It was a night of rare proportions: ALL THREE KIDS WERE OUT OF THE HOUSE. They were spending the night at camp, sleeping in sleeping bags under the moon and stars.
My youngest, the seven-year-old, has slept away from home without us, oh, maybe twice in his life. That's all. The older two teenagers have obviously spent many nights away, sometimes with friends, sometimes with relatives, sometimes not even sleeping, just going off to different places. They can do that; they're young.
But they don't always spend the night away at the same time. And in any case, it's not the same when just two out of three of your children are out of the house: you've still got one child left on your hands. Even if he's a sound sleeper, even if he goes to bed early, even if you know theoretically he's not going to hear a thing...you know he's there, he's your responsibility, and sometimes, shit happens.
But last night was different. Last night, all the kids were gone. No children. Nada. We had the house to ourselves.
"You want to go out for dinner?" Husband called to ask me as I was driving home. Another rarity: he had gotten home before me.
"No," I replied. "I'd rather stay in and cuddle."
When I got home, he was on his computer, and by the looks of it, I could tell he was dealing with something work related, and he would be on it for a while. I went upstairs, got naked, and washed (inside and out).
Later I called down, "Husband? How long are you going to be?"
"A few minutes."
This is always a lie. A "few minutes" is never a few minutes. Sometimes, it's hours.
Years ago, I would have waited for him, and resented him for it. Now I either wait for him patiently, with no acrimony...or I do something about it.
I got out the newest butt plug in our collection, a thick metal jeweled one, lubed it up, and slowly--oh so slowly--began to push it in my ass.
I wasn't in any kind of hurry. I knew Husband would not walk in on me; he was downstairs, doing his thing.
Metal butt plugs are their own kind of nasty: they're cold, and completely unforgiving. They fucking hurt. But I was determined to get this one all the way in, until the jewel was resting snuggly against my skin. It took a while, and I had to practice some breathing techniques, but I got it there.
Once I was done, I got up (that plug was not going anywhere), washed my hands, grabbed my cell phone--
and took a picture of the plug in my ass.
It wasn't the best picture, but when you're talking about an ass filled with plug, let's be real here: is there really such a thing as a bad picture?
"Honey?" I called down. "I just sent you a message...did you get it?"
"No...? What do you mean, no?"
"I mean I didn't get it."
"But it was a picture."
"Oh? Let me check again...nope, still didn't get it."
"Are you sure you sent it to me?"
I heard his footsteps on the stairs.
"Maybe you sent it to one of the kids?"
"Oh god oh god."
The door opened. I was on my side, my ass facing the wall, so Husband could not see the butt plug. I was also frantically checking my phone.
"No, I sent it to you," I said, relieved.
"Well, I didn't get it," he said. "What was it a picture of?"
I turned around and spread my ass.
"Oh," he said. "Nice."
He fucked me from behind with the butt plug in. That plug fucking hurt. I saw colors and bright lights as I came, it was that good.
When we were done, he watched me take out the plug, which turned into a process, as I was now extra tight, and extra sensitive. I grimaced and howled as I pulled the plug out. Husband smiled the whole time.
"Next time," he said, "I want to watch you put it in."
This morning, I asked him to check his phone again for the picture.
"I still didn't get it," he said. "Shit, I think I know..."
He went to his computer, opened it up, and turned it on.
"I messed with the settings on my accounts last night," he said. "Your picture was forwarded to my computer."
There, taking up the full screen, was a glorious picture of my bejeweled plugged ass.
"Better erase that before your meeting this morning," I said with glee.
"Yeah," he said. "It's a nice picture, though."