monkey man.

"When are we leaving?" My husband asks from the next room.

"I told you, I'm not going tonight," I remind him, as I hurriedly chop the veggies for the crudité platter we promised to bring.
"Party pooper."
"I'm sorry.  I didn't have time to find a costume."  He doesn't respond. "It's your thing, anyway," I continue. "And you can visit better with your friends.  You won't have to babysit me."  Silent, expect more chopping.  I stop. "Chris?  Are you listening?"
"Gahhh!!"  He screams, leaping out from the hallway, wearing a latex monkey mask.  
"Jesus," I gasp. "You're terrible.  The mask is kind of an improvement, though," I joke.  He rips it off, immediately.  
"Oh really?  You like Monkey Man?"  He flirts, approaching me.
"Careful, I'm brandishing a weapon."
"Then, I better stay on your good side," he winks, moving behind me.  His hands grasp my hips, pulling me towards his pelvis.  I feel his bulge against my backside, and I place the knife down to free up my hands. Grasping the edge of the counter, I lean into him, arching my back, a smile crossing my lips.  His strong hands move up my body to my breasts, which he kneads through my sweater, encouraging me to straighten.  I relax into him, my neck slackening, releasing a soft moan.  This is what I want.  Not some Halloween party.  My hair falls to the side, and I'm almost his, as he wetly kisses my neck and ear.  
"You know, we could both just stay in tonight," he breathes, and I feel the muscles in between my legs engage.  But my conscience thinks it knows better.  
"No, you should go," I say, separating from him. I retrieve the knife to finish the last of the vegetables. "Can you tell Jen I wasn't feeling well?" 
"Ooo oo ah ah!"  I look up.  He has once again donned the latex mask.  
"Here are your vegetables, Monkey Man," I say with sarcasm, handing him the Tupperware.
"I won't be late," he says, muffled by the mask.  He grabs his wallet and keys, and lifts the mask to give me a peck on the cheek.  I place the knife and cutting board in the sink as he disappears down the hallway.  More echoed monkey sounds, followed by the slam of the front door.  I smile and shake my head as I turn on the warm water.  I let it run over my hands, soaping up the sponge.  Perhaps I'll take a bath tonight.  I close my eyes, picturing it, but a noise startles me, and I cut my ring finger on the knife in the sink.  "Ah," I gasp.  The front door.  "Did you forget something?"
I grab a paper towel and wrap my finger.  When I look up, Monkey Man is standing in the archway of the kitchen.  "I gave you the dip, right?"  I open the fridge.  No, I did.  I turn around.  He hasn't moved a muscle.  Weirdo.
"Do I have to call you Monkey Man before you'll answer?"  He nods.  I smile.  We're no strangers to role play. "Have you decided to stay after all?"  I flirt, approaching him.  "Or at least, another couple minutes?"  The mask nods again.  
Paper towel clutched in one hand, I fumble with his belt.   I examine the small slits in the mask, but there is only darkness behind them.  The anonymity gives me confidence, as I unbutton his jeans, and reach down his the front of his pants.  He feels warm in my hand, as I begin to stroke him to life.  Bent forward, my hair falls to one side, first tickling, then exposing my neck.  It feels naked, and I close my eyes, longing for him to kiss me there like he did before.  I hear his breathing become laboured beneath the mask.  My injured hand unzips his fly, giving him room to grow.  Feeling him harden in my grip, I sexily bite my lip, desiring to taste him.  I look up once more to the mask, as I kneel on the cool tile.  He appears to look down at me, and I imagine an expression of desire beneath the latex.  I take his cock completely out of his pants, eyes still locked with the small slits of the mask.  I lick my lips, ready to take him in my mouth, when my eyes wander down to a completely... unfamiliar cock.  I freeze.  This is not my husband.  I look up at the mask, only to see the intruder swing.  A sharp pain in my head, and I collapse onto the cool tile.  I struggle for consciousness, still gripping the bloodied paper towel in my hand.  The last thing I see is the stranger retrieving the knife from the sink.  

Then, lights out.