One Day Sunday: Epilogue by debee

One Day Sunday: Epilogue

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I left work two hours early and I still had to scurry. It was our One Year anniversary and I wanted to be completely changed and ready when my wife came home. It wasn’t our “girl week” yet, but this was a special occasion.

We’d eventually settled on a “one week on, four weeks off” schedule. We agreed to stick to it regardless of our ‘moods’. Discipline in such matters being an important element. A week was enough for plenty of playtime. Dressing games, undressing games, shopping games, public games, in the bedroom games. A week of sating our desires.

Four weeks off kept things fresh, with time to whet our appetite, time to plan, share new ideas, dream up a new variation on the theme.

And there were so many lovely variations. Male lesbian, domestic maid (the house was never cleaner), role reversal, rape play (I recalled with a thrill the time my wife slapped me around, because I ”looked and acted like a slut all day long,” which was quite true. She tore my clothes the then and forcefully and painfully entered me with her strap-on), various forms of bdsm, femdom…

As I heard the front door open I timed my peek in the oven so that I would be bent over when she came in the kitchen. I was rewarded with a hardy slap on the ass. “Welcome home dear,” I said turning. “I’ve started on some wine, can I get you one?”

She walked to the ‘fridge and took out a can of beer and cracked it open. She held it up in toast and I clanked my stem glass against the aluminum rim. “To the wife beaters,” she said.

“And the sluts that deserve it,” I returned. We smiled at our familiar toast and drank. “Funny, I was just thinking of the first time we invented that toast.”

“You’ve changed already. Gawd, how can you stand those confining clothes?”

“…price of fashion.”

“Well, I can’t wait to get out of these.” She took her beer and headed for the bedroom and I followed behind with my wine. “And it’s not yet our ‘on’ week, is it?”

I watched her change into a t-shirt, gray sweat pants, white gym socks. “Well I thought… that the occasion called for… a bit of … festivity.“ My wife stood looking blank. “Do you recognize my outfit?” I had since acquired much to fill my wardrobe. I hadn’t, until now, repeated the exact same combination as I wore home from the mall that evening.

“Looks like what you wore that first…” I watched the dawn break. “Has it been a year?” I turned my back and folded my arms in a pout. I normally pretended to be womanish and petulant for fun, but my feelings were really hurt.

“A year,” my wife repeated, “well in that case… there’s something on your vanity for you.” She cracked a grin. I spied a small gift wrapped in newspaper and string.

“You knew all along, you prick,” I laughed. “Oh, what is it?” I tore at the paper.

“Don’t break it in your lust for booty. I think you’re greedier when you wear a skirt. I wonder why that is…?”

“You darling. Oh, I love her! Whoever she is,” and I kissed the glass on the frame, leaving a lovely red kiss mark.” Under the glass was the girl in the ad from the magazine a year ago. My wife had found it and framed it. Jotted at the bottom was “ The Girl that Started it All xxox”

“That’s so nice. You’re a darling. But really,” I said looking at the picture, “don’t you think that top’s cute? Eeek!”

My wife threw me on the bed and climbed on top. “I want to fuck!” and she smeared my lipstick with hard kisses. She liked doing that. “Come here my little shemale. The ‘she’ is sexy to kiss, but right now I need the ‘male,’ down here. Let’s free it up!”

I exhaled and made my body limp in mock exhaustion. “I can’t. The tie’s under my corset and I’m not getting all undone. I want to stay nice for dinner.” I made weak fists and pounded on her chest.

“Fuck the dinner. I want an appetizer right now!” and she started to unbutton my blouse.

“Don’t pop the button, you clumsy. Let me.” I sighed. “ If you must, you must. But I’m not getting all undone. Take those sweat pants off.” I removed my blouse and unzipped my skirt and let fall to the floor. I walked casually to the dresser where we had our special drawer of things and pulled out her strap-on.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

“I know. You always get to wear this. My turn.” I strapped the holder around my waist and the thick black dildo hung in the place where my own manhood should have been.

“That’s hot. That’s a good look for you, Hun.” She was right, I thought as I gazed in my vanity mirror. Black spike heel boots and stockings, pink panties, black ‘cock,’ pink garters, black corset, pink bra, all in an hourglass package. She reached over and grabbed my “cock” and pulled me to her. “Yum,” she said. I crawled on the bed and flipped to my back.

“Mount me, please.”

“With pleasure.” As she started to roll on top, she hesitated. “But what about you? This is so selfish.”

“We both like a good fast fuck sometimes. I just like pleasing you. Use me, I’ll enjoy that.” I held my big black ‘cock’ steady while she slowly settled on it. She gasped as she pushed in the last two inches and my body took her weight. My wife looked down at me lovingly, smiled and closed her eyes. She slowly began to gyrate. I studied her intense expression as I counter pointed her movements with my pelvis.

You know we’re “on” next week?” I said, almost conversationally.

“Um hum” was the dreamy reply.

“I was thinking ‘school girl.’ A plaid mini, white blouse, Mary Janes. all easy stuff to get. Except the stockings… When did you last see opaque white stockings?”

“Humph.” She picked up the tempo a bit.

“Of course there’s always knee highs. Or tights,” I said.

She opened her eyes to say, “Boring.”

“Well in a perfect world, I’d wear…”

“This is a perfect world,” and she bent down and kissed me tenderly. She closed her eyes again and settled back into her motion. “Amy Catlin was a cheerleader in my class.”

My ‘school girl’ idea apparently triggered a memory. “What a bitch.” She continued, ”they all were, really. The cheerleaders. Big clique. All bitches. Snots.” The eyes remained closed, the motion steady.

“I never dated one,” I said. “Always wanted to.”

“You didn’t want a cheerleader. You wanted to be a cheerleader.” She giggled and continued her rhythm. When I moaned, she reached behind and down to rub my clit, but the position was awkward and she broke her stride. “Here, let me.” I slid my hand under my ass and took over the massaging. She smiled, relieved, and resumed her rhythm.

“So true,” I admitted. “But you are right. Snots and bitches all. But cute outfits. Bare legs though. I better get another wax.” I united our trains of thought. “The cunts, with their wool pleated mini skirts. Wouldn’t you love to teach one a lesson? Hold that cunt down and give it to her? Give it to her hard like she deserves?” The motion picked up tempo. ”You know how she wears that shit. Twirls around just to show her panty ass to the crowd… rip those fuckers off and teach that snotty cunt a lesson… wearing little sneakers… tight sweaters… hair spray… flavored lip gloss… bare legs… the fucking endless boyfriends…”

She was really was starting to thrust.

Another variation, I thought to myself.

“Fucking pompoms,” my wife said and pumped faster

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