Her car is in the driveway. Her family is in the house. The phone call has just gotten interesting. In there, past the door, past the bright inviting lights of the windows, are warmth, sanity, and domestic bliss. Out here are cold, craziness, and throbbing desire connected only by radio signals, satellites, and wires.

Unconsciously she unsnaps and unzips her jeans. Her dog, who has been waiting patiently for them to go inside, sits up, expecting something to happen. She pats the dog on the head, and with silent hand gestures convinces her to lie down in the back seat.

Her hand steals between her legs. She moans into the phone, and hears her lover on the other end moan back at her audacity. She can barely see her husband and sons through the window. Her lover, despite the distance, seems closer, and more real.

She is wet. But she needs to be wetter. Bringing her hand back up to her mouth she tastes her juices on her fingers, sucking them lovingly, thinking of his cock, so much more elegant than her husband's, then licks them, licks her palm, and returns her hand to her anxious cunt, her hand rubbing hard and fast.

"God I want you, my naughty boy. Fuck me hard you horny bastard. Dirty old man. Stick your beautiful cock inside me" she almost shouts into the phone as she watches her husband begin to pace the living room staring at his watch, wondering where she is.

She is coming, trembling, quivering, vibrating, shaking, spasming, hips bucking, phone pressed to her ear, shouting her lover's name as her increasingly anxious husband opens the curtains of the front window and looks out through the cold and the twilight and the windshield into her lust-glazed eyes.