Lockdown Fantasy 1 We all have fantasies. Those situations or scenarios conjured up by our imaginations when we consciously want to be aroused. For the most part, my own fantasies have been pretty consistent for most of my adult life. They involve the same people, dressed the same way, interacting with me in a manner that offers precious little variation from what has gone before. I’ve never really needed variation. They are my fantasies because they appeal to my own inner erotic preferences. They just work. In recent weeks, however, I’ve started to notice a change. A change undoubtedly brought about by the experience of lockdown. Increasingly, the traditional go to dreamscapes created in my mind are being replaced. Replaced by new dreamscapes that all seem to have a common theme. The theme of freedom. The freedom to go where we want, the freedom to do what we want, when we want. Freedoms that’s we previously took for granted and that may now be curtailed because of the restrictions we now find forced upon us. Perhaps an inability to travel somewhere, or an inability to see someone when we want to, or an inability to do something we once saw as insignificantly normal. The fantasy I’m going to describe to you now, never used to be a fantasy. It used to happen regularly on those days off when the kids were at school, or out with friends or relatives. It may seem to some boring or stupidly normal behaviour to be considered a fantasy. Over the past few weeks, however, it has become the unobtainable. The kids are no longer at school, or able to visit friends or family. As such, this erotic memory of the past now has an elevated status in my mind. Normal has now become a fantasy. I find myself thinking of washing up. With sleeves rolled up, I momentarily twist a tap so that warm water cascades into a sink. As I look out through the window at a sun bathed, football adorned, empty back garden. I can hear birds singing and observe swallows swooping down from a pale blue skyline above. I gaze at the lawn and wonder if it should be cut? Before I make up my mind, I suddenly become conscious of a presence and smile at the comforting sensation of my wife’s arms wrapping around me from behind. Her chin rests on my right shoulder, her forehead nestles in the nap of my neck and she share’s my view. “Can you hear that?” she says in a whisper. “Silence,” I say in response. Even just saying the word seems strangely pleasurable. “Exactly,” says Sandra. “Freedom! We can do whatever we like, wherever we like.” I feel her lips make contact with the skin on my neck, just below my ear. Their gentle caress causing the hairs on my skin to stand and goose bumps to rise on my arms as my brain anticipates what may be to come. I turn my head, and reciprocate by kissing the top of her forehead, the familiar sweet aroma that her shampoo gives her hair fills my senses. I feel her hand stroke my left shoulder, rubbing it lovingly until her arms loosen their reach around hug and her fingers start to glide downwards, gently brushing over the material in my shirt so that that I can feel the direction of their path. I close my eyes, praying they won’t stop, and they don’t. Sandra’s fingers continue downwards, searching for my belt buckle. As I feel her slowly start to open it, the length of leather audibly sliding through the loops of my trousers, it triggers a rise in my heartbeat. My breathing quickens and as I glance down to see the button coming free and the zip being lowered with deliberate slowness, I can already feel the adrenalin entering my blood stream. When Sandra finally pushes her hand down inside my pants, my cock is already starting to stiffen. Her skin feels cold on mine as her hand feels me, delving down to rub and massage the loose skin of my scrotum, cupping and holding my balls. I feel her fingers explore my length, holding it, pulling my dick upwards and releasing it from its confines. I look down and purr at the sight of Sandra’s hands pulling my pants down further so that my penis springs free and bounces gently in mid-air, Sandra’s glossy burgundy painted finger nails positioning themselves around its girth. As it twitches and rises to become fully erect, zig zag veins rise and protrude all along my shaft, Sandra gripping my foreskin and gently pulling it back so that my swelling cock head emerges from my foreskin. The bulbous smooth flanks of my tip pulse and spread as blood is forced into it through visible blue veins and it darkens in colour. Sandra squeezes the tip between her fingers and a bead of precum emerges. A purse of clear silk, which she smears over my helmet, making it glisten in the daylight. Sensing a need for more lubrication, Sandra reaches beyond me and dips her fingers into the still clean water in the sink. She grabs my cock once again and starts to wank it furiously, her wet fingers easily gliding over his aching flanks, my cock tip occasionally nudging the edge of the sink as she handles it roughly. It feels sublime. Overcome with lust, I abruptly turn around and take Sandra’s head in my hands. My pants fall to my ankles and Sandra re-grips my cock. Our mouths lock together. Our lips open, our tongues dance and we taste each other for seems like an age. Eventually, breathless, I pull my face away from her and a string of her saliva stubbornly clings to my lips, stretching between our mouths and then snapping as I scramble to touch and feel her breasts. Frantically I pull her t-shirt upwards and we stagger across the kitchen until Sandra’s back finds support from the tall upright fridge freezer sitting by the far wall. It shudders as she hits it, its contents clinging and clanging at the disruption, a myriad of painted pictures, notes and photographs that adorned the front of the fridge suddenly scattering and falling to the kitchen floor as Sandra’s arms lean across it for support. We kiss again and Sandra tries to help by lifting her bra. I see her large hanging breasts emerge, falling downwards and swaying in front of me. I stop kissing Sandra and instead stoop, forcing my head downwards so that I can catch a nipple in my mouth. She is as excited as I am, lost in the moment, her breasts rising and falling on her rib cage and as her pimpled pink areola enters my mouth, I can feel her soft warm nipple become erect and hard in my lips. I suck greedily. A few seconds later I glance down to my left, and without hesitation violently swipe my arm across the surface of the kitchen table, sending the school books, condiments, and cutlery flying across the kitchen floor with a crash. I forcefully pull Sandra away from the fridge and urge her to lie back on the table. As she spreads her legs wide, we both crazily rip and tear at her shorts, barely able to contain our passion. I finally pull the shorts open and away. I pull her panties to the side with my fingers and drop my face downwards. Now I can smell Sandra’s sex, as my nose pushes through her black public hair and I kiss her abdomen. Sandra moans out loudly as she feels my tongue pushing in between her labia. I stab her with it, twisting it, pulling her lips apart with my fingers so that I can plunge my tongue deeper, lapping her wetness into my mouth. I feel Sandra widen her legs even further and when I finally raise my head to gasp for air, I can see her propped up on her elbows gazing down at the scene, her face partially concealed by her hair as it clings to the her now sweat soaked face. I gaze up into her eyes and I push two fingers inside her, stretching her soaking pussy, hooking the fingers upwards so that they rub against her g-spot. The reaction is almost crazed, as Sandra falls back and writhes on the kitchen table. She pushes the fruit bowl over the edge and apples and oranges hit the floor with a bruising thud, rolling away across the tiles. As I continue to finger her, I now seek out her clit with my lips. Flicking my warm wet tongue across it, sucking it, humming a moan of satisfaction so that the vocal vibrations torture it. By now, my face is becoming wet, soaked with the juices that Sandra’s arousal is creating within her own body. I stand up straight and pause for a second. Below me, my wife is splayed across the kitchen table, curvaceous thighs wide open and presenting me with a pussy waiting to be fucked. I reach forward and push my hands under her buttocks so that I can lift her and pull her body towards me, and so that while still standing I can manoeuvre between her legs. Her feet hang in mid-air over the edge of the table, and I support her legs with my arms as I lean forward. I position my cock with my fingers, my tip rubbing against her small hooded clit, moving down, pushing against the opening of her vagina, precum mingling with the saliva and juices that cling to her skin and pubic hair. I push my hips forward and close my eyes as I feel my penis slowly become enveloped by Sandra’s vaginal walls. My cock slides up inside her, deeper, inch by inch until eventually my balls press against her bum and the tight black curls of hair on both our bodies become locked together. As I gaze down, I can see the primal expression of sexual pleasure adorning Sandra’s face. Her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed, her mouth open, her shining skin barely visible through her scattered hair. At this moment, nothing else matters, only the need to be fucked and to fuck. I slowly start to withdraw my shaft, so that Sandra can savour the feel of it moving inside her. I pause, just as my cock head is about to pull clear of her cunt, and then push it in again. Still with deliberate sedateness, all the way, as deep as it will go. Now I start to increase my rhythm, withdrawing it and pushing it in, grinding my hips back and forth as I penetrate Sandra again and again, gradually increasing speed and forcefulness. I look down as I fuck and see and feel my dick becoming soaked, squelching inside her, her juices dripping down onto my balls, each thrust causing my testicles to slap against her skin and the kitchen table to shudder under the strain. The feeling of Sandra’s tight pussy squeezing around my cock is almost too much to bear. I release her legs and grip the edge of the table with my hands, stabilising myself so I can pound her even faster, even harder. Sandra reaches down, her fingers desperately feel for her clit, rubbing it furiously, the friction adding to the wave of pleasure that are now building from the pit of her stomach. As we both speed up even more, building to a crescendo, Sandra cries out, her legs straighten and I feel her clenching my cock to such an extent that the pressure forces it out with a spurt of squirting liquid that slaps and soaks me. As it does so, I grab my dick and wank manically. I can’t stop now. I feel my body spasm and my cock start to go numb as my orgasm releases and jets of thick white cum spray from my tip, arcing through the air and splattering over Sandra’s stomach, each globule of cum erupting from me, accompanied with a convulsing seizure of intense pleasure and relief. As the ejaculation subsides, my cock droops downwards, resting on Sandra’s pubic mound, spent and with the last emergence of white spunk drooling down onto her skin. Exhausted, I stoop over Sandra, my arms holding onto the edge of the table and preventing me from collapsing on top of her. I look down at the strings and islands of cum decorating her skin. Her belly button, in particular, is a crater that creates a deep pool of cum that I can’t resist. Sandra raises her head and watches as I lower my head and push my tongue into it, sucking the tick viscous fluid up into my mouth, licking her clean. Sandra reaches out a hand, her mouth opening wider in expectation. She doesn’t need to ask me. Instinctively I know what she wants, and I grab her arms, pulling her body upright from the table with all my might. We embrace each other and our mouths lock once more, my tongue pushing through her lips and drawing with it my mouth full of cum. We mix the fluids in our mouths, our faces crisscrossing and twisting against each other as we kiss, our mouths slippery and cum soaked. We stagger backwards again, the trousers around my ankles trip me and causes us to fall in a heap on the floor, scattering yet further the debris that had landed there previously. We lie there, side by side. A scene of kitchen destruction around us, savouring the intimacy, savouring the privacy. Finally, I raise myself and lean over, kissing my wife on the forehead. Its all clear to me now. That grass does indeed need to be cut.