He was a medium-tall man, athletically built, but he seemed pliable as jelly then. "Melinda…" he said as she pulled him onto the bed, as she twisted his face round so she could bruise it with the crushing, heated ferocity of her kisses. His fist tightened on her breast, and Melinda groaned into her husband's mouth as her nipple seemed to convulse against the heat of his palm, through the silky lasciviousness of her gown, and she felt her breast swelling, engorging, and hardening in his grip.

Ahhh, she thought in excitement, lying back. Neil moved with her but there was no enthusiasm. Her hand stroked up and down his back and she found only tension, reluctance. Damn you! She cursed silently, and her fingers stole beneath the waistband of his pajama pants.

She rubbed him, rubbed until she felt heat stirring in the cheeks of his ass, a moistness in the crack between those checks, and then she rubbed harder, Neil stirred, lifting one leg, and his mouth slipped from hers. "Honey," he said apologetically, "I don't think I can…"

"Don't think, don't talk!" she whispered, and her lips brushed a trail of licks and kisses down his neck, onto his chest. For a man of thirty he had precious little hair on his chest, she thought, just as her mouth homed in on one tiny nipple.

"Ohhhh…" He ovaled his mouth into a moan as Melinda began to lick and suck his erecting treat. Her lips pulled on his rubbery flesh, her teeth gnashed provocatively, as Neil's little tip stiffened in her mouth like a teeny, tiny cock.

A cock. Melinda's hand moved inside Neil's pajamas, switching attack from his rear to his front. If he had little hair on his chest, he had a forest of it in his groin, and she let her fingers slide teasingly through that forest, flirting with the root of his limp cock.