“Do you have any idea how sexy you are right now?” As I stood up from putting a pan away in a low cabinet, his arms encircled me, and he planted a kiss on my neck.
“I’m just wearing a T-shirt and jeans,” I said, turning to kiss him.
“But it’s that T-shirt and those jeans.”
I smiled. “He noticed,” I thought to myself. I had intentionally chosen my outfit that morning to signal that I was ready and willing for anything he might want. I knew that he found me irresistible in these particular clothes, but I couldn’t fathom why.
He pulled me into him so I could feel the heaviness beginning to settle in his groin. I moved my hand to caress his burgeoning erection, and was rewarded as his cock surged to greet my fingers. “So, are we going to, uh, you know . . ." he began.
Ordinarily he was anything but shy — that was my role — but sometimes he became inexplicably reticent to talk about sex.
“Mmm,” I sighed. “I’d like that.” I kissed him deeply — my tongue forcing its way into his mouth, running across his teeth, and eventually finding a partner in his own.
He ran his large, warm hands down my back, one coming to rest at my waist while the other was bolder, sliding farther south and giving my backside a gentle squeeze. “What would you like?” he breathed into my ear.
“Let’s start by taking this somewhere more comfortable.” I took his hand, turned out the lights in the kitchen, and led him upstairs to the bedroom, where I locked the door behind us.
Once assured of our privacy, we resumed where we left off downstairs. He bent his head to kiss my neck while I ran my fingers through his hair. The electricity of his kisses traveled down my body — pooling where all good kisses eventually land — and I pressed my hips against him. “Somebody’s getting excited,” he murmured.
I nodded and set about getting him out of his shirt and pants while he did his best to divest me of my much-admired jeans and T-shirt. Finally down to just our underwear, he backed me toward the bed, repeating his question from downstairs, “What would you like?”
For most of our marriage, I had been reluctant to share my fantasies with him, but that night I was emboldened. “I want you to nail me, baby.”
He broke away from me just enough to look quizzically into my eyes. “Nail you?”
I felt myself blush, but I carried on. “I want you to take me hard. I want you to use my body to satisfy yours.”
I knew being forceful wasn’t his style — a fact that I appreciated more than he would ever know — and it was clear I had made him a little uncomfortable. When we made love, it was usually a tender, sensual affair. Regardless of how we started, I nearly always ended up on top, in control of how deeply I was penetrated and of our rhythm. Generally this worked out well for both of us, but sometimes I left him unsatisfied because I was simply unable to continue, spent physically and emotionally after my climax washed over me. I wanted him to use his size and strength to ensure his own orgasm, with the added benefit of fulfilling my fantasy of being taken by a lover unable to deny his need for me. It was only because of my love for him, and the fact that I trusted him completely, that I could even imagine making such a request.
“I don’t know,” he said after a bit, “I like being close to you . . . being able to pull you in and kiss you when we make love.”
“I don’t think going at me hard necessarily precludes being able to kiss me. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” I stood on my toes to bite gently on his neck, eliciting the moan I was looking for.
“Are you sure?” His voice was low and husky.
He unhooked my bra, and slid the straps from my arms, then pulled down panties, massaging between my legs as he did so. “You’re wet . . . very wet.”
“I’ve been imagining what you’re going to do to me.”
Peeling off his remaining clothes, he climbed into bed, pulling me on top of him. “Make me really hard,” he said, gently pushing me down toward his stiffening prick.
I took him into my mouth, rolling my tongue over the head of his cock, relishing the feeling of his erection growing thicker and harder with my attention. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned as I worked, stroking his shaft with my hand while my lips ministered to the tip. He placed his hand on my head to guide my tempo. “Take more of me in your mouth.”
I slid my lips down, engulfing more of him, until he was practically in my throat. I would have been happy to finish him off, if that was how he wanted his release that night, but he stopped me before I made him cum. He rolled me to my back, then pulled me down to the end of the bed, spread open my thighs, and gave my pussy a quick taste before saying, “You want to be nailed? Don’t worry. I'm going to nail you.”
“Turn over.” His voice was stern, yet it still tickled my ear. I complied and was rewarded with a series of kisses cascading from my shoulder blades, across my back, and down one leg and back up the other. Leaning over me, he whispered his next command, “On your knees.”
I quickly did as I was told. I could count on one hand the number of times he had taken me from behind over the course of our marriage, and I eagerly ceded control to him, practically shaking with anticipation for his next move.
“God, you’re incredible,” he moaned, and I knew he was appreciating my naked backside and pussy — deeply and unmistakably aroused — from a new angle. I longed for him to enter me and begin thrusting, but instead, he knelt behind me and began to explore me with his tongue.
He teased me with his kisses and licks, backing off several times just before he drove me over the edge. Finally I began to beg, “Please, baby. I need you.”
“Need me to do what?”
I hesitated. Dirty talk really wasn’t my thing, despite the bravado I had shown earlier.
“Need me to do what?” he repeated, more brusquely.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded. “I need you to fuck me.”
“That’s right, you do,” he said, rising from his knees and driving his hot, solid cock into me. I cried out with relief as he pushed vigorously into me, keeping his hands on my hips, moving me in the rhythm he wanted, yet still waiting for me to climax before allowing himself to cum in one final, shuddering thrust.
He withdrew, and collapsed next to me on the bed, throwing a big, strong arm possessively over me. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to make this all about you,” I said.
“I hope you don’t mind. Pleasing you is just such an integral part of my own pleasure. It’s a hard habit to break.”
“It’s okay,” I sighed happily. “I have a feeling we both got what we wanted.”
Copyright GWinterbourne 2019.