Closing her eyes against the guilt in her mind she let her fingers open the swollen, moist lips, part the pubic hair, and slide in, finding the clitoris waiting and eager. She circled the quivering bud, spreading the rising juices in a slow caress, groaned softly between clenched teeth as her probing finger felt its way to her open, wet cunt-hole. Her thighs widened to her squirming touch, and she pinched the tender pink skin of her vaginal lips and mouth, luxuriating in the sharp pain as her hips jerked upwards.

Then she jammed her fingers into her hungry pussy, and she pressed herself tightly to the mattress as she masturbated, writhing and twisting, her thighs pumping in time to her plunging fingers. The cords of her neck stood out and the mattress squeaked as she lashed and bucked with the fever of her sexual urgings.

"Oh… God… oh God," she moaned. She felt like a panther, rubbing herself this way, and she knew that if just the thought of Roger returning did this to her, his real arrival would be absolute heaven. "Oh… God… I want… Roger!"

Suddenly she heard a car stop in front of the home, and a door slam. In another moment, the car slipped into gear and sped away. Who could that be? she asked herself, her hand frozen in midstroke, still in her cunt. Is it Roger? He's taken a taxi home?

As if in answer, the front door of the house opened loudly, and she heard the familiar sound of his footsteps. She quickly removed her toying fingers and whipped the sheet over her. A warm flush ripped through her… Roger, Roger, hurry to me, please… I need you so much right now. Then the bedroom door banged, and a muscular, tall man with cropped brown hair and a round, open face entered, his hands gripping the handles of two suitcases. "Hi, honey!" he said breathlessly: "Took the first flight I could." He dropped the bags just inside the door and came toward her. "Boy, it's good to be home again."