Occasionally, I transform from my normal persona- highly organized (if slightly OCD) wife and mother, efficient (if slightly sarcastic) nurse practitioner, mild-mannered (if slightly irreverent) college instructor- into a sex-crazed maniac with insatiable desires... I become unable to focus on anything else, wanting simply to fantasize and remember and write and read SEX, at the sacrifice of almost all other responsibilities. I don't know why, no cycle of the moon or precipitating factors have been identified- but today was one of those frustrating, intense days. I had been desperately excited all day long- constantly wet and longing for you to come home. I showered and shaved carefully, pampered and primped (at least, as much as a mother of two children under three can manage).
When you finally arrived, I couldn't just meet you at the door and beg you to take me, despite craving you. I kissed you passionately, pressing our bodies tightly together, drawing a surprised chuckle from you, but you simply patted me and we carried on with our evening, leaving me uncertain if you were feeling the arousal I could not deny. The realities of family life, usually so enjoyable- bathing the children, bedtime stories- seemed a burden tonight, and the clock couldn't move fast enough. When I finally finished, I discovered you had decided to relax in our family room, rather than retire to our bedroom. Stealthily concealing a condom in my loose cotton pajama pants, I removed my bra, remaining in a thin, simple white tank top, and descended the stairs.
You barely acknowledged my presence when I initially entered, deeply engrossed in the movie you were watching, and I took a few moments to observe you- MY man. An athlete in a former life, you were sidelined by a series of career-ending injuries, but remnants of that time have shaped your physique- your imposing height, powerful arms and muscular thighs still awe me, despite your complaints about the weight you've added since actively competing. Your injuries have shaped you, as well, the scars of multiple surgeries carving into your masterful form. They carve into our life together, affecting you in ways you despise- your ability to play with our children, our activities limited by your tolerance and pain, even our choice of sexual positions. It is this I have in mind as I eye your recliner carefully, considering the options the oversized leather monstrosity might present. Deciding it more than adequate, I quietly approach you.
Sliding into your lap, straddling you gently, I press my face into the crook of your shoulder and inhale deeply, the intoxicating mix of your cologne and your own scent overwhelming me, and I quietly sigh my appreciation. Your hands wander up my back as I kiss you, starting softly and deepening, our tongues tangling as your hands reach my hair. You pull back slightly as I gaze upwards, silently, pleadingly, seeking your full attention... You smile, surveying my expression with bemusement.
"So it's like THAT tonight, huh?" you inquire, your hands sliding up my abdomen to cup my breasts. I lean forward again and press my body closer to your warmth. "I need you," I murmur. "I'm so wet for you, I have been all day."
"And your nipples are hard for me, too," you murmur, your thumbs circling them slowly, my thin cotton tank top clearly revealing the evidence of my desire for you. I rock into you again, unable to hold back as the sensations gradually build. You are torturing me now, twisting the sensitive tips, pinching tightly until I whimper, knowing how much I love this. We often walk a fine line just the other side of kinky, our foreplay rough enough to have an edge of pain that I yearn for, that makes me submit to the desires of my body and your control over me.
I am inadvertently thrusting against the growing bulge in your groin, careful to modulate the pressure on your hips so as not to cause you pain on your previous injuries. I grow more ready, more frantic to feel you inside me, as you roughen our play- kissing me forcefully, hands entwined in my hair, pulling hard enough to make me gasp as you slide your mouth to my nipples, edging up the hem of my tank to catch them lightly between your teeth, eliciting small sounds of pleasure. My hands fly to your shorts, sliding them down as you lift slightly to ease my work, and soon I have claimed you- your thickness and firmness pulsing in my hands. You peel away my pajama bottoms, delving your fingers briefly into my heat, confirming I need no further preparation.
I move above you, and you guide yourself to my entrance. As I sink slowly downward, we sigh in unison. For a few moments, I remain still, simply enjoying the sensation of being filled so completely. While not in possession of extraordinary length, your substantial girth requires adjustment every time you enter me, and I revel in the feeling of being thoroughly and absolutely stretched, bordering on discomfort. Soon, I can no longer resist, and we begin the dance as old as time itself as I rise and fall on you. This, THIS is what I have needed all day- to be in the arms of my lover, pleasure slowly building, being utterly possessed by you. Your hands grasp my hips, tipping me back incrementally to change the angle and allow you the freedom to draw lazy circles on my clit with one dampened finger, and I cry out as mini-spasms begin far inside me.
Recognizing my ever-increasing ecstasy, you return to my nipples, clamping them firmly between finger and thumb, knowing the intense throbbing when you release them will likely send me over the edge. You know me, know my propensity for just enough masochism, just enough sharp pain, just enough chocolate syrup in our vanilla... I always felt I brought you over to this side, once I finally admitted my darkness, because you (unlike me) claim you weren't born kinky. I often wondered what you DID want, and if playing to my desires even truly appeals to you- but you've reassured me that you possess secrets of your own. After 7 years together, and 4 years of marriage, I still don't have them all (despite no lack of trying!). But tonight, you were about to give me a glimpse. Your hands move upward again, tangling in my hair as you kiss me forcefully, and suddenly, your left hand wraps gently around my neck. Your ball-player's hands are enormous, with long, strong fingers, and I swallow back a soft cry of surprise as you slowly, lightly increase the pressure on my trachea. Your eyes are locked on mine as I begin to breathe more shallowly, more rapidly. A flash of realization muddles its way into my brain- breath play? MY husband??
