Taxing.

The office is a mess. There are five piles of bank statements, investment profiles, receipts, and the odd old recipe. I'm doing the taxes. It's an eye-straining kind of thing, even with my glasses on. I've been at it all day. I'm tired. I cooked dinner and cleaned up too. I took care of the boy all night by myself. I'm tired. Did I say that already?

I wish he would come in here, touch my shoulder, and say,'You look beat. Let me give you some rubbing.' I'd smile and nod. We'd walk to the bedroom and I'd slowly undress. Even though he knows I'm tired, his eyes would crawl over me lecherously. Even now he'd fuck me if that's what I needed. But it isn't and he knows it.

He'd pull the bedding down so I could crawl onto the sheet. I'd sigh aahhhh with the cool relief of it. He'd straddle my back and rub his thumbs up and down my spine. He knows there's this spot where the bastards of stress hang out, right by my shoulderblade. He'd work it until I gasped. He'd relent. He'd go on to other areas like the sore wrists and my tight scalp. Oh the star-struck joy of a head massage. My tongue lolls in my mouth.

Every once in a while I'd be conscious of his penis touching my back, my ass, or my leg. It's a nice reminder that thoughtful as he is, he's still crawling all over me. Just once I'd feel him slide between my ass cheeks. I would smile. He'd say 'oh that, that's nothing.' But the thrill it would give me tells me that maybe my energy isn't so low after all...