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“Because I knew it would take the fire out of their bellies and get them to back off. I’d rather have Mary there than a cold monument. I don’t have anything against rules. They’re good rules. Don’t lie, don’t murder. The problem is, it’s a power move. And everybody knows it. I just—oh!”
Suddenly Miles has cut me off with a soft yet somehow the most intense kiss yet. His breath is shaky. I can’t imagine what has suddenly come over him.
“I love you, Mary Martha Moody.”
I’m so surprised and emotional that my breath matches his. “You do?”
“I have loved you forever and I will keep loving you forever.”
“I love you too, Miles,” I say, landing a kiss in return.
“Even though I didn’t bring my A game?”
She giggles. “You had no intention of bringing your A game. I knew from the beginning you were winging it.”
“See? Winging it works out sometimes.”
Epilogue
Eight years later
Miles
I groan when my brain catches up with what my wife’s mouth is about to do.
“Baby,” I breathe, my head lolling back, my eyes latching on to the discarded set pieces in the prop room. We are backstage in the school auditorium. A ferocious, blood sucking animatronic plant stares down at me. “We’re at school … the kids are here … you’re about to go on stage to accept a major award and your makeup’s going to get smeared.”
But why even protest? She had me from day one.
My belt buckle clanks as Martha’s fingers work it open. Her voice is rushed and breathy while she reassures me. “Don’t worry, Katie and Dean have the kids with them at their table. Hudson and Penny are probably elbows deep into their ice cream anyway. Besides, everybody has sex in the prop room. It’s a tradition. I might be the only person on staff who hasn’t yet.”
I watch my wife unzip my pants and free my throbbing cock from my briefs. She tugs everything down; she likes my ass bare when she does this. “See? I knew you were feeling frisky for it,” she says, licking her lips and arching one authoritative eyebrow at me.
My teeth grind at the torture of watching Martha’s mouth move near my aching length without actually being wrapped around it yet. Her breath teasing it. “Babe, you knew exactly what you were doing when you put on that damn skirt tonight.”
Martha pouts. “What, this old thing?” She smooths her palm down the front of her wool skirt. And then, shocking me, she hikes it up and lets that same hand glide down inside her panties.
“What are you doing to me?” I whimper. But I know what’s coming.
I shouldn’t have asked that. I know better than to ask questions. Asking my lifelong-educator wife any open ended question will only prolong my torment. But shit, I love my tormenter and what she does to me.
“I had a thought,” she says, pausing to slide her tongue just across the tip, licking away a bead of precum as if she’s innocently enjoying a lollipop, “How can I accept an award for the longest serving school headmistress without giving you some actual head?”
My mouth falls open but I don’t have any words. When her lips and hand wrap around me, I don’t need to make any sounds. The sound of her wet mouth on me, the sounds of her moans while she pleasures herself with her other hand, are the only things that matter.
Martha is and always has been beyond amazing to me, shocking me more and more with every passing year. The knowledge that just a few feet away is a room full of people who both admire and fear my strict and buttoned-up wife only heightens my arousal. Nothing excites me quite like letting her boss me around.
As if watching her lick, suck and squeeze my cock while she touches herself isn’t enough, she has more in store for me. She pops my shaft out of her mouth to tell me, “If you say ‘please’ and call me Headmistress I’ll take you all the way in.”
It’s so wrong, it’s exactly right.
“Oh god, please Headmistress,” I moan, throbbing so hard my cock demands me to pin her arms and pound her through the wall. But that will have to come later tonight. She’s due on stage in minutes, if not seconds.
As promised, Martha takes my dick all the way to the back of her throat. The sound of her moans combined with a slight gag has my eyes rolling back in my head. I brace myself with one hand against the wall.
“Please, may I pull your hair, Headmistress?”
She nods and moans louder, her hand working faster inside her panties. I tug at the comb in her hair and her locks tumble down. A deep pink flushes her cheeks, a sign that she’s close. Her warm, wet mouth devours me urgently as my fingers weave into her hair. I tug gently, guiding her, but she knows her way around. The sounds and the sensations are almost too much for me to take in, until her free hand cups and strokes my balls.
