Romantic, Sexy Erotica
"Missing Mingo" a sex story by Tenille Brown
Ingrid never considered the fact that somewhere in the three weeks, she might actually miss him. Though, truthfully, she still wasn’t exactly sure that it was Mingo that she missed. Not missing him in the sense of him being there, because, over the years, he had tended to get in the way if they were in the same room for too long, and Ingrid loving Mingo to pieces didn’t stop him from getting on her nerves from time to time.
Ten years with the same man could do that, Ingrid supposed, but now, lying in their bed alone just after two a.m., she had yet to fall asleep.
It was day eight and there was a slight chill in the air. The tangled sheets on their bed were pulled between her thighs. For the first time in years, Ingrid was restless. Yes, this was the part she missed. The part where she could reach over and wake her husband at will, slip her hand inside his pajamas and caress his cock, gently rousing him with her fingers.
A predictable man, Ingrid always knew Mingo would be awake in a matter of seconds, moaning before his eyes even opened and instinctively he’d reach back, his hands under her t-shirt.
But Mingo wasn’t there to reach back, to scoot over and climb on top, parting her thighs and sliding in. And he wouldn’t be there for another two weeks.
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
Agitated, Ingrid was on her back now, staring at the ceiling. She ran a hand through her short, auburn curls.
She was officially horny.
It might not be so bad if somewhere over the years their sex had turned monotonous, if they had stopped caring and resorted to having typical lazy, married people sex.
But no, the sex was still electric after all this time. Sure, now and then it was sweet and romantic, but most times it consisted of fucking like mad until they came, kissed quickly and fell off to sleep.
Ingrid wondered what Mingo was doing in Chicago right now, alone in his hotel room. She wondered if somehow he had been awakened by the very same urge. She wondered if he was hard right now, too hard for a restful slumber.
And if he was…hard that is…would Mingo take it upon himself to take care of it?
He’d make do. That was what Mingo had said to Ingrid when she teased him about how much he’d miss her, taunted him that he’d have to go three whole weeks with no loving while he was on his scouting trip.
As for herself, Ingrid hadn’t thought she’d need to make do. She had never been the sort of woman to actually miss it, fucking that is. But admittedly, she couldn’t miss what had been there all the time.
Ingrid glanced again at Mingo’s empty side of the bed. The urge was getting stronger and sleep was still nowhere to be found.
Too frustrated to masturbate, Ingrid got up and poured herself a glass of wine. She lit a cigarette and smoked it while she watched a dirty movie.
And eventually, just after four, Ingrid fell asleep to the image of two strangers fucking on her television screen and wondered if maybe, just maybe, Mingo was doing the same.
~
Ingrid hadn’t called Mingo specifically for that reason. At least that was what she told herself.
But, before she knew it, her nightgown and panties were tossed aside and she was lying on top of the sheets, knees bent, legs spread wide.
She hadn’t even asked so much as how his day had gone, what he'd had for dinner and if he had seen any interesting sights.
Instead she wanted to know what he was doing with his cock, if it missed exploring the inside of her, she wanted to know how many times he had thought of her naked and jerked off.
The phone was pressed against Ingrid’s face and her free hand was between her legs as she awaited his response.
“The second night,” Mingo said. “The second night I couldn’t stop thinking about you in the shower, when your hair and everything is wet and you always leave just a little soap on your back and I wipe if off of you. And I always get so fucking hard standing behind you that I want to take you and fuck you right then and there.”
Ingrid exhaled. She licked her lips before speaking.
“I happen to be fresh out of the shower. And I have my fingers inside my cunt, now,” Ingrid said.”
“Damn,” was Mingo’s response.
Ingrid continued, “And right now, I want your hand wrapped around your cock.”
“It’s there,” Mingo said. “Can barely get my hand around it, but it’s there.” He chuckled softly.
“Cocky bastard,” Ingrid laughed. “Stroke that huge cock for me, Mingo. Think about me rubbing my cunt, getting it nice and wet.”
“I am.”
“And if I was there, I’d have my lips around your cock, sucking it until you couldn’t take it anymore.”
“I believe you, baby.” Mingo said.
“And I’d swallow every drop.” Ingrid added it in for good measure.
“Nasty bitch,” he growled in her ear.
Ingrid’s nipples hardened at Mingo’s words.
And Ingrid absolutely was wet, wetter than she could ever remember, making herself feel sexier than she ever thought she could experience on her own.
Untitled 3 by Samantha Wolov
It was Mingo’s voice, his moans, his groans. It was the things he was doing to himself and describing to Ingrid in great detail over the phone.
Mingo’s voice was deeper this time of night. Ingrid figured she never noticed because they didn’t do much talking after midnight. And she never paid attention before to his breathing pattern when he was turned on, the way it quickened with the intensity of his stroking.
Listening as it was happening miles and miles away, that was different. Listening as it was happening miles and miles away, there was plenty of room to imagine what Mingo might be doing with his hands, what expressions were on his face at that very moment.
Ingrid became even wetter, her fingers slick with her own juices. Her cunt swelled with excitement, her chest rapidly rose and fell.
“I’m coming.”
Mingo sounded as if he could barely speak the words, as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.
Ingrid imagined Mingo’s eyes were squeezed shut as he came all over his clean hotel sheets and this brought on Ingrid’s own ending, an orgasm so intense it twisted her belly into knots. After an unspeakable explosion as the result of a thirteen-minute conversation, Ingrid’s body was still.
On the other end of the phone, Mingo snored softly.
The phone dropped from Ingrid’s fingers down to the carpet.
Ingrid left it there.
~
Looking around, Ingrid wondered why she and Mingo never thought to fuck in her office. Was she just that uptight or did Mingo himself think it wasn’t allowed?
If nothing else it would break up the monotony of sitting there all day, working and staring out the window.
There were chairs in there that would be perfect for straddling Mingo. There were rulers on her desk that would be perfect for smacking him on the ass when he was naughty.
Ingrid decided then and there that they would hit the office first when Mingo came home.
But for now, Ingrid turned on the monitor on her computer and within seconds Mingo’s image appeared on the screen. He smiled when he saw her.
Ingrid looked down at herself, feeling as if she might blush.
But why? He wasn’t a stranger, some new fling. She lived with and was married to the man, after all.
Mingo looked sexier somehow in another city, in a generic hotel room with generic white sheets, sitting there completely naked. Ingrid took in his body as if she had never seen it before.
Mingo was a large man, and strong. Everything on him was big. His hands, his chest, his arms, a footballer’s body still.
Ingrid noticed that he was taking her in as well. Her freshly cut hair, her new lingerie for their digital encounter.
Ingrid turned and pressed play on the CD player.
They hadn’t planned for it, none of it. She supposed that at the beginning of all this, neither of them had seen the need.
Still, here she was carrying on an impromptu striptease. Mingo’s favorite song blasted from the speakers and Ingrid began undressing to the beat. She flaunted around the room for a while in her pink panties and garters, then turned around so that Mingo could take in her ass. She turned back around to remove her bra.
Her full breasts she held in her hands, rubbed her fingers across her darkened nipples. She watched Mingo’s cock rise, studied the different stages of his arousal.
“Go ahead, Mingo,” Ingrid said. “Jerk off for me.”
She had never given the command before, but Mingo, as if he had been awaiting permission, began to slowly stroke his cock.
They were in rhythm, Ingrid to the music, Mingo to her moves. He ran his tongue across his lips, his eyelids lowered in desire.
Ingrid smiled slyly as she watched Mingo’s rhythm quicken. He grunted. He folded and bit his bottom lip.
Ingrid removed her panties then, dancing in front of the camera with nothing on but her patent leather stilettos. She placed one foot in the chair in front of her, put her finger in her mouth and wet it, then pushed it slowly into her bare pussy.
“I missed that pretty pussy you know,” Mingo said between strokes.
And his hand moved even faster. It turned Ingrid on to know that it was because of her, that Mingo’s cock rose and fell at her silent command.
By the end of the song, Mingo’s passion spewed from his cock onto his tanned legs, the white comforter, and the carpet. Spent, the sweat popped from his forehead and ran down his face. He fell back onto the bed, his cock limp and resting on his thigh.
“Fuck.” He said.
Ingrid smiled.
She said, “Night, Mingo.”
And she turned the camera off.
~
Ingrid approached Mingo in the airport as a stranger or an admirer might. In her black mini-dress and come-fuck-me boots, she came from behind and wrapped her lanky arms around his solid middle, pressing her bosom against his back.
She felt his heart beating fast. Mingo’s surprise triggered an unexpected excitement in Ingrid.
Ingrid pulled Mingo into the nearest restroom then, locked the door and pushed him up against the wall. He looked better than he ever had, ginger eyes shimmering, his scent fresh and sweet. Ingrid slipped her tongue between his lips, wanting desperately to taste him, to savor as much as she could.
Ingrid didn’t give Mingo a chance to ask questions. She herself didn’t dwell on whether or not it all made sense.
Ingrid only knew that the past three weeks of panting on the phone, dirty dancing in front of the webcam and missing Mingo had all led up to this.
The heat coursed through her body. She hopped up into her husband’s arms. Mingo placed Ingrid on his hips and held her there, her long legs wrapped tightly around him.
With his fingers, Mingo pulled Ingrid’s panties aside. He unzipped his pants and pressed his already hardened cock inside her.
Yes, Ingrid missed Mingo, she did. She missed the way he swelled inside her, missed the way she came like a storm when he fucked her. Ingrid thought of telling Mingo the same, growling the words in his ear, but her cunt did it for her, grabbing onto his cock and holding on for dear life.
Ingrid didn’t expect Mingo to last long at all. In fact, if he had held out for more than the three minutes it took him to come, she might have been offended.
And although Mingo came quickly, Ingrid was quicker, erupting in spasms and jerks as she wrapped her legs tighter around him.
Ingrid was thankful Mingo was big enough and strong enough to hold her now limp body. Her legs, weakened, were unsteady as she lowered herself and pulled down and straightened her dress in the mirror.
Mingo pulled at his tie. He rubbed his hand roughly over his lips and beard and straightened his jacket. He zipped his pants.
They exited the restroom, then the airport together, Mingo’s bags in tow. Ingrid stopped at her car. Mingo leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
“See you at home, then.” He said.
Ingrid nodded. “Ten, twelve minutes, tops.”
She watched Mingo climb into his truck, then pulled out behind him and followed him home.
~
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Copyright January 2012, Tenille Brown
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.