The Housewife's Dilemma

She sweeps the floor mechanically
Expertly tilting the corner of the broom
To remove the smallest crumbs
Nestled firmly in the corner
Her head wrapped in thoughts of him
How will she get out of it tonight…
He’ll want it, of course,
But the thought of slipping
His yeasty, gritty cock  
Between her thin, polite lips
Involuntarily makes her shudder.  
He can’t get if off his mind,
These blow jobs,
But she has other things to think about
And his insatiable dick isn’t one of them
Although, she must make him happy,
She must at least try,
So, she wipes clean
The little puddles of milk on the counter
Trying to come up with ideas, with counter stories,
A blazing headache…
An injury…
Perhaps she will start her period...
These thoughts making her tired
And melancholy.

She needn’t worry so much.
He’s in his office with the door
Cleverly locked and the lights turned off
Slick red lips perusing the length
Of his hardness
Up and down like a piston
His fist clutching platinum blonde locks
And he tries not to make a fool of himself
While he loses control
While he cums
Into her hot, red mouth
He feels a little sick
Looking at her  
As the cum begins to drip
In thin lines down her chin,
Her eyes narrow and astute
Because she knows what he really is,
Oh, she knows.    
And in the back of his mind
He hates his prudent wife
Hates her dainty, feminine excuses;
Who is at the moment, scrubbing the spaghetti
Sauce off of his shirt from last night’s dinner.