It’s anal time!

It started in the shower.
The kids slept until it was light out, their internal clocks finely tuned to the sun, but Jack and I had to roll out of bed long before then. He always hit the snooze button at least twice, and I usually snuggled up to his broad, strong back until he rolled me over to reverse spoon and pulled my hips in to him so I could feel how hard he was for me. There wasn’t a day on earth that Jack didn’t wake up hard. It made me smile and wiggle back against him, all sleepy eyes and long limbs.
It was a very rare occasion when we had time for morning sex in our rush to get everything ready and everyone out the door on time. Still, he loved it when I reached back and squeezed and tugged on him in those drifting moments still caught between sleeping and awake. I liked to imagine what he’d been dreaming about as I reached back to stroke him against my ass— what new flavor of the feminine had entered his unconscious during the night—a dark, exotic beauty; a long, slender blonde, some cool drink of water; or maybe a curvy, fiery redhead like me?
It was an awkward angle for me to do for very long, and sometimes he took his cock in his hand and rubbed it up and down the crack of my ass, or just moved the head against the soft skin of my cheek. Once in a while, if I’d forgotten and worn panties to bed, I’d curl my arm behind my back and pull my panties up tight. He loved to see me “bound” that way, even just the suggestion, my wrist twisted in the material and resting against my lower back, my bikini panties pulled taut and thin as a thong between my cheeks.
There were mornings when he felt more urgent, when he grabbed my hips and shoved his cock between my ass cheeks, rubbing it there, hard. Those mornings he’d press into me and stroke his cock against my ass, his breath coming faster against my neck, his cock an iron bar, hand pistoning up and down his shaft. I loved listening to the sweet flesh music of his hand on his cock. It made me moan and wiggle against him as I reached back to spread my ass for him—god, he loved that!—and arch my back so he could aim his cock at the tender little rosebud of my asshole. That usually sent him over the edge, my hands opening myself to him that way, and he would grunt and thrust and spill his cum deep into the crack of my ass.
Those were the days I really needed a shower.
I was the queen of fast showers, with a litany of things to do that day already running through my head. He was a shower lingerer, just standing for long moments under the water, soap in hand, while I was all-business, scrubbing and rinsing and shaving in record time.
Sometimes he could get me to linger with him, distract me from the endless lists of stuff to accomplish in my head. That’s where it really started, although I recognize it now as a progression from our early morning ass-stroking sessions. It happened more on mornings when he was still excited, those mornings he didn’t masturbate to completion in our bed, those mornings when his cock revived the minute soap and water were applied.
Those mornings he would take my hand and put it on his cock as he washed it, slick and hard and throbbing, something he knew never failed to interest me. I couldn’t
often resist a hard cock thrusting into my hand, even when there were other things to do.
Still, I would protest. “Jack, we can’t. I forgot to make lunches last night.”
“How about a little breakfast first?” He’d kiss me and then rub his fingers over my lips and I would know immediately what he wanted.
I loved sucking him off in the shower, although I didn’t often get the opportunity.