Alison's Wonderland by Alison Tyler Page A

strikes, like a pussy being fingered fast and hard. I grind my clit into her, my whole body shaking, a sob rising in my throat. I’m close. Very close. The next one will take me over the edge. I know it. She knows it.
    Which is why she pauses at that very moment. I’ll have to beg for it. I always do.
    Suddenly a car door slams in the driveway right outside the bedroom window.
    I freeze, a bullet of fear piercing my belly. A moment later, I hear a key in the lock of the front door.
    Fuck, it must be Anton, even though he’s not due back from work until six or seven. It’s either my husband or a burglar, and in my panic I almost wish it were a break-in. I wouldn’t owe a criminal any explanation for why I spent the afternoon with my hand down my pants while he had to sit through endless seminars on effective management techniques at his new company.
    My chest heaving like a fish out of water, I yank up my shorts and pull my T-shirt chastely over my breasts. Too late to hook my bra or do the zipper. The footsteps have reached the bedroom door.
    I stretch and sigh, feigning the yawn of a woman just waking from a nap.
    “Ah, the lazy life of a masseuse.” Anton bends over me for a quick kiss. He fishes his wallet and keys from his trousers and tosses them on his dresser, then takes off his watch, the things he does every day when he comes home from work. He has no clue that his wife has spent the last hour cavorting with a piscine dominatrix.
    I exhale with relief. I might just get away with my little afternoon infidelity.
    “Shiatsu classes don’t start for three weeks,” I remind him. “Until then my only job is to be your love slave, right?”
    It’s a risky move, but I’m feeling bold. And horny. If he has to come and interrupt me just when things are getting hot, the least he can do is help finish the job.
    He pauses, fingers at his shirt buttons, eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Love slave, huh? As a matter of fact, that is my preferredjob description for you. Lucky for us the seminar finished early today. The facilitator had that Friday-afternoon golfer’s gleam in his eye.” Anton’s eyes gleam, too, as he looks down at me.
    I’m expecting he’ll go into the walk-in closet to hang up his suit, so I can at least zip my shorts, but unfortunately, my come-on line was a little too successful. He undresses quickly, draping his suit and shirt on the armchair, then peels off his briefs. I can’t stop staring at his hard-on, a thick, red baton, floating in air as if by magic. My mouth starts to water. On summer days his dick tastes saltier, like a big pretzel stick.
    He slips into bed beside me, and I press myself against him, hoping he’ll be too distracted to notice I’m already partially undressed.
    It seems, however, that my luck has run out.
    He’s already reached under my T-shirt. “Hey, what’s with your bra?”
    “I unhook it when I nap,” I answer quickly. “It’s less constrictive.”
    His hand drops to my shorts and slithers through the gaping fly. I know my panties are damp. Sopping, actually. And there’s no mistaking that briny fragrance of aroused female.
    “Okay, Stef, what were you really doing when I got home?”
    My stomach clenches with guilt and a touch of fear. Which is stupid because he knows I masturbate when he goes on business trips. He certainly wanks when he’s away. But it’s different to be caught in the act with no excuse except the old saying “Idle hands do the devil’s work.”
    “I was just doing what you do in those hotel rooms while you’re watching porn movies,” I say, trying my best to sound cool.
    “Actually, I don’t waste money on stupid movies. There’s plenty of good stuff for free on the Internet.”
    Anton laughs and I join in, a touch too heartily.
    Then I ask shyly, “Do you mind?”
    I’m not sure why I feel so guilty about this. As if I’d actually cheated on him with another woman.
    “Not at all. I’m sorry I missed the show.”
    “I