Nick pulled open the door to his quiet suburban house and dropped his briefcase on the ground. He ripped off his suit jacket and hung it on the coat rack and loosened his tie from his white collar shirt.

"Tracy?" he called. He was answered by silence. "Honey?" Still no answer. He sighed. She was probably still at work in the office or out with her friends. He wouldn't be seeing her all night. Again, it was just his hand to keep him happy tonight.

He couldn't rememember the last time he made love to his wife. Actually, yes, he could, and it was probably the worst sex he's ever had. That was three months ago. Tracy was a good wife, but a terrible bed mate.

He climbed the stairs to his room when he heard the bed squeak. "Tracy?" he inquired again. He slowly pushed open the door. His wife lay on her stomach on their bed with her foot in the air. She was wearing the exact same thing he was, except for the pants and shoes. She was wearing fish net stockings and stilletos. The shirt's long sleeves hung off her thin frame, the top few buttoms undone, leaving her bare neck open and the top of her breasts peeking out.

She flipped her head over to look at him, her full black hair cascading over her eyes, lowered in seductivity. Nick admired the curve of her legs into her round buttocks, the fall of her back as it sunk into the bed, her pale tan sking showing through the light material.

She propped herself up on her knees, her legs spread. She pushed her hand underneath her thick hair and flipped it over her shoulder. She beckoned towards her husband, who took three long, yet slow strides towards her. Tracy grabbed Nick's loosened tie and pulled him towards her.

"Welcome home," she said in a low, husky voice. All Nick could do was gulp. He traced his hand along her side. "I can't wait to get my hands on you," he whispered, letting his eyes wander across her body. He noticed her nipples, pressing through the cotton.

Tracy pressed her finger to his lips. "Don't talk," she demanded. She replaced her finger with her lips and pulled her husband on top of her. When she felt his kisses become to dominant, she wriggled out from underneath of him

He positioned himself in the middle of the bed on his back. He had formed a tent in his pants with is hardened cock. Tracy threw one heeled leg over him and sat on his navel. Nick let quivering fingers unbutton her top, but when he reached for her bare breasts, she slapped his hand away. She unstrapped her stilletos, let them dangle from her finger, then dropped them on the ground, the whole time keeping eye contact with her husband's hungry eyes. She scoot down between his legs, unziped the zipper, and pulled the black slacks off along with the boxedrs, releasing his quivering member from its cotton prison. She pulled her fish nets off and pressed a hand lightly on her husband's cock.

"Tracy," he attempted to moan, but was muffled by Tracy shoving the stockings into his mouth.

"What did I say about talking?"

She grabbed his phallus in her hand and pressed the head against her wet clit. Gently she rubbed at first, then gradually she pressed the head harder to her sensetive area and rubbed faster. She watched her husband's face as she drove him crazy. Not once did she let him enter her. Only when she was nearing towards an orgasm did she roll over on her back and spread her legs. Nick quickly climbed on top of her and drove into her all to ready opening.

Tracy steadied herself by digging her nails into his back. Nick mercilessly pounded hito her, getting back at her for the torture she just put him through. He was nearing an orgasm, and thrust into her with three, slow, deliberate thrusts before releasing.

He collapsed on her, their lips melding together, in a soft, apologetic kiss. Now what was that he was saying about her being a terrible bed mate?