What a day. Today was super busy at work so I’m running late getting home. Doesn’t help that I forgot to call my wife until pretty much just now. It also so happens that my phone is dead, so I’m sure she was trying to call me the whole time. She’s not going to be happy when I get home.
I pull up to our place and step out into the brisk night. I take one last deep breath before walking in.
“Where the hell have you been?” an annoyed sounding voice asks right as I step in. In the entry way, with her paws on her hips, was my Hellhound wife. She looked pretty much like most of her kind, with black hair, soot-gray skin, and appropriate canine ears and a tail. She had fur covering most of her arms and legs, and her eyes were a piercing black and orange with fire flickering from them. She was wearing a plain, white t-shit and short-shorts that weren’t fully up because of her tail. Normally I would admire her very basic, very comfortably worn attire; but right now, I just feel ashamed.
“I’m so sorry, honey, today was just really tough. I would have called earlier but my phone died and…” Before I could finish what I was saying, she had already moved right up to me and holding a paw out.
“Give it to me.” I was caught off-guard by the sudden command. It took my brain a good couple of seconds to figure out what she meant. I took my phone out of my pocket and handed it to my wife. Without saying anything else, she clutches the phone in her paw and starts walking off towards our bedroom.
“Your dinner is on the table. If it’s too cold, I’m sure you know how to work a microwave.” She then heads off to the bedroom and I’m left alone in the entryway.
Instead of continuing to stand there like an idiot, I hang up my coat and head to the dining room. I see on the table a plate with a cover over it. I lift the cover to discover two things: first was the pretty sizable amount of food on the plate and, second, the steam that bellowed up when I removed the cover.
Did my wife just recently cook this, or has she been keeping it warm for me till I got home? I smile and grab myself a drink before sitting down to eat.
As usual, my wife was an amazing cook. My parents, especially my mom, wouldn’t believe me at first when I told them. Then my wife made some pumpkin pie one Thanksgiving and made a believer out of them.
While I was eating, my wife had returned from the bedroom and sat at the table and watched me eat. I wanted to make conversation, but I was still worried that my wife was still mad at me.
I finished my supper and was ready to clean up my plate and silverware, when my wife stopped me and took the plate from me.
“I’ll take care of it. You go and watch T.V. or something.” She then headed towards the kitchen while I stood there confused again. I just let out a sigh and headed towards the living room, laid on the couch, and just flipped through channels. It wasn’t long before my wife came over to the couch, holding a folded up blanket.
“Just stay where you are.” I hadn’t even move, but I definitely would have gotten up to make room for her. Instead, she unfolds the blanket, throws it behind her like cape, and lays down on me with her head resting on my chest. Not really sure if the blanket is all that necessary, since my wife can be pretty warm already.
“Is there anything you want to watch?” I ask adjusting myself more comfortably under my wife.
“I’m fine with anything.” I know that’s not true. I’ve learned pretty quickly what kind of shows my wife doesn’t like, so I start flipping channels to find something good.
I eventually find a movie worth watching and we just lay there together on the couch. I don’t notice until sometime much later that I had started to scratch behind my wife’s ear, which of course, she loves but will never admit out loud.
“Hey,” my wife says, turning to look at me with her paws on my chest and her chin on top. “You know I’m not mad at you, right?”
“When you were running late and didn’t call, I was starting to get really worried. I was close to hunting you down, myself, to make sure you weren’t in any danger. I am a little annoyed you didn’t call, regardless if your phone died. I’m sure you could have found another phone.”
“I’m sorry, honey. It really was a stressful day at work. I promise it’ll never happen again.”
“Damn right it better not. Hey…” my wife moves up a little closer to my face, our noses practically touching. “To relieve some of that stress, would like to take charge tonight?”
I can’t believe what my wife is saying right now. Me, take charge? She never lets me take charge. Who is this and what has she done with my beautiful wife? I can’t let this opportunity slip.
In as quick of movements as I can, I push on my wife’s shoulders so she’s lying on her back on the couch with me on top. My wife is surprised at first, but her expression quickly changes to a lustful grin.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” We lock lips, exploring each other’s mouth with our tongues before we start discarding our clothes during our make-out.
Something bright starts to bother my eyes as I’m slowly woken up from my very relaxing sleep. My sleepy mind soon registers the light as the sun and I soon realize it is morning. I open my eyes to see that, during our love-making, we did manage our way to the bedroom. Now that was a night, and good thing it was a day-off for me or I would definitely be late right now.
I look to see my wife sleeping soundly next to me with her arm wrapped around me. I have to do something for her. She puts up with me and I couldn’t ask for more, but she always seems to give more. I should make her some breakfast. I try to slip out of her grasp and not wake her. This turned out to be futile, since her hold on me tightens.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks, not even opening her eyes.
“I thought I’d make my beautiful, amazing wife some breakfast. Cook some eggs, bacon, maybe some sausage…”
“No. Sleep more, breakfast later.” Well I guess that’s that. I figured the sausage and nice compliments would have enticed her. I relent and lay back down, and when I do, my wife snuggles up closer to me getting in some quick whiffs of my scent.
We lay in bed for a few more minutes before my wife starts stirring and I hear a growl from her. Not from her throat, but from her stomach.
“On second thought, breakfast doesn’t sound so bad right now.” I keep myself from bursting out laughing as I get up, with a little reluctance from my sleepy wife, and head towards the kitchen. I wonder if I can make a breakfast so good she’ll let me take charge again?