It's amazing to wake up without an alarm clock. With no plans, no reason to jump out of bed, she is able to slowly wake up. Cocooned in warm blankets, the ceiling fan blowing cooler air over exposed skin, she is in that half-asleep accepting place when he begins.
He starts with nipples. Soft, gentle, teasing touches brushing through clothing. Across the nipple, around the areola, then down, his gliding hand floats under the breast, zig-zagging across the belly, over the other breast, missing the other nipple to tease and taunt. Her breath hitches and she knows he sees the interest in her face and body.
And so it begins. Laying on her side, her eyes closed, one hand pinned under her head and pillows, her other hand moves out of his way, tucking itself behind her into the small of her back. Still in that accepting place before full awakening, it's easy to slip into her own head. Full of fantasies and mostly unstated desires, she offers her body up for his use.
At first, it's sweet and gentle. He shifts her clothing, plucks at her nipples, and then his warm mouth surrounds the tip. It causes the first soft gasp. But she has to be quiet. She can hear the other people in the house, watching TV and talking amongst themselves. She has to be quiet and she has to be still. It's part of the game.
It escalates quickly. He is impatient. His hand slips under the band of her panties and rubs through the hair there. His fingers dips into her hole to collect the fluid there -- her body creates the perfect lube for this. Then he's on her clit. Circling and stroking, slow and knowing, in just a few minutes, he's brought her to her first orgasm. Just a gentle rush of pleasure, enough to catch her breath and leave her relaxed and smiling.
He tells her to remove her panties. She has forgotten that she was still wearing them. Moving feels weird. She has been pretending she was imobilized and this pulls her out of that fantasy. But it's an order and she's quick to obey. Keeping her eyes closed, she slips them off her feet and tosses them toward the foot of the bed. And now it's decision time. She can pull herself out of her head and take an active role in this, or she can submit. The chance that he'll give her this, that he will allow her to offer herself up and just selfishly take this is too great to resist. She has shifted to her back while undressing and so tucking her hands under herself into the small of her back is obvious. She's glad her eyes are closed; she doesn't have to see his face as he processes what she's done.
She can feel him beside her. On his side, with one arm under his head, his other hand returns to between her legs. She can feel his eyes on her. She's not young anymore. Old and fat, she does not match the pictures within her head. It's difficult to let him look. He says nothing - just strokes and strokes, playing with her clit and then inserting his fingers and slamming into her G-spot. It feels so good it almost hurts.
As the pleasure grows, she forgets herself. She forgets how she looks. She forgets the other people in the house. She forgets about being a responsible adult and everything she has stacked against her. All that she feels is white hot. The second orgasm rides her, but it's sharp enough that it feels like it will sit right there at the edge until she does something. But she can't. She must be quiet and her hands are pinned. Her pelvis rocks and her breath gasps and it is enough to finally pull her under.
When her orgasm stops pulsing, he begins again. This is hard for her to take. Her body is so sensitive that all pleasure is sharp. It almost hurts. Her mind tries to wake up and starts whispering to her that she's being selfish and he's been focused on her pleasure for how long? And she should be making him feel good, and Who does she think she is?
"Submit, submit, submit" she chants under her breath. It shuts up the whiny bitch. Her job is to be quiet, not move, and follow orders. To let him watch the pleasure he gives her on her face, in the hitching of her breath, and in the trembling of her body.
Pleasure breaks over her in waves. Every time her clit is brushed she jerks. Is it one orgasm or many if one follows the other on top of each other? When her body finally calms down, it's almost numb.
But he's not finished. Soaked fingers move down to her ass. He begins with two and it burns. It's full and rough and, oh god, but "submit, submit, submit" and her body opens up under his hand.
"You're getting better at accepting," his gravely voice praises her and it rings through her.
"Good girl?" she mumbles. He either doesn't hear her or doesn't know how to respond, so he stays quiet. She's reminded that this isn't her fantasy with contracts and safewords. That he's just her loving husband trying to give her what she needs. She's forced to chant again to silence the screaming doubts inside her head. "Accept, submit, accept."
Everything feels good and hurts. Her body is raw and zinging. Her hands under her body are numb. She is forced to raise her feet into the air to still her pelvis because she can not stop moving. He takes this as a sign and slaps her ass. The pain shakes her body out of it's strange numbness. It rocks through her flooding her with emotion.
"You like that." He taunts. He spanks her ass, her pussy, and then her thigh. Every smack jolts through her.
"Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir." She's crying. This isn't anything he's used to hearing and at first she feels him tense. But he relaxes and goes with it and she's grateful.
