An Evening At Home 8

After lounging for well over an hour in my oh so luxurious recliner, completely engrossed in my favorite genre, historical romance novel which I am currently reading, I begin to become more aware of the lips softly caressing the bottoms of my toes. It isn't that I hadn't known that he had been there doing such for the entire time. He had finished all of his day's domestic household chores, meticulously and with great care as I always demand, including cleaning up after the sumptuous dinner he had prepared for us both. So his attendance and attentions here now were with my longstanding stated approval. But his prolonged and continuous oral homage, a privilege not to be gone beyond without my specific indication, was just a small part, barely discernable to me in itself, of the overall almost intoxicating early evening ambience within which I allow myself to unwind and relax after my own long day of battles in the outside business world.

As I reach the end of another chapter, I pause for a moment to take a sip of the wine he had previously brought to me. I also take this time to glance down at my doting and so handsome husband, kneeling at the end of my chair, naked as I require of him when we are home alone. He is totally transfixed and transported by his ongoing adoration. I sigh contentedly and smile as I realize how desirous I am now to get on with my evening's more active and energetic entertainments.

I close my book and set it down on the side table next to my wine. I then raise my leg up and slowly begin to wiggle my toes. This is his signal that his worship is now to move beyond simple reverence. He smiles himself and hungrily brings his face back up to the bottom of my foot, allowing his tongue to now become a more enthusiastic participant. It first slips in and out between all of my toes, then in broad sensual strokes he unhurriedly runs it up and down my sole, which causes tingles to begin to bubble up through me. He continues around my entire heel, then up the arch to once again slowly lick and suckle each of my toes. And the tingles grow stronger.

He becomes more bold, taking two then three of my toes into his mouth at a time, sucking and ravishing them ever more vigorously as the tingles become tremors quaking throughout but centering within my very core. I yank my foot from his mouth, drop the leg rest of my recliner to the floor, and cup both of my feet around the back of his neck and draw his head forward and down.

He needs no further command. But though he cannot help but sense my urgency he takes sweet time as he leisurely traverses up my calf with his outstretched tongue. After traveling up and around my knee he dips his head under my nightgown where he discovers, I'm sure without surprise, that I'm wearing nothing beneath. Continuing his journey up my inner thigh he finally, blessedly, arrives at the nexus of my now voracious need.

It is a very rare evening that I do not make full and precious use of his luscious lips, his glorious tongue, his sublime fingers, and even on occasion, but only when I deem and so desire, his impressive manhood. Except for this latter, over which I have sole and total control, I always allow him free reign with all of the rest of his instruments, as he is a virtuoso, never failing to create transcendent symphonies of rapture to soar through me.

I often chide him that he must ever work harder to reach the level of performance of my many other lovers. I do so like to play with his head. While this tease does act as a successful added spur, I also know that in his heart he knows that I am a one man Woman, as I know in my own heart that he will always and ever be that man.

This night he begins by softly blowing on my already glistening lower lips. Though his breath is most pleasingly warm I shiver nonetheless. He then gently nuzzles me with his nose, in and out, before using just the tip of his tongue to more fully coax me open. He seeks and finally finds my jewel hidden within, which he lightly and playfully laves, eliciting a moan from me above as I begin to seriously squirm below.

Moving on he runs his tongue up and down my now oh so sensitive slit, each of his innumerable excursions slightly deeper and wider as my hips undulate in time with his mesmerizing rhythm, until I am jolted out of this entrancing reverie by the intrusion of one, and then a second finger invading my treasured vault. They immediately begin to independently explore every part of this sacred chamber, stroking and stretching, prodding and probing, and impelling me upward to ever greater heights, as my murmuring moans evolve into gut clenching groans. These then become unremitting gasps and grunts as a third finger suddenly joins the other two and entwines with them to thrust forward and back, with ever increasing pace and vigor, matched only by my own wave upon wave of tremulous anticipation. And I am so close, so very, very close. Just as abruptly however the fingers are withdrawn, leaving me in a freefall of panic and despair.

Only for a terrifying moment though, as they are rapidly replaced once more by mouth and tongue, the latter now more intensely lavishing my pearl, then searching and delving deeper and deeper, reaching such depths and touching me in places that do not seem humanly possible. And I can no longer be restrained, bursting forth over the top, arching up as I cry out in ceaseless exhilaration above, while I gush in seemingly endless torrential spasms below, which he furiously laps at and imbibes as if it is the sole sustenance of his existence.

And perhaps it is ... For his soul ... I am his Goddess, am I not ... And his very reason for being.

Such are the lyrics of the magical music that resounds in my now shattering consciousness as I continue to writhe and thrash, his lips below still locked upon mine, in the exquisite ecstasy of our own personal, all encompassing Nirvana.

...

Some unknown time later, as I emerge from my haze and begin to descend from the mountaintop and come back into myself, I cast my gaze at my obsessively driven vessel and vassal, who had so exuberantly propelled me up to the peaks. He remains on his knees, silently awaiting my return, his face consecrated by my juices, and his own plaintive need jutting forward rock hard and yearning. Any and all of his own pleasures are always and only mine to bestow. And I do so not infrequently. I do so want him to be happy, as that also gives me real joy. But I have also learned that denying him, now done more often than not, more greatly inflames and fuels the fires within him to strive to more fervently serve and please me. And even further fan his ever aching hopes ... which can, of course, bring its own especial enjoyment.

So for this night, his day's service, his worship, and, most importantly, my pleasure, will be his only reward. Which I have no doubt will most surely suffice. Beyond this though, after he finishes my dreamy late evening massage, he will await with feverish excitement for our never neglected nightly snuggling in bed together, nestled in each other's arms, both of us so very much in love. And accepting fully, as we drift into a very, for me at least, restful sleep, that we will always continue to complement each other so completely.

After all, it must always be remembered ... as he himself has also most definitely come to learn ... and embrace ...

Tomorrow is another day.