An Enthusiastic HomeCUMMING For My Attorney-Husband

A corresponding friend has urged me to write again, and I’d been protesting for months that I have no interest (at least currently, and those of you who’ve read me know it’s been some time since I posted). I thought of picking up one of my fiction threads, but each seemed more like work than fun. And I thought of going back to my journal for fodder of our own life and exploits (and, importantly, sexploits), but to say that I’ve become very comfortable with my married life and probably take the joy my husband and I take in one another a bit perfunctorily would be an understatement.

Then, as the universe is wont to do, a couple of weeks ago my husband had to go out of town for the entire week, and I was reminded just how lucky I am and how dependent upon the pleasures of our marriage I am. Still, that didn’t push me to write about the experience – the angst of a middle-aged sex addict and reformed slut . . . blech! Particularly when I didn’t do anything “naughty” about it while he was away, despite my dire need! LOL

We did, however, manage to show one another how much we’d missed each other and made up for a bit of lost time upon his return. During a dinner with friends last week – a bunch of rowdy gays of course – somehow the story got told by my usually much more subtle and private husband. And at the point that one of the guys said, “I don’t know about any of the rest of you but I won’t be able to leave this table for a while – this is better than porn!” and another friend said, “This IS porn!” it dawned on me that maybe I should write this up and see if it sparks my desire to write again. While they have the benefit of knowing us and having that knowledge to enhance the events, I can hope that those of you who read this get at least a rise out of it. Enjoy!

As always, feel free to email me or to post through this wonderful site Bjorn keeps up for us.

An Enthusiastic HomeCUMMING for my Attorney-Husband

by BillyC

The rain pelted down so hard it slapped against the asphalt and concrete and sounded like a Saturday night in the back room at the Eagle. Yes, that was honestly the thought that went through my head. The big one . . . LOL A few stories up I’m sure the rain sounded more like booming hits, but on the first floor all I could hear was the slap of the rain on the ground. The building had good drainage, I’ll give it that.

My mind went back to the Eagle. I used to enjoy the anonymous debauchery of late Fridays and Saturdays there, getting my fill of raunchy sex with strangers . . . or their fill, as it were. My cock was raging hard anyway. I’d just awakened, so it was that and also because I hadn’t had any ass for days – I didn’t want to count how many! I wasn’t used to waking up alone, but my husband had to go on a business trip Monday, and here it was Friday.

FUCK – I COUNTED THE DAMN DAYS! Jim was coming home this afternoon, thank God! I knew he was as horny as I was – maybe hornier.

I chuckled to myself and flicked my drooling cock and listened to the rain pounding . . . the way I’d be pounding Jim’s still-perfect ass despite us both hurtling toward 50. No, I decided, I’m not jacking off – I’m saving it to pump him full when he gets home. Maybe before we get home from the airport.

I was staying at our condo in the District while he was gone. Somehow our house out on the bay always seemed so empty when he wasn’t there. We had talked about getting a dog, but with his son, my stepson, away in college, and the house we worked in the District, it wouldn’t be fair to the dog. So the house was empty when he was away.

After most of my life as a Marine, almost the entire time in MARSOC, being alone for a few days here and there shouldn’t be a problem. And before I met my husband, as much as I’d been comfortable with the camaraderie of whatever group of men I was on this mission or that with, I was, essentially, a loner at heart. But this aging Marine had been as thoroughly captivated by my husband as possible, rendering me into the state of neediness for him.

I flicked my throbbing, drooling cock again and then brought my slick thumb up to my lips and rubbed my own precum around like my husband often did before he kissed the breath out of me and stoked the fire within me to volcano level. Yeah, no way I wasn’t going to jack off . . . just too fucking horny . . .

I gripped my shaft and felt the heft and throbbing, resigned to abandoning my plan to save it for Jim this afternoon. God knows I’d still fuck him through the wall regardless. I felt another dollop of precum drop to my abs above my belly button and listened to the rain, thinking it would be louder when I slamfucked my husband. I slowly stroked my shaft inside my sheath of skin—

HOLYFUCKINGSHIT! My phone seemed loud despite the rain when “Take a Chance On Me” blared. I almost ripped my cock off in my own grip when I started at the sound of Jim’s ringtone. I loosed my grip on my cock and got a grip on myself, pawed at the night table and found my phone just as the first four lines were about to repeat. “Hey handsome.”

“Get your hand off your cock and save it for me!” he led with, making me jerk my hand away and look around to see if he’d installed a camera or was standing in the doorway. “I’m right, aren’t I? You were jacking off, weren’t you, you horny stag?” he posited correctly. I just laughed. “Save it for me. I’m taking an earlier flight out – can you save it for me?”

I calculated the time in my head, though the blood was still sparse there, most of it still in my horsecock, which was still throbbing despite the interrupting, maybe more so for my husband’s voice on the phone. It was an hour earlier there than home, making it before oh six hundred. If he was taking an earlier flight why didn’t he just take a late flight out last night, I wondered.

“ . . . so I’m just doing the breakfast – it’s early because he has to get prepared for his meeting to approve the settlement – and will catch the flight just around oh nine hundred and get in to either Baltimore or National right around twelve hundred. Your choice of airport.” My husband had long since re-adopted military time, as I was incapable of doing anything more than adapting from Zulu to local time.

“But I thought you had to be there for that meeting with him,” I found myself saying, despite my excitement that he’d be home before his original plan to get home late in the evening.

“What’s the matter? You have a date or something?” he teased me.

“Yeah, I’ve got a date, all right,” I snarked back. “And your ass better be ready for a week’s worth of me!”

I heard him take a quick breath and knew that if I’d been there I’d have seen his eyes flash and roll back a bit. Yeah – almost four years and we still did that to each other! “Tell you what,” he replied lower than his usual baritone, slowly, “I’ll be lubed and ready . . . and you’d better be, too, because I’ve had to fight to keep my mind on my work all week instead of on you fucking my brains out with that huge, insatiable cock and filling me with a gallon or two of your spunk.” It was my turn for my breath to catch, and he heard it. “I may not let you out of grip all weekend, Colonel. I’ve missed you . . . a lot!”

“We’re supposed to meet Nate and Stacy for dinner tomorrow,” I managed to tease.

“You may have to adjourn that,” he said. “Either that or you might be wheeling me in a wheelchair because I won’t be able to walk and your cock will be sore and raw from fucking me five days’ worth in a day instead of over the full weekend.”

“Not like you haven’t hobbled out somewhere before, Counselor,” I laughed. Once he actually grabbed a cane from my knee surgery without me seeing it, and when we got to the theatre where our friends were meeting us, he mimicked such difficulty in walking that I couldn’t stop laughing through the entire first act. Good thing it was a comedy!

“Remember Wishful Drinking?” he asked, as usual fully inside my head. Before I could answer he said, “This time I won’t be faking. I seriously need a healthy dose of Marine fucking.”

“If you keep that up, I will definitely not be able to keep from jacking off right now,” I warned him.

“I’m the one who’s UP, babe. I’ve been hard most of the time since I left. You’ve totally cock-whipped me, Marine. All I want to do is be your bitchboy twenty-four seven.”

“Don’t lube,” was all I said, and I heard his gasp louder this time. “And make it National – no way I’m driving forty-five minutes in the car before I can fuck my husband.”

“No. BWI. And meet me in baggage.”

“FUCK!” I gasped involuntarily.

“Exactly!” he replied. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. I love you,” I told him breathily, needing most of my control not to jack my cock, my body electrified.

“Yeah, you’re not JUST a hot-fucking horsehung sex partner to me, either,” he retorted, making me laugh. “I’ve missed you this trip, Billy,” he added quietly. “A lot.”

“Me, too, Jimmy. Me, too.”

He had to get showered for his early breakfast, and I had to call in to my assistant I was taking the day off, so he said his secretary would text the flight info, and we ended the call. My cock wasn’t happy – he’s not as patient as I am. I had a CO once that said it was a shame we couldn’t train our cocks like we get trained for missions so that we weren’t as driven by “penile impatience”. High concept for a jarhead!

Good thing it was still cold enough for a coat because my three-quarters length cashmere car coat (that I’d thought was way too expensive when my husband bought it for me) barely concealed my raging bone in my jeans when I parked at Baltimore airport and walked to the baggage claim. I was also fairly certain that there was a precum stain near my knee that was visible and hoped that my quick, determined gait – despite the discomfort of my raging cock stuffed down the leg of my jeans –  might make it less noticeable. In truth I didn’t give a shit about any of that and only had one real priority – fucking my husband. The rest was just smatterings of thoughts rolling around as the time passed.

I found the men’s room nearest where the passengers came from the gates and did some recon. A fairly large space, with two separate parallel aisles. The first was sinks along one side and urinals along the other. Going farther into the restroom, the second aisle was all stalls, about six on either side, with two handicapped stalls facing one another at the end. And it might have just been in my head, but that end was darker, particularly so in the left-hand corner handicapped stall. Because there were two handicapped stalls I forced myself to get past my usual refusal to use those stalls because I am hyper-conscious of the needs of people whom they’re made for – too many brothers having come home with that kind of challenge.

My text, in response to his that said he was on the ground, was simple:

left into baggage, men’s on left app 10 yds, last stall on left

His was equally simple:

be hard – I NEED your cock in me NOW!

I didn’t text back – not a problem – but could have truthfully. I was standing there, back against the wall, my jeans unbuttoned, my cock straight out, throbbing and drooling already onto the surprisingly clean floor.

It seemed like forever but was probably no more than seven minutes before I saw his head over the top of the stall – good being tall for these types of covert ops! I flicked the latch on the stall door, and he was in and I was re-latching it before I had time to catch the breath that escaped when I saw my handsome husband. Of course it might also have been that he’d yanked me to him, shoved his lips into mine and had his free hand on my cock smearing my precum all over it.

When my cock was well-lubed and I was panting from the stimulation, careening perilously close to a premature ejaculation, he yanked that hand away, still holding me tight against him as he sucked my face, and began fumbling with his belt and slacks. Unlike me he was in a suit and tie, probably what he’d worn to breakfast. I reached for him and got a grip on his huge, hard cock just as he broke the kiss so that he could get his pants over his hips so that they’d fall. Instantly he was turned around, hands against the stall wall, ass out toward me, pulling me in by my cock, his buttfur tickling my already sensitive head.

I didn’t have to be pulled. I was ON him instantly, rubbing my precummy cockhead against his hole with my hand guiding my cock, my other hand having pushed up his ridiculously expensive silk and wool suit jacket and fine cotton dress shirt and was biting the back of his neck already. I felt his tight pucker – now slick with my cock snot – give just a little, I clamped my hand over his mouth and SHOVED myself inside him in one thrust.

“MMMMMMMMMGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMM!” was all that came out of him as a muffled cry, which I knew as both pain and ecstasy.

I didn’t wait for him to loosen up or get used to me – I knew he didn’t want that, and I probably couldn’t have even if he did. I began pumping into him HARD and FAST and felt my nuts swinging into his, heard my furry groin smacking his furry buttglobes, sounding a lot different than the rain earlier that I’d though sounded like this. No, THIS was what WE sounded like.

Jim was shoving back, meeting every thrust, as needy for it as I was to give it. Somehow my nuts were holding back, just a bit before the edge, my cock throbbing, nuts tingling, but not skyrocketing over that edge – I guess it was as happy to be where it belonged as I was to have it there, and it wanted to make this last.

After a few minutes of really ROUGH impact – him slamming back onto me, me slamming into him – I bent one knee a little and changed my angle to where I knew his target was. “OHFU--!” he gasped before I could get my hand over his mouth again.

I felt his stretched-tight cunt begin to spasm in time with my fuckrod’s impact on his spot and drilled him irregularly – uneven pace and uneven force – feeling his body begin to shake in time to the impacts the way I knew he would respond.  He hissed in what I’m sure he thought was a whisper but sounded like it echoed off the tile walls of the restroom, “Oh god PLEEEESE!” and began working my cock more aggressively with his cuntwalls and fuckring as I continued to pummel his p-spot.

My cock was beginning to lose its resistance to his cuntmuscles massaging it after a few more minutes, so I knew I had to give him what he wanted . . . and what I wanted. I began pummeling his spot in earnest, and within a minute he was bucking and shouting into his own arm that he was chewing to muffle himself because I had my grip on his waist.

I felt his first cum eruption as surely as if he’d been inside me instead of vice versa. His fuckshoot CLENCHED on my cock as his entire body went rigid and then exploded in spasms and muffled shouts. As he did, his cunt began spasming around my cock as his body pumped out his built-up seedload, and those spasms made me lose mine, too.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FFFFFFFFFFFFFF UUUUUUUUUUU CCCCCCCCCCCC KKKKKK!!” I growled, trying to be quiet, but the explosion inside me emanating from my nuts and blasting out my cock as it radiated through me from my hair follicles to my toes in excrutiating waves of the most extreme pleasure I’ve ever felt.

Jim turned his head around as if he was going to lean back but then just banged the side of his head against the stall wall, his eyes closed, and said, “OH GOD YES! Give it to me!” as his talented, wrecked fuckhole milked every drop out of me.

We were both heaving as we fought for breath, him crushed into the stall wall, me on his back, still buried inside him. His upper back was sweaty against my face, and his shirt and coat were crumpled up and over my face. The smell of him clean was in his shirt and coat, and the smell of him dirty and sweaty and sexed-up was everywhere else. If I could have stayed just like that, my arms now wrapped around his torso, the delight of his pelted, ripped musculature comforting me along with his strong, furry arms over mine on across his torso, I would have.

Finally he did lean his head back and nuzzled against mine. “Take me home and do it again, Colonel?” he offered in a low growl.

“With pleasure, Counselor,” I murmured against him, my nose buried in his sweaty neck now.

I began my dismount far gentler than my entry, but still he hissed in pain, and I stopped as he did. “GODDAMMIT!” After a few breaths and a beat, “Why did I have to marry a fucking stallion?” The last was with a pained laugh.

“At least it wasn’t a shotgun wedding,” I quipped back.

“If I could have gotten knocked up, I would have been, given the amount of seed you filled me with.”

That was the first time I was conscious of the noises around us in the men’s room, and the noise I heard was a long groan of the type a man gives ONLY when he’s about to blow his load. It was quickly followed by “SHIT FUCK that’s HOT!” and then some panting and gasps. And . . . it was in the next stall.

Jim and I had both snapped to attention hearing the guy in the stall next to us. Then we both started laughing, trying to be quiet, but both wracked with gut laughs and bouncing against each other and against the stall wall.

I went to disengage again, but then I remembered that his slacks were around his ankles, and although in a wad on a restroom floor, having a huge cumwad plop out of his ass and splatter all over that precious fabric when I pulled out was probably not advantageous. “So,” I said, hoping I was speaking soft enough behind my husband’s ear to not involve our adjacent stall guy in our conversation, “I don’t suppose you brought a butt plug with you?”  

“Left pocket of my coat,” he said matter-of-factly, and I guffawed. Of course he had a butt plug with him! Probably gave some TSA agent a thrill when we went through the airport scanner. “I suspect it’s somewhere up around my left shoulder,” he offered helpfully, laughing himself.

I did manage to get the butt plug out of the pocket of his jacket without incident other than a contortion or two as we remained linked at the core of us. Then I whispered in Jim’s ear, “Think of Beckham,” as I pushed the butt plug against his messy hole and my still-buried cock and pushed until he groaned. “Breathe,” I ordered, quietly, both an inside joke and a helpful suggestion, as I increased the pressure. “Just unnnnnn gggggggg hhhhhhhhh,” he groaned, “do rrrrrgggggggg gggggggggggrrrrrrrrrr it!” he told me.

I did, and he gasped loud enough to get our stall-neighbor’s attention. “You guys going again? Wow!”

Jim was panting. When I pulled out – with great effort from his double-stretched fuckhole, eliciting a louder groan from him and a hissed “FUCK!” – I shoved my still-half-hard cock against his slimy crack and pushed against the butt of the plug to make sure it was seated and also to wipe off some of the slime from my cock.

“Nothing to see here,” I called over the stall wall. “Move along!”

Plugged and disengaged, Jim had turned around and pulled me in for a long, deep kiss again. When we broke for a breath, I said, “Why don’t we get out of here and go home so we can do this again?”

“You’re always full of great ideas, Marine,” he told me, giving my cock and balls a good squeeze. “And VERY well-equipped, too, I might add,” giving me a firmer squeeze and shake, a filthy grin on his face.

As Jim bent to pull up his pants and winced and absently rubbed his left hand over his ass I smirked with satisfaction. His eyes met mine, and he laughed, too. “Keep it up, Marine; by the time this weekend is over, your cock is going to be so friction-burned you won’t be able to wear pants.”

At the same time as I retorted, “Promises, promises,” from the next stall we heard, “HOT!” We laughed, then we heard a deep laugh from the next stall. “Thought I told you already,” I called over the stall wall as Jim finished getting his boxer briefs and slacks up and fastened, “Nothing to see here, move along!”

At that I realized there WAS something to see. I had reflexively looked down to the stall wall and floor, where I was going to use the wad of toilet tissue I’d grabbed up to swab up the mess Jim shot. The stall wall was indeed drenched with cum-splatters running down, but the puddle on the floor was nothing more than a shiny spot already wiped . . . obviously with fingers. I pointed down, and Jim turned and looked and then clamped his hand over his face and tried to hold back his laughter. I, on the other hand, was not as amused. The irrational wave of anger flashed through me that another man had my husband’s seed.

He saw the look on my face and knew what I was thinking. Jim pulled me in for one more kiss – quick and forceful – and then released me with, “That WAS a promise! JUST for you!!!” Then he took the wad of tissue and wiped the stall wall himself.

I was still roiling inside, coming down from the adrenaline rush of anger and also from the intense kiss as Jim pitched the wad of cummy tissue into the bowl and turned threw the bolt on the stall door. The toilet auto-flushed as we went out, and my other thoughts were derailed as the irrelevant thought went through my mind about how many times the toilet might have auto-flushed while we were . . . engaged . . . and didn’t notice it.

Just as we walked into the aisle of the men’s room and my mind was full of conflicting thought streams, the next stall opened, and to my surprise the man who exited was a hot pilot. “DAYUM!” he exclaimed with what we found was a natural drawl, obviously giving us each a long look up and down. I’m not sure why it surprised me that he was a pilot as opposed to any other guy, but it did. And his uniform shirt was well-tailored around very broad shoulders and a tiny waist. Nice that we had a voyeur who was hot!

We all three made our way to wash our hands at the sink along with many other incoming and outgoing men in the restroom. As we were drying, the pilot asked, “Don’t suppose you two—“

“Nope!” Jim cut him off mid-sentence. “But thanks for the compliment of asking.”

“Jack Palmer,” he said, thrusting his hand out.

I guffawed, and Chuck let a more discreet laugh go. “Seriously?” I asked, and the pilot was clearly taken aback, not knowing where I was going. “JACK . . . PALMer?” I enunciated and then gave a quick version of the universal gesture with my open fist, obvious why I was laughing.

The hot pilot, dark-complected, dark curly hair, built hard and shapely and about five-ten or so, probably about one sixty-five under his pretty mug, actually blushed, and then he laughed. “Yeah, actually. Guess my parents knew what my most frequent activity would be when I grew up.”

We were walking out of the restroom and into the baggage area by then, so I leaned in close to say, “Well, Jack, IF that’s your most frequent activity, I’m sure it’s by choice, not for lack of men to eagerly enjoy a sexy guy like you. Have a great one, man.”

We walked on and threw a backward glance to see Palmer grinning and blushing even more than earlier.

In the truck leaving the short-term parking, Jim leaned across the console and put his head on my shoulder and his hand on my thigh. “Mmmmmmmm,” he cooed.

“Had enough, husband? Fucked and happy?” I teased him, and I took my right arm off the wheel and got it around him and held him closer against me.

“No and yes. And also loving that I have such a great husband in general. You really made Jack Palmer’s day.”

I guffawed again. “Uh, WE made his day, Counselor,” I told him.

“No,” Jim argued, twisting his head up and kissing my chin. “WE gave him a great show. But you told him he was sexy, and that was really nice of you.”

“You’re not jealous?” I teased.

Jim clamped his big hand on my cock in the crotch of my pants, instantly causing my one hand on the steering wheel to cause us to swerve a little before I got it together again. “NOT a BIT,” he told me. “I’ve got THIS,” he continued, giving me a healthy squeeze. “Jack’s got his palm,” he deadpanned.

“You keep that up, Counselor, and we’ll have to pull over before we get home, and then you’ll be in danger of a misdemeanor lewd conduct in public charge!” I told him, not entirely joking, as my jeans were once again very uncomfortable as my cock was contorted.

Jim began rubbing my nuts as my cock continued to grow. “If you take Truman off fifty . . . “

“Broad Creek,” I finished the thought, a little breathily, given the DICKstraction and my attempt to pay attention to the entry to I-ninety-seven.

Jim unbuttoned the waist button of my jeans and teased my fur underneath. And then he unbuttoned the second button. “Exactly,” he said, his fingers brushing the shaft of my painfully confined cock.

I'll once again thank Bjorn, who deserves all our thanks for maintaining this site for our pleasure(s). Thanks, man, for all you do.