned……. We were beside eachother in bed, or rather on the bed, with the folds of my blue silk nightgown stroking over his body. I reached for the lipstick at his suggestion – at least I think it was his…. or was it mine? I know that I wanted him to use it…..

"You should learn to do this for yourself." I breathed, as I outlined the shape of his lips with the golden-cased stick. The deep burgundy colour looked as rich and as sensual as the night before and this morning when we woke. I would have suggested he wore it all day had he not removed it all before showering.

"Maybe we can go out and buy me my own." He said, between the strokes of the stick across his mouth. "Maybe I should have my own."

"Maybe you should." I agreed. "We should go shopping tomorrow." As I coloured my own lips. "Maybe you'd like some eye shadow?"

Was that another turning point – too soon? In retrospect, it was. A turning point, that is.

We kissed, after both licking our lips to preserve the beauty of the moment. H didn't react to the suggestion - at least outwardly. I would find out when we were shopping whether it had met with his approval and agreement – or whether another bout of regret would ensue.

His kissing became more urgent than before, bringing me to a wonderful, moist-between-the-thighs feeling in no time at all. There was going to be fireworks…. if I as lucky as I hoped to be!

He "went South" very soon, sooner than usual, and lived up to the promise better than ever. As he reached my pussy, I cried out in anticipation…… and almost cruelly, he paused, breathing warm breath over my anxious thighs and the folds of my love nest. He actually paused long enough for me to wonder if he had gone cold….. I smoothed the silk of my nightie over his neck. Not being able to see his face, I couldn't tell his thoughts…. but he was merely tantalizing me and teasing me, before his tongue slipped gently into the labia on either side. He tongued me for minutes before straying deep into my pussy. His tongue touched what I now believe to be my "G-spot" deep inside.

His hand moved to the pillow next to my head where, it proved, he had secreted the toy we both loved; my "fucker", a nine-inch long, three-inch round, veined and headed dildo (what a bizarre word) that we called our fucker. He regularly brought me to intense orgasms with this lovely thing. It lacked the fake bollocks that so many have, and it wasn't a vibrating version – just a lovely strong, thick "fill-me-up" fucker. I recalled thinking that I would fuck myself if I could… well, in a sense, I had done, many times, when using this toy alone.

He had long ago learnt that my pleasure was especially strong if he licked me with the fucker in place, deep inside. I forgot that its "head" felt so good. But I also remembered that it was even more sensual if placed with the "head" going in last…. so that it would stand out an inch or two, allowing him to like me around a cock that seemed to be mine. In a moment, I could have my fantasy of a girl going down on me, changing to her – in this case, Ginger, sucking my fucker. Never had I, or we, been tempted to use the fucker on him. He was accustomed to giving it a very thorough licking before penetrating me, so he was no stranger to its more intimate shapes.

We had kissed and fucked for a long time with my having the hairbrush close by. Something reminded me. He had specifically asked to have me play with his hair again. He had enjoyed that a lot, I could tell. He loved my hair. Hair was his "thing" – or fetish, you could call it. He confessed later – one time when beautifully coiffed in our favourite salon – that he always looked first at a woman's hair, before any other physical feature. He had by then to come to the stage where he evaluated other women's hair by the answer to the question: "How would I look with hair like that?"

"Ready for your hair to be styled?" I asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be." was his answer.

"Then go and moisten it all, towel it dry and come back."

I had decided to give him the full experience of a woman's hair styling. A woman's hairstyle on a man. My husband. OK, This was my instigation. My idea. He hadn't asked for that.

He was back from the bathroom in a flash…….. but naked. Somehow, that was incongruous. He needed to be clothed, in my mind. His body needed to be clothed but he didn't realize that. He sat before me, expecting me to get on with his hair.

At this moment, a thousand thoughts rushed through my brain. He was a willing player in this theatre. He would be delighted whatever I would do. Could I risk shattering that by suggesting he get dressed – and, if so, into what precisely? I had a split second to decide – I know now – and this was a moment that might clearly change the course of the immediate future.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked. "I want you to make my hair as good as yours."

He reached up and touched the kiss curl that swept down beside my ear and up again, a lightly streaked curl that he had once called my "Fuck Me" curl.

His hair was as long as my own, even then, and was ready for rollers, if only quite smallones for the most part. I found myself thinking of how I would set it when his voice came again.

"I said, what are you waiting for, honey?"

Now or never. Would I, should I, suggest that nobody has their hair done when they're naked? Or should I not break the moment and just get on with it…… I could point to the peach satin nightgown still on the wardrobe door. I could point to its matching satin dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door. Both would fit him well enough. But both could send a shockwave through the room that might break the spell that bound us together.

In that moment I decided…..

"You say the most wonderful things. I know that you love my hair and I love you for it too." My mind was made up.

"Turn around and I'll do my best – you want hair like mine, you shall have it……. apart from the colour, that is!".

Not then, but later, at a similar moment, his fem name was conceived……. Every CD has to have one and it was his love of my own hair - its style and its colour – that gave him the name WannabeGinger. What a compliment, I thought…. and still love him for.

"Face the mirror." I instructed him. "You have to see every move."

"So I can do it myself?" He asked

"No, No, not unless you want to – one day – no, so you can see the care that it takes and the love I shall put into every curl…… as I roll them up, and as I brush them out when you're dry."

Sensual, this was going to be. We hadn't got near fucking yet, but already I was yearning for a good fuck to follow. He could detect that, I was sure. He was breathing quite shallowly once again. His heart rate was about 150, I'm sure…….

I brushed his hair though, left and right; from nape to crown; from up and down. No tangles remained. The tailcomb I needed was on the vanitory unit across the room. I left him sitting there to get it. As I returned, he was touching the strands of hair on his forehead, entwining them around his fingers.

"I've never had rollers in my hair." He said with a smile.

"Well, now's your chance." I laughed and began in earnest. His hair was already drying so sped was important. The tray of rollers that I usually used on my own hair was right beside where the tailcomb had been. There were more than enough for his head. I guessed around 20 or 25 would do it. Maybe three or four larger ones for the crown but mostly about one inch in diameter, allowing hair of about 3½ to 4 inches to be rolled tightly.

"And you've never fucked anyone with rollers in your hair, I'll bet." I challenged him. If this worked, I would have him fuck me with his hair all tightly rolled before I treated him to the comb-out and the resulting style.

"That would be tempting….." His voice tailed off.

"Gotcha!" I thought – that's a contract…….

At this point, again, I confess, I was driving the development of the fore-play – well, I can call it that, as it was "fore" something special, even though we had been fucking for an hour or more already. I lost thoughts of the risks involved. I had thought that he was thinking this was something we shouldn't be doing….. I had thought that he would be scared of getting "carried away" but, there and then, that didn't matter to me at all. I felt I was in control – both of myself (which I clearly was NOT), and of Ginger's desires. Where would this leads us? To his fucking me with rollers in his hair – that's where….. And MAYBE, just maybe, in a slinky peach satin nightie?

I parted his hair centrally from crown to forehead and placed large rollers either side of this line, high on his head. I placed a second roller either side, further forward, to extend a parting that would run from behind his fringe, to the crown where I then placed two large rollers running side to side – that would create an uplift at the crown. All of these were rolled tightly, to ensure the curls would hold through some energetic sex that was to come, but maybe not last until morning.

I next rolled-in two layers of curls below the crown, incorporating the fringe that would fall to his eyes. This left the shorter hair below ear level that could only go round smaller rollers – but where tighter curls would be found.

Every curl would flow away from the crown. The height of the crown would be determined by the back-combing I might, or might not do. And there it was. Done. I couldn't resist biting his ear, below a roller that was the last to go in. "Mmmmmmmm……" We agreed together! He knew, that I knew, that he was expected to fuck me… and soon! His hands began to wander towards my tits, encased in the blue silk.

"Not so fast!" I said strongly. "You have to have setting lotion spray."

The smell of the lotion just added to the exaggerated atmosphere we sensed as we laid back together.

"More lipstick"…………….. He said!

"For you and for me." I said.

"And what about eye shadow?" He said!

"No eye shadow, no fuck!" I said!

I was yearning to get his cock inside me but the fucker would have to do for now.

I found it beside my pillow, offered it to him to lick, and he slid it gently inside me again.

"Where's the eye shadow?" He asked.

"You'd better find it if you want a fuck." I taunted him.

There was a playfulness about this time that would be impossible to create if you tried. It just happened and it was wonderful. It was the sort of intimacy that couples rarely achieve (if achieving is your bag!)…. so few are as lucky are we were then. The world did not exist for either of us in that moment. He jumped from the bed, desperate to find the cosmetics that were so familiar to me, and so fantastic for him. He wanted the fuck and he wanted the cosmetics.

All of a sudden, from nowhere, I was tempted to play an Ace from the bottom of the deck. He didn't know what was coming.

"And if you tough another cosmetic before you find it, you have to use that as well.

Guess if he did?

  

  

  

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