Married Sex Is Awesome Sex

It's Friday night, and we go to bed - not sleep - early.

I'd worked a full day in my office, and Cat had to stay on campus for both lectures and meetings. Then there was dinner prep, eating, cleaning up...

Listen, I'm an adult. I can handle my responsibilities - but my wife is ridiculously hot and I'm ridiculously horny. When she gets home, I just want to fuck her. I want to do everything to her. The fact that she's still in her work clothes is just another turn-on, and hardly an obstacle to my wandering hands. I lust after my wife no matter what she's wearing -- or isn't -- but a sexy professor who's just a little bit tired, a little bit done with everyone's bullshit, and who's looking to let her hair down? That's catnip.

Well, she's Cat and I'm Jack, so I guess it's Jacknip.

Whatever. It's fucking hot, and she knows it. She doesn't wear exactly the same thing every day that she has to be on campus, either, but she definitely favors the pencil skirts, the sheer blouses, and the stern academic flats -- and she caps it all with a tight bun or a braid, which turns her hair into a proper fashion accessory. This semester, her hair is a fiery red, which gets me even hotter.

Hell, those glasses of hers aren't even prescription.

Simply put, Cat knows exactly what 'sexy professor' or 'sexy librarian' means to your average horndog of a man, and she delivers it.

When she comes home to her very own horndog of a man - hopefully an above-average one - a quick kiss hello near the front door will turn into a feverish makeout session if she lets it. The hand on her back, drifting down to her perfect runner's ass, doesn't want to stop with just a playful squeeze. Did we make it to the kitchen? Time to bend her over a counter and plow her until our knees give out. Did she manage to assemble a plate of real food? Let's make sure she's naked from the waist down so I can eat her for dinner, and then have dinner for dessert. Panties-off, skirt-hiked-up is a bit more awkward, but you better believe I'll make it work.

Most Friday evenings, we do what adults are supposed to do instead. My cock throbs and aches for her the whole time. She knows it does. She loves it.

Even once we get into the bedroom, she's still not quite done teasing.

I'm already sitting on the bed, propped up by a few pillows and watching Cat complete her bevy of minor nighttime rituals. I'm down to my PJ bottoms, and she's in nothing but panties. I'll never stop being grateful that she both hates bras and has small enough breasts to be comfortable without them. As hot as her professor's outfits make me, watching her strip out of them is just as sexy. So is hearing her groan in relief once they're off. Then I get to see her almost naked, so really, I just can't lose.

But I can wait. She loves to make me wait.

I'm fairly certain that whatever she's doing has a genuine purpose, but it's crystal clear that she's actually multitasking. She's not just... I don't know, double-checking her wardrobe choices for tomorrow? Making sure her running shoes and scrunchy are where they're supposed to be? She's also teasing me in one of her favorite ways. She's prancing around our bedroom suite almost completely naked, and acting like there's nothing sexual about it at all. In less than twenty minutes we'll be all tangled up with each other, sweating, grunting, and desperately seeking our orgasms, but no, nothing sexual right now. She just happens to be naked. Pure coincidence! Could've been wearing a full snowsuit just as easily, right? Maybe some steel-toed boots. Maybe a hunting vest.

She's the best kind of faker, too. She gives away the game intentionally, but still doesn't break character. The bounce in her step travels up to her butt, her breasts, and even to her long, wavy red hair -- now liberated and flowing freely behind her - and there's no other reason for it but to drive me wild. Her finger pulls down her lower lip in a classic, cloying Hollywood maneuver, as her faux-innocent gaze lingers too long in the mirror. A hand strays to her breast and absentmindedly fondles it. She shifts her hips, which also shifts her thin, white, practically-see-through low-rise bikinis, daring me to ogle them and scan for any stray hint of extra skin. She takes quite a few trips back and forth from drawers to closets to hutches, and there's simply no way every single one of them is necessary - except, of course, to give me the view from both the front and the back.

My cock is already twitching, wheedling me to slip a hand inside my pajamas and give it some real attention. I resist, though. That's not in the script - and, notwithstanding the momentary protest of my twitching tool, the script is good. It's not set in stone, mind you, but it's always very, very good.

Cat finally saunters over to the bed, turning her back towards me one last time and then hopping backwards so that her tight butt lands on the mattress with a slight bounce. She gives a satisfied little huff - maybe because she made it so close to her pillows this time? - and scooches herself backwards until she's more or less in the same position as me.

Before the switch flips - before all of her attention is explicitly, pointedly on me - I catch the first quick glance down to my crotch. You'd miss it unless you knew it was coming, but, well, she's my wife. The briefest flash of approval in her eyes and on her lips is a rich reward. She's seen the fresh stirrings of life below the waistline of my PJs, and also that I've kept both hands away from there for the moment. I've been a good boy, letting her tease me, and not rushing ahead without her.

She takes a second or two to settle in to the pillows, and then turns her head towards mine. Her twin emeralds emit maximum brightness, and she smiles like we're old friends who just caught sight of each other across a crowded room. Now begins the smooth transition from feigning innocence to embracing the mood.

"Well hey there," she says playfully. One of her soft, deft hands is already brushing against my bare skin. Even after seven years together, five married, it makes my heart skip a beat, every time.

"Hey baby," I reply warmly.

I lift a hand to caress her face. She leans into it, but also squirms a bit, as though it tickles. Maybe it does? I do try for light touches, especially when the night's just beginning. It's something I picked up from her, actually, many years ago. She never had to say anything; she just did it. Feather touches and caresses all over my body opened up a whole new world of sensations, and I immediately wanted to return the favor.

I go in for the kiss, and she gives a tiny encore: she pretends it's a surprise, and inhales a slight gasp and holds it. She lets me do all the work for that first one, moving my lips around for the perfect connection, nibbling slightly at hers, and watching as her eyes stay open. They tease me, all by themselves:

"oh, he's trying to kiss me? How cute!"

I remember, acutely, how lucky I am that she chose to claim my heart instead of break it. Those eyes are a weapon, if she wills.

"Mmm," she hums with coy approval - as though I'd just now clued her in to what kind of party this is going to be.

Her long fingers spread out on my chest, and one of them finds a nipple and traces around it. I lower my hand from her face and begin a series of those wonderful feather touches down her neck and onto her shoulder, then up and down her resting arm. I rotate occasionally, switching between fingernail and fingertip, seeking out places I think might be especially sensitive. There's one on the upper arm, for sure. The crook and the elbow are possibilities, too. Once you get down to the wrist and hands, practically every inch of skin is just begging to be touched.

Both of us are voicing tiny moans of pleasure and approval now, and we move in closer for our first proper, mutual kiss of the night. We come together slowly, and our eyelids narrow on instinct; mine immediately feel heavier. My body is telling me to go blind for just a moment, to heighten the four other senses that dominate the act. I can sense her nose, lips, and cheeks as they get close to mine. There's electricity between us before we even touch. When we finally do, gentle contact soon becomes hungry exploration. Our lips and tongues communicate our growing desire for more, more, more.

The kiss doesn't break so much as melt away, but we both know it's time to change positions. Arms get pinned to the bed when we try to face each other, and so one of us needs to take first shift as the cradler, letting our lover's neck rest in the crook of our extended arm. It's a wordless exchange most nights, and we each know the terms of the bargain. One of us gets to feel smaller and surrounded by warmth, laying down more properly. The other benefits from two free hands caressing and teasing their body. They're usually the first one to get completely naked, too, with a helpful assist from those same hands.

Tonight, Cat decides to be assertive. She pushes her hand under my neck and extends her arm, and then leverages her body to push mine lower. I'm turned more to my side, into her, and she shifts supine again. I look up into her eyes and see incredible warmth. She leans down and plants a comforting kiss on my forehead. I melt for a moment, and, from the dreamy smile spreading out across her face, I can tell that's exactly the reaction she wanted.

My face is achingly close to her breast. The unique, feminine smell is already making me drunk. It's that strange mix of sleepiness and horniness that slows down time and makes foreplay feel like an ether trip.

I nuzzle into her and brush my lips against her soft curves. Never breaking eye contact, I slowly stick my tongue out and cautiously lap it against her nipple. Her own sleepy-horny smile extends upwards to her eyes, and she gives the slightest nod: permission granted. I breathe deeply, close my eyes, and engulf her breast with my mouth. If the foreplay was already ethereal, then the chance to once again worship my wife's breasts pushes it deep into some Victorian-era opium den.

For all the sensual, wild, filthy, and even downright-basic sex I've had with Cat over the years, I've never felt more insecure than about my abiding love for playing with her breasts. Even after our big "men want sex all the time, no, seriously,

all the time

" conversation, I still felt compelled to give her a separate talk about just how much I loved her breasts, and how happy it made me to see them, touch them, taste them, and get completely lost in them.

Meanwhile, she was probably thinking to herself "okay, cool TIT Talk, bro. Remember the clit and we're copacetic."

That's her line, by the way. She puts on her doofy version of my voice and says "Hello I'm Jack and welcome to my TIT Talk."

About two months later - in what passes for a plot twist in these kinds of stories - one night Cat offered up a predatory grin, grabbed my wrists, pushed my hands against her naked breasts, and leaned in close to breathe impossibly hot words into my ear:

"I like it too."

Cat's amazing breasts always get at least some attention from me, but some nights - and some mornings, and some afternoons - it's more incidental. She's in a generous mood this Friday night, clearly, and she lets me kiss and lick and suck for what feels like hours. When I switch my mouth over to her left breast, my body is practically draped over hers, allowing my left arm and hand to wander more freely. As you might have guessed, that hand finds its way to her well-worshiped right breast over and over again.

Cat gets quiet when I worship her like this. For those first few months after The TIT Talk, it made me nervous and guilty all over again. But she told me to pay closer attention - at least once, before slipping back in to the opium haze - and I obeyed. I began to notice the changes in her breathing, and the subtle squirming of her legs and thighs. I also got better at foreplay over time; now, when my right hand travels purposefully towards her pussy, I can feel the warmth and wetness already waiting for me there. I know she really does like it.

Her pussy also likes attention, though. I'm more than happy to provide it. I can multitask too.

I also enjoy being the one to tease. I can't strut and pose for her like she can for me -- really, I just end up looking ridiculous - but teasing touches I can do. I offer them up, feathery and light, all along her legs and thighs. I feint towards the prize a few times before giving it touches of its own - over the panties for now, but not for long. She's told me that the thin fabric in between makes my first forays feel even subtler; both of us also agree that it feels especially, deliciously naughty when I begin tracing the very edges of the briefs, hinting at infiltration.

Cat does finally make words when we get to this point. We have a mantra for this stage of foreplay: "gentle, gentle." It sounds so affirming, so reassuring, and so unbelievably erotic when she whispers it, like we're both in the same delicate bubble of a dream, taking care that it doesn't burst. I'll be whispering the same words when she starts teasing my cock. For now, she pairs her encouraging words with caresses all over my head, neck and back. Occasionally she dips one hand down to join mine near her right breast.

In the pause before another whispered mantra, I remove my mouth from her breast and look up at her with unusual authority.

"They need to come off now, baby," I insist.

She nods immediately, and her back arches to lift her butt off the mattress. My hands are already there, thumbs hooking in and sliding her last defense down towards her ankles. She makes little kicks to get them fully off, then relaxes back down again. I adjust the pillows so that she's almost supine. Her red hair splays out across them, and she spreads her legs, giving me full access to her pussy and her clit.

I make a move to properly stroke her, but before my hand gets there she stops me with a look.

"You too, mister," she says, and I squirm and shuck off my bottoms.

She huffs, satisfied, and turns onto her side. I take the hint and put my arm out, taking up the role of cradler. This time we're more properly mirrored to each other. My one free hand resumes its mission, and succeeds at it quickly. Her left hand finds my cock, and it isn't long before I'm whispering our mantra and feeling an impossible heat well up inside of me - a response, ironically, to her rather chilly fingers.

The way she teases my cock and balls is nothing short of masterful. She knows every wrinkle and seam, and just how much extra pressure each bit needs to feel properly attended. We're kissing lazily and constantly while we gently explore each other's most private places. Both of our adventurous hands occasionally stray low, teasing at our rear entrances. If I feel a plug, I know to ask for more information. Tonight she's sans accoutrement, which means she's in the mood for a more traditional fucking.

We've been gentle with each other for awhile, now, and I feel comfortable adding some more pressure. Cat's butt is a perfect target, and I begin alternating my pussy- and clit-teasing with some full-on groping of her rounded, sculpted cheeks. Teasing touches still work wonders at that dangerous combination of the concave and convex - where those toned cheeks curve back upwards to meet the legs - but the glutes themselves respond best to a firmer massage. When I grab and pull them in just the right way, it spreads her pussy, too, doubling her pleasure.

My cock is fully hard and very hot. Cat's pussy is dripping wet and almost scalding. This is when the script can go any which way, just about. The lube is waiting on the nightstand - thin, silky silicone-based tonight - and if Cat tells me it's time, then very soon I'll be on top and inside of her.

"So, baby," she coos.

I wait with bated breath.

"Are you dirty tonight?" she asks coyly. "Or are you clean?"

Well now. That's a twist.

"Mmmmmm," I reply, stalling. It's fun to stretch it out just a bit. Sometimes that's the only way I can tease the master teaser. She does still have her hand near my balls, though, so I don't tempt fate for more than a second or two.

"Both?" I say uncertainly - but both of us are already certain. We have our mantras, and we also have our code words and phrases. Not only do they give us plenty of chances to divert the action if we're not quite feeling this or that filthy activity, but they also work like Pavlov's Bell if we are.

As you might have guessed, I am. I am most definitely feeling it.

Cat pretends to be confused, concerned, consternated by my coded reply.

"Well now, I'll just have to see about that," she says. "Roll over, baby. Show me."

I eagerly do as she says. My face is down on the pillow, and I spread my knees to give her full access. Her hands wander all over my back, even lightly scratching it occasionally. Soon enough, though, they're at my ass, and they're just as adept there as they are on my cock. Her fingernails and fingertips find every sensitive spot, and then a firm grip kneads and spreads. I sense her body moving in closer, up on her knees behind me.

These are the moments I wish I did yoga like she does, but I acquit myself decently enough. My head is all the way down and my ass is all the way up. The anticipation is exquisite torture. Finally, she's close enough that I feel hot breath on my cheeks. Her deft hands spread them and keep them spread, and then that same hot breath is on my hole.

She gives one last inquisitive, inspector's "hmmmmm," and I can feel its vibration. Then, she touches the tip of her tongue to my throbbing asshole, exhaling at the same time. I manage to hold still - well, mostly - even though I feel like I'm being electrified. I don't cry out, but my breath catches in my mouth, and I know that's she smiling in response to her incredible power over my pleasure.

She sets in for a proper licking session, and it's my turn to be deathly quiet while I enjoy her oral ministrations and try my best not to squirm. Her hands give me a powerful ass massage at the same time, and, while it likely can't compare to what she feels in her pussy when I do the same, she definitely knows how to stretch my little hole to enhance the sensations of her tongue, her lips, and her breath.

After a few delicious minutes, she comes up for air. Her hands leave my ass. I would be disappointed, except I can already sense what's going to happen next. One of those hands moves purposefully, possessively to my cock. The other goes up to her mouth, where she licks her fingers. Those fingers travel back into my cleft, finding both my perineum and my hole.

She points my cock down to the bed and strokes it slowly, but with authority.

"Is this my cock, baby?" she asks.

I nod immediately, and groan out an affirmation atop it. Her fingers and thumb explore and massage. She knows exactly where to press to hit my prostate from the outside, and she knows it's never quite enough to really send the jolt I've come to crave. It's yet another tease. At the same time, she's working my hole, warming it up properly, pushing it rhythmically but not penetrating - not yet.

"That's right," she says. "And it goes where I want it to go, doesn't it?"

Once again, I agree.

"It does what I want it to do," she says.

At this point I'd agree to basically anything. It's almost beside the point that, for all the questions and commands so far, I've really, truly meant it.

"And the cum," she says. "It's my cum. Isn't that right?"

I want to give her more than more nods and groans, but I'm so close to the edge now that I'm legitimately worried about making myself shoot. If I put it into words - that yes, she controls my entire sex life, that every part of me belongs to her, that I produce cum for her to use as she sees fit - I risk a passive, accidental disobedience. She doesn't want me to cum yet.