Silk Anniversary

Four years after Bronze Anniversary, Mr. Walker still hauls home a fresh piece of ass every year for his wife's anniversary present. This time he's flipping the script. He paces the living room, checks his watch, hears the door click. Mrs. Walker walks in looking distracted. Late again, he growls. She just shrugs like it isn't worth fighting about, tosses a lukewarm happy anniversary, then snaps her fingers: Where's my gift? He nods toward the bedroom. She tilts her head. She? Mrs. Walker steps through the doorway and stops cold. On the bed sits Candy, barely legal, smiling like she already won. Mrs. Walker whips around, furious. This isn't what they agreed on; she wants dick, not some eager college brat. Candy pipes up from the pillows, all sugar and sass: Hubby spilled everything about their tired little tradition, said it was getting stale. Mrs. Walker sneers that she's straight, but Mr. Walker calls her a prude and starts peeling Candy's clothes off himself. The wife watches, fists tight. The second her husband palms Candy's tits her anger slips into worry. If she says no, what's keeping him from stepping out on his own terms? Swallowing hard, she peels off her blouse and climbs onto the bed. Candy grabs her wrists, plants them on smooth skin. Mrs. Walker fumbles, unsure where her mouth goes, how her fingers move. Mr. Walker laughs low, strips, and slides in behind his wife, guiding her hand, whispering filthy instructions while he watches the two women grind. That's exactly how he wanted it.