SSC '04 [first/last], 500 words

***********
NC-17; only legal adult readers, please.
***********

The Devil in the Camisole
by Rhosymedre

My timing is impeccable.

Mandy's a heart-pumping eyeful. Quite unawares since her back
is to me and she doesn't sense my presence when I push wide
the barely ajar bedroom door. Her tan, athletic legs and
delicious alabaster ass (no nude sun bathing around these
parts) unwittingly allure as she leans forward to pluck up
laid-out clothes from our queen-size bed. I never rebuff my
lady's invitations, intentional or not, so I take four long
(hushed) strides and wrap my arms low around Mandy's hips.

Before she can huff indignantly at me for sneaking up on her,
I nuzzle her ear and growl, "You're wearing my favorite
outfit, woman." And she is: semi-nakedness. Her lower half
is, as I've exulted, bare, but as is her habit, she's already
donned her camisole. She owns assorted (all gifts from me) but
this one is my favorite. Royal blue, it cuddles her breasts,
then falls loosely down her rib cage where I can easily
maraud. Which I do now.

She squirms in my arms. "Not now, Graham. You need to change.
We're expected at eight."

But Mandy doesn't always say what she means. Besides, she
knows darn well that camisole is tinder to my match, so to
speak.

I kiss her earlobe, peeking down her front. Just as I knew:
nipples puckered ferociously taut. I'm sure she is leaking
nicely between her legs too. But those needy places have to
wait for my touch. I slide my hands back of her and clutch a
bottom cheek in each, as if I'm testing two casaba melons for
ripeness.

Pinned between me and the bed, Mandy can only sway in place. 
She moans breathily, sexily.

I lovingly knead her generous globes. Her scent fills the air
and I'm terribly hard. I push her over the raised bed and
sprawl her thighs. I shakily free my penis from my trousers.
I'm about to thrust in when she sighs, "Do it, Terry, take
me, I'm yours."

My name is Graham Gary Gogh. No "T"s there, no "Terry"s. I
freeze momentarily. Mindless jealousy and pricks of fury rush
my brain in pure reflex, and instead of pumping into her, my
hand flashes against her ass. I wallop, slamming deep into
her musculature. Not just her ass; I broil her thighs too,
wherever I can reach. She doesn't move a muscle, and no cries
escape; she just lets me punish her.

I cease only when both my hands are numb. I plunge into her,
seizing her hip bones. She comes around me instantaneously, 
wildly milking my cock and flinging me over the precipice.

I lie heavily on her, galvanized by her slip, her confessed
betrayal: Terry.

Mandy stirs after several minutes and slyly whispers,
"Graham, that was our best game yet. Come on, I need another
shower -- with you."

Stupefied, I let her up, and allow her to tug me into the
bathroom.

God, that camisole puts the devil into my wife...and me.
I mutter fecklessly, "Madness, madness."