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From: "winter_solstice_23@yahoo.com" <winter_solstice_23@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} New Post:  Vignette [A husband helps his wife relax after a busy day ] mf/rom
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Date: Tue, 07 Feb 2006 03:10:01 -0500
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Vignette
By WinterSolstice
Copywrite by WinterSolstice


I hope to repay (a little) the enjoyment that all you other writers
have given me. I would very much appreciate your feedback, criticisms
and suggestions.   E-mail me at "winter_solstice_23@yahoo.com"

THANKS.

- WinterSolstice

* * * * *
A husband helps his wife relax after a busy day.....

Mf/rom/
- - - - - - - -

[Vignette ]

"Michael, I need a rest. It's been a really long day."

"Well, why don't we lay down a take nap together?"

"No. You aren't listening...I said rest."

"Exactly, you nap, I nap. You wake, I wake. I play, you play. See? It
works out." I tease.

"Cute. Go ahead and fix yourself dinner. I don't want anything. I'm
going upstairs."

With that Michelle is on her way. End of conversation.

Well, might as well grab a bite. ...What to find ...what to find? I bit
of cold chicken breast from last night? ... maybe.  Some red grapes?
... yes. The pasta salad Bob and Susan brought over? ...no. Is it even
any good? Hmmm... can't tell. Best leave it in the refrigerator until I
know it is bad, then throw it out. O.k. it is going to be a cold
chicken wrap, some grapes and a glass of milk.

Ah, those glorious bachelor days are gone for good. A culinary opus.
The pinnacle of the day. Yawn. TV on. Flip through the channels - once
- twice. What a day. Come to think of it, a nap does sound fine. Are
you sleeping? Maybe you are only resting and would like some company.
Nah, I know better. A nap does sound fine, but so would ... well, never
mind, I know better.

I walk upstairs and open the door. There you are. Asleep. ...and
beautiful.

You really must have been tired. My eyes follow the trail from the door
to your dresser - a blouse...a skirt...a shoe...hose...another
shoe...dresser. Bra in a pile on top of the dresser. You in a pile on
top of the unmade bed. Face down, wearing your sleep t-shirt and the
fancy green silk panties that match the suit now strewn across the
floor. I will never understand why, but you still insist that underwear
has to match the outfit.

Your hair spreads out on the pillow. One hand is tucked under your
chin. You are beautiful.

You rustle. "...mmm, Go away."

Maybe if I just stand still.

I wait and look at you as you lay. One minute passes. Two minutes.

"Arrgh...if you must bug me, come here and rub my shoulders."

Aha! I win.

I sit down on the edge of the bed next to you. Your eyes stay closed
but you turn your face away. Other than that you don't move. I gather
your hair away from your face and lift it up onto the pillow so that I
can see your neck. I lightly play with the short fine hairs at the edge
of your hairline.

'...mmm!," you protest.

"Alright," I respond. I begin by lightly placing two fingertips on
either side of your neck just behind your ears and move them in slow
circles.

"Cute ears," I whisper.

"...mmm!" You grunt.

O.k., I get it - 'no talking.'

I apply slightly more pressure. The circles get a little bigger and I
start to work toward the base of your skull. Yeah, there you go. Relax
into my fingers. Good. Then with what seems to be a heroic effort you
reach up and pull the pillow out from under your head then collapse
again. Your eyes never open. Now you look more comfortable and I can
pay proper attention to your neck. I take my time and slowly walk four
fingers up either side, gently massaging as I go. Then I reverse the
process until I am kneading your shoulders. I repeat the whole process,
more slowly each time. You seem to relax even further.

"Let me take this off," I whisper as I reach down to pull up your
t-shirt.

You mumble, "No, not tonight...I'm tired." You seem to sink even
further into the mattress as if you could will yourself to get heavier.

I give up. For a while I fumble through the fabric of your shirt and
massage across your shoulders and back. This doesn't work well and I
find myself resorting to broad stroking motions instead. I am loosing
my focus. I was watching for any subtle cue from you, but you seem to
have found your perfectly relaxed spot and seem oblivious to me. I keep
stroking but can't stop looking over at your cute butt all wrapped in
emerald green silk and lace. Kind of like the perfect Christmas
present...all I need to do is put a bright red bow on one cheek.

This line of thinking doesn't help anything. Still, surely I can be
forgiven one indulgence? I lean forward, careful to maintain the same
rhythm across your shoulders and back. I stop just short of burying my
face in your neck and hair. I breathe in the delicate mix of you, the
faint trace of perfume left over from this morning and the wonderful
sleepy smell from your t-shirt. It's a feminine musky smell.

I shouldn't, I know. I should sneak out right now. Still, you might
respond....either that, or you are going to have a fit. It's a long
shot. One time out of ten you respond positively. The rest of the time
I end up sleeping on the couch.

What can I say? I'm a guy. One out of ten seems like pretty good odds.

I slide down toward the foot of the bed until I am sitting along side
your knees. You show only the slightest response. I gently but
purposefully place my palms on either side of your leg and begin a very
slow, deep massage of your calf. I get a low moan from you in return. I
should have known, after all day in heels... I continue to work on your
calf. I can tell that you are coming out of your "sleepy" state, just a
little bit.

Your skin is smooth and warm and you relax again under my hands. I
begin to work upward, but as I rise to the level of your knee you roll
slightly to your side and slide your foot up your calf. Of course, my
gaze darts to the crotch of your panties as you expose yourself. The
green satin contrasts with the pale color of your skin and the wisp of
golden hair that peeks out from the side. I study the muscles of your
thigh as they curve inward toward your sex. You are indeed a beautiful
woman. If you only knew what you are doing to me. Maybe you do? Perhaps
this is a prelude? ...And once again hope burns bright in my
heart...well, o.k. maybe its not exactly in my heart.

I move to begin massaging the fullness of your upper thigh. This is
pretty grand. Your worn cotton t-shirt lies loosely around your waist
and across the flare of your hips. I cannot imagine a softer picture. I
begin working up your leg and feel the muscles recede as my hand
descends toward your center. You raise your knee ever so slightly,
giving me better access and letting me know that I have your permission
at last.

I rest my right hand on your hip and trace lightly along your slit with
one finger of the other hand. I continue slowly tracing your sex this
way. I sense you slipping further away, receding into your thoughts.

I press a little more firmly, running two fingers along the center of
your panties. I can feel your sex growing warmer and fuller. Mmm...I
can feel your clitoris getting hard even through the silk. I move my
fingers forward so that I can cover your mound with my palm and slide
my index and fingers on either side of your clit.

Now your body begins responding to my touch. I feel a twitch each time
my wedding band passes over your sensitive spot. Your hips begin to
rock in time to the motion of my hand and I feel your panties grown
humid under my hand.

I can feel your orgasm approaching. You begin rocking your hips harder
and push back into my hand. I increase the tempo to bring you to the
edge and soon you are there. You raise your bottom into the air and
push hard against my hand as your knees come together and your thighs
clamp hard around my hand. I watch as you tuck your hand tightly under
your chin and your cheek becomes flush with color. Soon the clasp on my
hand fades. I slow my motion. I watch as you return to your slow
rocking motion, then lie still as your orgasm fades away. Using only my
fingertips now, I rub ever widening circles until I feel your tension
drain away.

I stop and slide my hand from between your legs. I watch your breathing
slow and deepen. The flush begins to recede from your cheek.

I lean forward, breathe in your scent and whisper, "I love you,
Michelle."

And I hear you mumble, "I love you too, Michael."

With that I rise and turn off the light.

I think to myself, "Yup, nine times out of ten. Once again I am
sleeping on the couch." 

But tonight I don't mind.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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