It was the Sunday of the NFL Championship games and I had given fair warning to my lovely wife that I would be commandeering the wide screen TV and the couch and would pretty much be worthless all day. We’ve been married long enough so that she took it well, giving me one of those eye rolling smiles and resigning herself to watching some love story marathon on one of the women channels in the other room.
I settled in for the pigskin marathon with the usual healthy snacks, put my feet up on the couch and promptly fell asleep in the middle of the first game. I was really more interested in the Packers-Giants game anyway, and by the time that game kicked off it was late in the afternoon. From time to time my lovely wife would stroll through the den and ask how things were going, doing a reasonably good job of pretending to be remotely interested. It was at a critical point in the second quarter when she asked the feared question:
“How much time before halftime?” she asked.
Generally when a wife asks this question she has some chore or duty planned and is politely gathering information for when best bahis firmaları to ask.
“There’s just a few minutes left,” I said cautiously.
“Hm. Is that regular time or football time?” she asked.
I laughed. “Football time,” I said. “So you probably need to multiply by a factor of four or five.”
I was awaiting the request that would no doubt come, take out the trash, or move some furniture, or whatever, but instead, she just smiled and nodded and walked out.
Shit I thought, she’s probably got something big I’m going to have to do. It was getting dark and colder outside, and I feared the task would involve going out, maybe even driving to the store.
About ten minutes later the first half ended, but I stayed on the couch watching the halftime analysis. After all, she didn’t officially ask me to do anything, so its not like I was dodging something.
Then I heard it, the inevitable question called out from the other room.
“Is it halftime yet?”
“Yeah, the first half just ended,” I said, dreading the upcoming task.
Then she walked into the room, and it was kaçak iddaa like the world had gone upside down. I looked up to see my lovely wife sashay into the room wearing a knockout silky red number that showed off her great figure and long legs. She walked slowly in front of me on the couch, between me and the long forgotten halftime show, giving me a different kind of show, moving slowly in the dark room and letting her hands drift slowly here and there over her body.
As shock gave way to arousal, I felt a stirring in my jeans at the completely unexpected show. Without a word, she came in close to the couch, got down on her knees, and brought her hands up to massage the front of my jeans.
In seconds she had worked my jeans open and had her hands giving my shaft a vigorous workout, and before I could collect myself enough to close my wide open mouth she had taken me in her mouth, and her head moved rhythmically up and down as she let my shaft run in and out of her mouth. I was still too stunned to move but just sat there watching her perform a passionate, old fashioned cock sucking.
Almost before kaçak bahis I had gathered a complete realization of what was happening, I felt myself building to an intense orgasm, and as I moaned and watched my surging cock slide across my wife’s hungry lips I could feel the release shooting warm loads into her mouth. She took it all, swallowed every bit, and continued to lightly lick and suck my cock as it slowly lost its hardness.
And then, as quickly and unexpectedly as it started, my wife smiled, stood up, and looked at me lying spent on the couch. And then said a most unexpected thing:
“Enjoy the second half,” she said smiling. Then she walked out of the room.
My eyes watched her leave the room, and then they slid back over the television, where the teams were just lining up for the second half. As I sat there trying to find my wits I had the sudden realization that my clever wife had just delivered a fantasy that was so good I had never even thought about it before—the halftime blow job. No strings attached, just a fast, neat blow job and then back to the game. It didn’t matter what happened in the second half, it was the best football game I’d ever sat through.
Writer’s note: Husbands, send this to your wives. Wives, do this for your husbands. I don’t think you can imagine how much they’ll appreciate it!