Someone like Tim Cassidy, though, she began to muse… someone like that would know how… She did not complete the thought, but suddenly she envied her 24 year old cousin terribly, visualizing the young blonde woman, locked against the naked body of her blonde husband. The two of them looked more like brother and sister than man and wife, Arlene thought, automatically comparing her own dark beauty to Tim's fairness.
"Oh stop it!" she told herself sternly, but Arlene's large soft breasts were already filled with longing as the big round nipples contracted to a tense hardness, and her whole being felt a readiness, a ripeness that pushed rational thinking from her head.
"What would it feel like to feel him on top of me… to spread my legs beneath him… to let him enter, hard and strong, filling me… taking me?"
The tall brunette turned over on her back in bed. She spread her bare legs out, separating her long statuesque thighs so that the fur-trimmed lips of her dark curly pussy were parted, and breathing slowly, she imagined herself in her younger cousin's place. In bed with Tim Cassidy!
Tim emerged from the steam of his shower, and after drying himself off, strode naked into the room. He was proud of his body with its lean hardness that he had cultivated ever since he was a youth at college.
Now he was 36, and he knew that if he wanted to keep on looking that way, he must continue the rigorous exercises that he did whenever he got a chance. He was still elated by the way things had gone on his trip in spite of his wife's unwillingness to go along. He was almost certain that he would win the race for the Senate, and once there, nothing could stop him in his quest for the presidency. He was mulling these things over in his mind as he did his push-ups on the flat exercise mat that was always in the bedroom he shared with Sylvie. He was dimly aware of her presence in the room, but his mind was elsewhere, already thinking about the firmness with which he would handle the Russians as well as the Chinese. The Chinese, he felt, were more important than the Russians at this point, and already his lessons in the most prevalent dialect of the Chinese language were coming along well. His French was already adequate and his Spanish fluent from the days when, as a college youth, he took two whole semesters at a Mexican college where the Mexican girls were particularly attracted to his blonde hair. He and his buddy of the time had prided themselves in getting into the most attractive and into the most inaccessible Latin pussies in the area, a dangerous feat which was nonetheless not without rewards.
"It's good to have you back, darling," Sylvie's soft voice broke into his thoughts, and he knew at once that she wanted something. His mind computer-like, began to sort through the various possibilities. Long ago he had learned to deal with women, not so much as people, but as predictable pets who could be counted upon to respond certain ways to certain stimuli. No one had really taught him this, certainly not his deceased father, who was nothing but a distant figurehead, always away at one of his many offices. He had gradually figured it out for himself, and had noticed from early childhood that his reckoning always worked with his mother, and then later with the steady procession of girl friends that came and went like clock-work. There were always flowers and cards on special occasions for example… the biggest and most sentimental that money could buy for Easter, Valentine's Day, St.
Patrick's Day and so on. His pockets were rarely without some little trinket or other that he had picked up to cheer some female's spirits.
Now that he was married, though, and especially since the beginning of his senatorial campaign, Tim realized that he had been neglectful of his pretty blonde wife in more than one way.
"Go look in my coat pocket," he said to her without breaking his 23rd pushup. He heard the rustle of her gown like small leaves brushing together as she passed him without speaking on her way to the large closet that was in essence a separate room. It had doors opening onto the bedroom and also onto Tim's private dressing room. There, Tim knew that his valet, Frank, had already brushed and pressed whatever he might need for the following day, and that the suit coat he had worn earlier would be waiting to be sent to the cleaners in a separate area of the closet.
"Look on the cleaning side!" he called to her, his mind still working on the current problem of his wife. "The left hand pocket!"
A suitable length of time elapsed, and then Sylvie suddenly exclaimed,
"Ooooh… oh Tim… it's lovely!"
Tim smiled to himself. He had almost forgotten about the gold bracelet that he had asked one of the girls to pick up for him during his trip.
He completed his 30th pushup and lay quietly breathing on the mat.
"Like it?" he asked, his head cradled on his arms.
Sylvie swept close to her husband's naked body. His firm hard buttocks were beautiful, she thought to herself, and his long powerful legs. His big wide back tapered down to narrow hips with a perfection that Sylvie had never seen in any other man, even in the photographs of well-known athletes. The emotion that she had felt during her husband's absence and the horror of that day on the beach seemed far away now that he was right there, a living breathing creature in front of her. Everything would be all right if he would just hold her in his arms she thought wildly. Impulsively, she flung herself down on top of him, embracing him from behind and kissing his face lovingly.
"Oh thank you… thank you my love!" she said. Her warm body pressed close to him beneath the thin covering of her silk dressing gown. She was vulnerable and naked beneath it, her body wanting him so badly that she could hardly stand it.
And Tim knew what she wanted. The pieces fitted together in his head as he felt her palpitating against him, felt her soft breathing near his ear. He had only a couple of girls while away from home, nothing much to speak of either. He remembered the brief scene with Nancy, one of a multitude of young girls who worked for the general cause. The willing girl had been more than ready for his lust-hardened cock, but he had no desire to do more than throw it to her one afternoon in the privacy of his hotel room. A few well placed and well timed strokes had been fine as the girl lifted up her skirt revealing the naked hair-lined cunt that had already known his brother Ron's cock as well as a few of the other who were along for the trip.
"Hell, it's better than jerking off!" his brother Ron said about such a girl. The only woman aside from his wife that Tim Cassidy "loved to fuck" as he put it to himself, was his private secretary, Miss Grayson.
He knew that no one in a million years would suspect that he and the older woman had such an intimate relationship, and he counted on it remaining that way. She had been with him since the very early days, and she would be with him all the way to the White House, he hoped.
Fucking Miss Grayson-a gray-haired widow-was a little like fucking his own mother, he thought, only better, because Miss Grayson had an experience and a sensuality that Tim was sure his mother lacked.
Glowing press reports about Thelma Cassidy's flower gardens and love of the soft feminine things in life to the contrary, all of the Cassidy brothers knew that their mother was as tough as nails, or as Ron put it, "Her piss would cut steel!"
Tim laughed easily and turned over on his back, the better to accommodate his wife's embrace.
"You feeling better now that you have had a little rest?" he asked, letting his hands roam up under the material of her gown, feeling for the round warmth of her silky brown breasts. Already his sturdily built cock was rising to a hard thickness, quivering upward into the air, ready for action. "Oh… I missed you, Tim… How I missed you…!"
Sylvie cried, sighing as her husband's fingers teased at the sensitive flesh of her breasts, already feeling the wetness spread between her legs as he played with her hardened nipples.