"Hey, babe?"
I closed the fridge, having satisfied myself that there were plenty of leftovers for dinner.
"Babe, you hungry?"
My husband didn't answer, of course. When he gets wrapped up in writing a solution to a particularly interesting problem, he puts on a pair of headphones to block out the world and doesn't respond to anything. Back in graduate school, he was known to go a whole day without eating when he was in his "zone". I joke that if I hadn't started dating him he would have starved to death in lab, and sometimes I think there's a grain of truth to that.
I walked around the corner to his workspace. Sure enough, there he was, the black Audio-Technicas he had bought with his first paycheck wrapped around his head, the unmistakable line of tension in his shoulders that meant that his mind was working faster than his fingers could type. I knew better than to disturb him.
Charles has spent most of his adult life writing artificial intelligence routines for government-contracted robotics companies. Frustrated that his best work was locked up in military drones and couldn't have the positive impact on the world he wanted to create, he quit five years ago to start his own personal robotics company. His net worth is absolutely ridiculous climbing, but I met, dated, and married him before he even had his first job offer. Something about his infectious enthusiasm for life and brilliance drew me in, and his honesty and kindness told me to stay.
As I watched, he reached for the sky in a languorous stretch and pulled off his headphones. "Charles?" He spun around in his chair to face me and smiled.
"Hey, beautiful. What's up?"
"Are you at a good stopping point? I can reheat some stuff if you're hungry."
He stretched again.
"I could eat."
I waited expectantly, but he didn't get up. Curious, I raised an eyebrow at him. He grinned and beckoned me towards him. I walked over and leaned into him, gently placing my hands on his chest and bending down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. He murmured appreciatively and pulled me onto his lap. I giggled. "How's the work going?"
"It's okay. It's kind of frustrating working in such a low level language again after so many years, but it's coming along. The memory allocation problems I was...you're not listening to me, are you."
I stopped tracing his ear with my tongue and gave him my most mischievous smile. "What gave it away?"
To my surprise, he responded to my teasing by reaching up and gripping the back of my head, then leaning forward crushing my mouth with his, kissing me with an animal ferocity he hadn't had in a long time. He swallowed my gasp and took the chance to push deeper in, as my initial surprised resistance melted away and my mouth yielded to his. The usual softness of his kisses was gone. In its place was a probing urgency, a pleasure mixed with pain as he laved the sensitive parts of my mouth with his tongue, sucked hard on my lip, bit down when I tried to pull back. When he broke the kiss I found myself gasping for breath.
"What...was that?" I asked, trying to breathe normally. I was suddenly conscious of the intense heat had flared up, and the yearning of my body in response that heat.
The gorgeous man underneath me gave me a small smile.
"Segfaults. They make me horny. Sorry. Did I hurt you?"
In response, I leaned forward and touched my lips against his, a soft question. He responded tenderly, lovingly, sliding his hands down to my back and drawing me into him. This time he let me set the pace. When I pulled back, I gave a deep sigh of contentment and rested my head on his chest.
"I thought you were hungry?"
"Well," he said, moving slightly forward in his desk chair. "Maybe not that hungry."
I knew what he wanted, and stood up so he could move all the way forward in his chair, then swung my leg over his body and straddled him. His hands cupped my ass, firmly stroking as I ground my growing wetness against the bulge I could feel through his jeans. We stayed that way for several long heartbeats, pleasurable jolts coursing through both our bodies every time we touched.
"Dana." He groaned. "Dana, stop."
I stopped reluctantly and rested my forehead against his, occupying myself instead by gently tracing the muscles in his chest with my fingers. After several moments both of our breathing had slowed down somewhat.
"I think," he breathed into my ear, "That someone is a little extra horny today."
I moved my crotch against his in response. He laughed and stood up, spilling me off of his lap despite my small sound of protest, and grabbing my shoulders.
"Is that what I have for a wife? A dirty little slut?" I arched my body, knowing where this was going. He leaned down to kiss me, fierce and aggressive again, this time sliding his hands under the thin cotton tshirt I wore and up my body. I started to melt into him, but he pulled back so abruptly it hurt. Charles has his moods, and this is the one I love and hate the most, the one where he makes me want him and beg for it, the one where he owns me, commands me, and plays my desire like a puppet in a string.
I know this mood. So instead of doing what I so desperately want to do—stepping into him as he steps away—letting my hands roam over his body, under his shirt, stroking his flesh—pulling out his hardness and letting my tongue taste him—I shake my head sharply to stop my imagination and step back too, pushing my hands into my pockets to hide the trembling.
His eyes glitter as he looks at me, showing his own desire and lust as he takes in the telltale flush that has spread across my body and disappears underneath the collar of my shirt, the uncomfortable shifting of my hips and the light sheen of sweat. I look down at my feet, not able to match the intensity of his gaze. Sometimes he's the shy boy who showed up at my door with a dozen roses. And sometimes—like now—he's the man of charisma and iron control, the one who can me scream with ecstasy and whimper with desire. He looks at me questioningly, and I give him a small nod of assent, slipping instantly into the role he wants.
"Shirt," he commands softly, licking his lips. I oblige, caressing my own body as I do so, teasing him with my hips as I shimmy out of my top and bra. In a moment I'm completely topless in front of him, and I blush as his eyes drink in my body, resisting the urge to cover myself with my hands.
"Hands to yourself," he murmurs in my ear, stepping into me and pinching my hard nipples, nibbling at my skin. I gasp when his mouth finds the sensitive hollow of my collarbone. It takes all the self control I have to stay still. His hands move up and down my body, gently massaging and stroking my skin. It's too much. I reach for his belt buckle, but he slaps my hands reproachfully.
"You disobey me?" I let out a small whimper of frustration, reaching for him again, and his eyes darken in response. He grabs both my hands and spins me around, pinning my hands behind my back.
"You're a bad girl," he growls in my ear, "Do I have to teach you a lesson for you to obey me? Do I need to give you need a spanking?"
"No," I whisper, desperately trying to grind against him. "No, no..." He gives my ass a stinging slap in response, and I yelp.
"I think I do," he says. "Go. Upstairs. Wait for me." When I hesitate, he hits me again. "Are you going to make this worse for yourself?" I turn and run up the stairs.
*****************
I sit on the bed and hug my knees to my chest, shaking a little with anticipation. I don't get spanked very often, but when Charles is in the mood to give one, they HURT. This is the worst part, though. The waiting. Sitting here alone and cold, wanting the warmth of my man against me, wanting to run my hands through his tumble of dark hair, thinking about stroking his thick cock, feeling his girth stretch my pussy...suddenly I am aware of the incredible wetness between my legs, my panties sticking to me. Charles will be furious if I touch myself, though. I already have a feeling he's going to do more than warm my ass a little with his hand. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think about something other than the pressure of the thin cotton I can feel, clinging between my legs and rubbing against me, teasing me. Rocking back and forth on the bed helps. A little.
The door opens, and I give a sigh of relief as my husband walks through. He didn't make me wait long this time. He isn't holding anything, which means either his hand or his belt. I hope it's his hand. He sits on the bed next to me, then scoops me up and places me in his lap again.
"Dana," he murmurs, gently rubbing his warm hands on my back. "Dana, Dana."
I shiver slightly, knowing not to say anything. He turns and places me face up on the bed, running his hands up and down my body, massaging my breasts, pushing my hands away as they involuntarily move to cover my body. I relax under his gentle touch, and he pulls off my jeans, tracing a line down my legs with kisses that make me ache with desire. Eventually I am spread out face up on the bed, arms open and legs slightly apart as he touches everywhere but between my legs.
"Please," I whisper, bending my knees and thrusting toward him. "Please."
