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Arlene Franklin rolled over in bed, her honey-blonde hair tousled about her face. Still asleep, she blindly groped for her husband’s body. Muttering, she cursed. As usual, she was alone again in bed. She opened one light-blue eye and remembered he was away on business again. On her stomach, she skimmed her hands down, lifted her ass, and brought her fingers between her legs.
“Oooo!” She sighed, keeping her eyes closed. “Ooooo, damn! Damn! Damn!”
She humped her active fingers for a few minutes and rolled onto her back, frustrated. Her misty eyes glared up at the ceiling as she kicked the covers off her overheated body. Frustrated and horny, she bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.
Tears welled in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. Ted wasn’t worth tears. His neglect had become chronic these past few months, and she was even sure their daughter, who was home from boarding school for the Easter holidays, knew.
Trembling and needing the kind of relief only a stiff cock could give, Arlene reached into the nightstand for her mechanical wonder. She glared hatefully at the cold impersonal vibrator, hating what it stood for, but needing the impassive relief it offered.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.