Her hand tightened on her tit and pinched off the stiff brown bud of a nipple. A needle of pain shot through the end of her tit, but it was a delicious kind of pain and she dug it. Really dug it. She leaned forward, pushing her titty upward, and her tongue wiggled in the air, stretching but not quite reaching the erect brown teat that crowned her boob. She could lick the curve of her tit, and she was happy to do that, tasting soap and arousal on her flesh.

She put her arm under both tits, scooping the small round mounds upward, and she licked the upper edges of both breasts, her finger still buried in her slick wet pussy. If only, she thought, if only I could suck myself, I might not feel so bad about my husband's losing his cock.

But he hadn't lost it. His cock was still there, a sweet fat hunk of meat between his legs. She'd seen it not twenty minutes ago, seen the mouth watering bulge in his snug-fitting shorts. Last night she'd tasted him, too, gone down or her husband as they lay in bed and he pretended to be asleep. She'd taken his pecker in her hands, stroked it and caressed it with her fingers and her lips and her tongue, and then sucked him for a long time in her mouth, sucked him in that special, tender way site had of eating his cock, using every trick she knew to remind him who she was, what she meant to him and what he meant to her.

It hadn't worked. His cock had stayed soft despite Joanne's feverish effort. She sucked until her throat was full of drool and spit and his prick was frothy with the stuff, but when she took her lips away, Tom's dick was as limp as it had been when she started and he was snoring softly, asleep for real this time, leaving her alone, more alone than she had ever been in her life. He hadn't lost his cock. He'd only taken it away from his wife.