The surprised yelp came out of him, “Sylvia?”

“Who else did you expect? Sophia Loren? After all, I am supposed to be your wife.”

He gasped, then choked as soapy water ran into his mouth, for Sylvia had begun to slowly move her hand back and forth on his prick. A low groan of desire came squawking out of his larynx, and her delighted laughter hit his ears.

Sylvia stepped up even closer to him and, still stroking his cock with her right hand, put her left arm around his waist. She knew she was getting her hair soaked. Too bad, she thought uncaringly; her hairdresser had worked almost an hour on it this morning because Sylvia wanted to look especially nice. Under the machinations of her fingers, she could feel life surging into the prick; it was a terribly sensual feeling as the soapy water caused her hand to slip almost without friction from head to base of the huge rod. She felt lewd excitement expanding in her loins as the thing in her hand grew in size. Now it was elongated, sticking out in front of him as though it were the long, white-skinned neck of a turkey.

“Hurry up and get the soap out of your hair and eyes,” she said, beginning to feel impatient again and jerking his cock a couple of times in emphasis.

Hansen, who had been standing there with his eyes closed, let the sensations flow over his body. He could feel the warm water flowing over his head, could feel Sylvia’s breasts and nipples pressing against his chest… but the best thing of all was that excruciatingly wonderful movement of her hand stroking his hardening prick.

Quickly he rinsed his hair and washed the soap from his blinded eyes. Then he looked at her. Even barefoot, she was still about two inches taller than he. Her eyes were gazing unfathomably at him, almost as if they were daring him. Her moist lips… parted in amusement and possibly hunger… were only inches from his.