Bodice Ripped and Ravaged

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Ok, that’s exaggerating a bit but what woman doesn’t want to actually be ravaged and have a bodice-ripping experience? Right, we all do (at least a lot of us do). We’ve all read those books too.

“He moved closer and in a rapid movement slipped his arm about her narrow waist, nearly lifting her from the floor, and then covered her mouth with his, engulfing Heather in a heady scent, not unlike that of a brandy her father had been fond of. She was too surprised to resist and hung limp in his embrace. She saw herself as if from outside her body and felt with mild amusement his tongue parting her lips and thrusting within. From a low level of consciousness, there grew a vague feeling of pleasure and, had the circumstances been different, she might have enjoyed the hard, masculine feel of his body against hers.”

Gah. No way! No one has sex like that. What self-respecting, intelligent woman would want such a thing? All the stuff one can say. Save that little irritating itch in your brain that goes … hot. Ohhh so hot. I never had a bodice ripping experience. Not actually. Not until today that is.

Today is my forty-first birthday. My husband was up before me this morning for an early meeting. I found a card on his pillow.

Happy forty-first birthday. I love you more every day. Love, your much younger man, Craig.

Let me just clarify what “younger” means in Craig’s world. It means twenty-seven days. That’s right. He is twenty-seven days younger than I am and seems to find great joy in making sure I know I have a much younger stud sharing my bed every night. I won’t mention that he has far more gray in his hair than I do but I admit he is in better shape than any man his age and older that I know. Tall. Solid. With a deep voice. Big hands. The most perfectly furry chest and stomach. The sweetest blue eyes. He drives me crazy. And he knows it.

I lay there reading the card and listening to the coffee pot brewing and dreading leaving my warm bed but someone needed to get the kids off to school. After shooing the kids out the door, elliptical, coffee, shower, and out the door myself. It might be my birthday but someone has to do the grocery shopping, no? After unloading and putting away, I began to wonder if Craig might be home early enough to maybe have a nice lunch. Various cheese, fruits, and bread. Maybe a little wine before the kiddos return.

I was doing a little laundry when I heard the back door open. I see Craig standing there. In a charcoal gray suit. I don’t know about other women but I love the suit. LOVE the suit. He wears them well. I can feel my toes curl up inside my Keds and my breathing become more of a pant. I ask him how the meeting went and walk by him with a basket of folded clothes. He took it out of my arms and set it on the floor. He pulled me close, pushes my hair back from my face, and lays a breathsucking kiss on my mouth, his fingers wound around my hair tightly. He continued kissing me and pushing me up the stairs to our room. My head was spinning and he picked me up and deposited me on the bed.

I lay there with my capris and blouse twisted around me. He took his jacket off and tossed it on a chair. Climbing over me and straddling my body, he took hold of my blouse and ripped it open, ignoring my intake of breath, ignoring the buttons flying all over the bed. I looked up at my husband as he looked down at me, speechless. Slowly pulling off his tie. Unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling off his undershirt. A sly smile on his face. Reaching down and yanking my capris off me. Standing up and unbuckling his belt, oh my god I couldn’t stand another second of this striptease.

Not speaking a word, he slid down on top of me, pulled up my legs, and was inside of me before I could do or say anything. I ran my hands over his soft chest hair and felt like I was floating in a dream. Every inch of him smelled and taste delicious and over powering. I took hold of his arms, feeling the prominent veins and muscle in them. I could hear nothing but a dull roaring throb in my ears and my own squealing and moaning, which I let loose with no regard for anyone within earshot. No foreplay. No speaking. No seduction. Just fucking. Hot, wet fucking.

Can I have that for my birthday every year? Please?

I had a feeling you would like that almost better than the gift I actually bought with money.

I should explain. We have a very adventurous sex life. Very. That’s another story for another day. In all this time after all these years we have never done this before. Oh, we make love and fuck all the time and it’s glorious. We have weird and out-there sexual escapades. But not like this. The rest of the day, I was a gooey mess. Of course, I loved my present. Loved dinner, cake, and ice cream with the kids. Loved snuggling in for the night with my mostly naked, warm, furry, much younger man.

You really loved what I did today?

Yes. I loved it. I totally loved it.

I figured I already had the advantage since I was wearing a suit. I know how much you like it.

How do you know?

You twirl your hair and look at the floor a lot.

So much for being the older and more mature one.

Well, you’re the hottest forty-one-year-old woman I know. You drive me crazy and I can’t help myself.

You can surprise me with a bodice-ripping anytime you feel the urge, young man.

I fell asleep with Craig behind me, spooning closely and cupping my breasts tightly. I wiggled my ass against him slowly. Who knows? I might get a ravaging some morning when I least expect it.


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