Page 106 of Rage

Iroll over, cursing the blare of the damnable alarm clock. It’s only Tuesday; which means four more days of oppressive patriarchal corporate bullshit before I can relax into the weekend again. It’s not the job I mind, per se. It’s more the male dominated workspace that goes with being client liaison at a global financial institution.

Like I said—bullshit.

I roll back, smiling at the sleeping form of the woman next to me. My gorgeous wife, peaceful in her slumber, her shock of purple hair vivid against the cream pillowslip. As usual, the alarm hasn’t even begun to disturb her sleep. But that’s okay, because that means I get to do one of my very favorite things.

I trail my hand down her side, never once taking my eyes off her face. Kath always sleeps naked, at my behest, because then I get to fully enjoy the pleasure that comes in waking her up with my body.

My fingers ghost over the curves of her supple figure, the taut skin smooth under my touch. I bring my hand to a halt on herhip, thumb tracing a line down the crease, the juncture of her thigh and hip always one of my favorite places to linger.

I move down under the cover, exerting slight pressure as I do so. She rolls under me, with me, sighing in her sleep, legs falling akimbo, inviting me to love her at will.

I keep one hand where it is, bringing the other under and around her thigh to hold her leg open for me. A moment passes, time enough for me to glory in the sight laid before me; my stunning wife, her short-trimmed curls adorning swollen pink pussy lips, glistening with her juices in the muted morning light.

I part her folds, running a long lick from hole to clit, loving the way she thrusts her hips, the small moan that leaves her mouth audible even under the light coverlet. My touches are light, teasing, just the right kind of sensation for her to enjoy it. My lover has never been one for fast, hard fucking or intense stimulation, preferring instead this gentle, building overload of pleasure.

She’s the opposite of me, in many ways; I’m all for the tentacle dildos, all the fucking way please, and bring it the fuck on with that intensity of vibrators and stimulating toy play.

But Kath? She can tolerate a gentle fingering from me, but the thought of full penetration brings her anxiety to a startling forefront. It’s a sensory thing of hers, a real issue that she’s always had, and any kind of attempt to desensitize her has always resulted in her tensing up and shutting down.

But because of that, she’s never been with a guy; not once, not ever… Not even in the dregs of high school years when you simplyhadto lose your V-card or be branded the frigid lesbian.

Well, case in point, because that latter description is wholly true, but Bobby motherfucking Carter didn’t give a shit when he forced himself on me after a football game one night in senior high.

But not her; not my Katherine. She’s all fucking mine, and she always has been.

No-one else gets to see the way her body reacts to my touch, the way she rolls her pelvis up to meet my mouth when I suckle on her clit. Just the way she is doing now. My fingers are digging into the top of her thigh, likely hard enough to leave bruises as I pin her to the bed and to me, eagerly lapping at her soft womanhood.

She’s starting to wake now, so I stop my ministrations, unhooking my arm to ease myself up her body. Crawling upward, I bring a rosy pink nipple into my mouth on the way, my gaze fixed on her sleep-wakened pupils, a lazy smile on her face as she realizes I’ve been making love to her in slumber.

Her hands come around me, tangling bed-warmed fingers into my long blonde tresses, simultaneously trying to bring me up to kiss her and clutch me to her breast.

“Fuck, Lar…”

She’s breathless with desire, gravel-streaked voice barely sounding my name—but this is how I adore her, how I worship at her altar; bringing her pleasure is the greatest pleasure to me.

Her warm, wet pussy grinds against my stomach, desperately seeking friction. But then I did leave her wanting. So, I help, bringing one palm down to clutch at her mound, allowing her to ride the juncture between thumb and forefinger to bring some much-needed relief. My other hand snakes around the back of her neck as I claim her mouth, knowing she can taste herself all over me—a fact which only heightens both our desires.

As she crests again, pushing herself into my hand, I allow the tip of one finger to penetrate, just a shallow dip. But she immediately tenses up at the contact, so I withdraw.

She breaks the kiss, eyes screwed tight, a pained look crossing her sweet face. “I’m sorry, I-I can’t. Not today, Lar…”

“It’s okay, my darling. Whatever you need, you know that,” I murmur. I bring our mouths together one more time, knowing I really need to get a move on if I want to climb in the shower before work.

I slip away from my lover and from the bed, hearing the satisfied sigh as she rolls over and settles back to her peaceful rest again. She needs it at the moment; besides the commissions she’s had coming in from the gallery installation, she’s working on some new project. I adore her commitment, spending all her waking hours holed up in the bright, open studio at the back of our city apartment.

I love her drive, her passion to create, and I can’t wait to see what she’s accomplished while burning her candle right down like this. She's been so tired these past couple weeks, but I know she won’t stop until she’s got down the vision in her mind’s eye. Then again, I’ll never ask before she’s ready to show me.

I turn on the shower, waiting for the water to warm slightly before stepping into the cubicle. A brief interlude with the detachable shower head and a handy deodorant bottle are all I need to get myself off. Well, that and my lover’s taste, which I lick from the palm of the hand she rode, greedy to consume all of her.

There’s little time to spare after I’m done getting dressed, so I catch up on social feeds while eating a crunch bar. The box is finished, but I have to heave a sigh as I look at the already overflowing recycling pile. Ignoring Kathy’s note to say she’ll take it out later, I decide to take the whole box-full down on my way out to the car.

I quickly pack up my laptop bag, grabbing my reusable coffee mug and my winter coat and make my way haltingly down the stairs, hampered only slightly by the plastic tub we use for our recycling waste. It’s tucked under my other arm, and piled to the brim with discarded Amazon packaging and food cartons. Ifigure I can leave it by the dumpster and pick it up on the way home. Or maybe even text Kathy to bring it up when she wakes.

I upend the box over the large opening, paying little attention to the tumbling cardboard. Except…

what was that?

I’m sure it wasn’t anything. I’m just imagining things.

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