Out of the shower...time to get dirty!

Wrapping the towel securely around his waist, he ambled out into the bedroom. The hot water had relaxed Victor's organs and the thought of his wife in the other room gave one of them cause to grow. He decided the clothes could wait.

Quietly, Victor crept out into their small apartment's living room. The entry door was closed – that was good. And Tara had her back to him – that was better. Something under the towel stirred.

Tara had her earbuds in like she always did while washing dishes. She had no idea he was there. A mound was forming in his towel.

The window fan wafted air in and sent her cotton dress fluttering. It was one of her cheap summertime smock dresses that she only used around the house. It was light enough to keep her cool in this heat, but more importantly to Victor's eyes, it was short and loose. The towel was beginning to tent.

Victor crept forward, dropping down to a squat behind her. She hadn't noticed a thing. The tip of his penis nearly touched the floor. He silently bent forward, allowing his hand and his tongue to contact her calf at the same time.

Tara started, dropping silverware into the soapy water. But as her man traced his tongue and lips across her smooth skin, her own lips let out an involuntary noise.

"Mmm...Babe, I'm busy."

"Stay busy, I am too," he said, and went back to his work. Fingers slid lightly over her skin. His mouth alternated between licking and blowing across the newly damp surface. Victor heard the dishwashing falter.

Her legs were smooth and delightful. They never failed to stir something in him. Rather than giving in, though, he swirled his tongue all the more, kissed lightly, caressed with his fingertips.

As the sensation of his tongue moved higher, Tara realized she was already starting to bend over the sink, thrusting her ass out as if it could reach out and grab him.

From his vantage point below her loose dress, Victor could see up toward his destination. It was obscured only by the black lace of her skimpy panties. He resisted the urge to pounce on it. Instead, he concentrated on making delicate love to her upper calf, the hollow behind her knee, the peaks of her goosebumps. The barely-there nature of his tongue's touch only caused those goosebumps to grow.

The damp trail extended gradually up the inside of Tara's thigh. Her man paused now and then to blow air across the cooled pathway. She could track her body's response to his stimuli – the tiny shivers up her spine, the involuntary sounds from her throat, the rush of warmth to her nethers – but she had no control over them. The animal in her was rising, and it begged for him. With every inch his tongue advanced, the animal's voice got louder.

Minutes of sweet torture. Both desperately wanted him to get higher. Both reveled in the sweet torment.

Victor reached the upper thigh slowly, savoring his girl's tremors. The object of his most intense desire, the lace-covered hole that beckoned him, stood mere inches away. Tara's hips swayed, trying to marry his tongue with her opening. He slid a hand up her other leg, feeling the contours of her muscle, the nakedness of her skin. Victor allowed his hand to cup her round cheek, squeezing slightly but not yet fully engaging.

A ragged breath escaped her lips. Every muscle between her lower back and her thighs clenched and released in anxious rhythm. By now her body was bent fully over, a 90-degree angle waiting for him to attack its vertex.

Without intending it, Tara's motions had pulled the dress' hem up atop her ass. Victor's fingers snaked their way under one strap of her thong. It slid down slowly, stretching the garment askew across the globes of her cheeks. Especially with her bent pose, it presented an intensely erotic view to his eyes. His tongue shot out to edge along the crease where one cheek met thigh.