We'd been married for seven years when I broke down and told him what I really wanted. It had taken me that long to come to grips with my inner demons. The sex had always been good, but there was always something lacking. I just couldn't let go. Always, I withheld some small part of myself. He knew. He always asked me what more he could do; what were my fantasies? He thought it was something he wasn't doing physically.

Physically he was wonderful. Five foot eight inches of toned muscle, a gorgeous smile, dirty blond hair that never quite did what he asked of it. Piercing gray-blue eyes that could turn stormy as the sea on a cold winter day. To top it all off he had the perfect cock. It was eight inches long and my hand fit perfectly around its girth. He gave it to me gently and he gave it to me hard. He gave me whatever I wanted.

In our seventh year of marriage money was tight and the economy seemed to be slowly sinking. He had a degree in Archaeology. We'd both spent time as shovel bums doing field work all over the southeastern United States. It was getting us nowhere fast without a master's degree, and neither of us could afford to go back to school. So he joined the Air Force. It was during that time of upheaval and soul searching that we began to discuss our darker fantasies. Being away from each other for several months left us both hot for each other, and our phone conversations became ever more provocative.

One evening I told him of an encounter I'd had on a fantasy role-playing game. The guy I'd met was quite domineering and it had really set me on fire. I'd always enjoyed it rough, he knew that. But never had I expressed a need to him for domination. He began asking pointed questions about what he could do or say to make our interactions sexier. I was surprised at the avid interest and felt a flutter of nervousness. What if he liked this idea better than I thought I did? After all, he'd just been through military training. Granted, the Air Force is not as tough as some branches of the military, but the discipline and control he'd had to learn was never far from my thoughts.

His curiosity was enough to make me wet. He must have sensed it because he asked me how I was feeling.

"I miss you more than I can say," I replied.

He chuckled. His voice is deep timbered and can easily give me the shivers with the right words.

"Touch yourself for me," he directed, his voice tickling that nerve that flows to all tender points of a woman's being.

I did as he requested, my fingers lightly brushing my clit and seeking further to the swelling lips of my pussy.

"Tell me about your pussy," he demanded.

"It's moist, and hot, and missing you," I whispered, my face turning pink.

"I can't hear you, love," he replied, knowing my embarrassment.

"I'm wet and I wish you were here buried deep inside me," I said this time, a little louder.

"Soon love, very soon," he said as he hung up the phone.

Not long after that conversation I left my home of twenty-eight years to move to Texas. He would be in technical school there for a few months before we would be stationed to a permanent base. I hadn't seen him in three months. My nervousness was palpable. The butterflies in