"Tis I, the milkmaid," came Shavonda's voice. Milkmaid? I was confused. Then it hit me. We were still in our medieval regalia. I decided to play along. I opened the door to find a smiling Shavonda, who was obviously in a playful mood.
"If thou art the milkmaid, where art thy jugs, wench?" I asked. Shavonda stepped into the room, reaching into her peasant dress to pull out a breast. Her nipple was fully aroused, and formed an enticing bullseye with her dark areola. I licked my lips, I couldn't help myself. Even after over two years of almost daily contact, the sight of her naked breast still drove me crazy. And she knew it.
"Here is thy jug, sire," she replied with a smirk. "Did I also mention I am a wet nurse?" Pushing me back on the bed, she shoved her nipple in my mouth. I sucked greedily, enjoying her sweet milk flooding my mouth. As I did, her hands wandered my body. She unbuttoned my shirt as I fed, moaning in pleasure as my tongue worked her nipple against my lips. God, I was going to miss this. As Miracle ate more solid food, she was taking less milk, which meant Shavonda was producing less.
With one breast drained, I gently helped her out of the peasant dress and her panties before kissing my way down to her thighs. Still in character, I told her, "I needeth to drink of thy sweet nectar." My fingers had already worked their way deep within her moist tunnel, and I gently caressed the sponginess of her G spot. I knew that drove her crazy. When I felt her begin to tighten around my fingers, moaning wildly, I knew she was close. Removing my fingers under her protests and the threat of "I'ma get you for that," I replaced them with my tongue.
Shavonda rewarded me almost immediately with a shuddering orgasm. She held my head in place as she ground herself into my face like a wild woman. Honestly, I think this was what I loved most about eating her: having her completely lose control. As she peaked, I slowed my tongue to give her a brief rest, before starting again. By now, she was so juicy both my cheeks and her thighs were a slippery mess. Oh, yeah, baby. Ride my tongue just like that. Right now, I exist for your pleasure.
"I needeth thy manhood deep inside my womb," Shavonda said, pushing my head from between her legs. I slid my way up to kiss her. What she did to me! All day long I'd been looking at her in that dress, the tops of her breasts showing, teasing me. Even though I tried not to let on, I couldn't help but look at her as we talked. She reminded me so much of an old film I'd seen in high school English class, a performance of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. I remembered being fascinated by the period costume the actress wore, one that showed her cleavage just like this. Except that the lady before me was no shrew. She was the love of my life, and I had no desire to tame her, to break her spirit.
Now she lay there naked beneath me, her hand guiding my hard rod to her sopping entrance, positioning the head at her opening then thrusting her hips upward to impale herself on me. All the while, acting like the Shakespearean woman seducing her knight.
We fell into a rhythm that was neither rushed nor tiring. My queen rocked herself beneath me, grinding against me as I thrust deep into her. In my mind, I remembered the lady from the film, feisty, thrown back on the bed, out of breath, breasts heaving in that dress. Except the in scene I was living now, she was a beautiful black woman with her hair natural, naked, breathless beneath me, willingly allowing me access to her most intimate place. Breasts heaving just like in the film, bouncing with each thrust that I made. Meeting me halfway each time. Moving her body in time to mine, to increase the pleasure for both of us. There was no longer any role playing. Neither of us spoke, the only sounds were out passionate moans, groans and grunts. The sounds of two people expressing their love for each other in the most special way possible.
Anybody could have sex. Sex was fun. Sex was something we'd both experienced before, with others, many times. We'd both enjoyed it. We weren't ashamed of that fact. But this was different. Sex is never better than when you are doing it with the person you are madly, passionately in love with. And knowing that they love and cherish you just as much as you do them. It is no longer sex, but making love. The ultimate expression of the single person you've both become. You do it, with a burning, uncontrollable desire, knowing that neither of you is complete without the other.
It felt beyond good, nestled deep within her gently pulsing tunnel. It felt natural. It felt like home.
We rode out the sensations, not in a rush for it to end, dancing right to the edge, but stopping short of going over. Backing off, stopping for a minute to catch our breath, pulling out if need be. Then gently sliding against each other until our bodies found each other again, and I slipped back inside. Shavonda was so wet, so aroused that it took no effort at all to slide deep within her once more. And we resumed our thrusting, with a bit more urgency this time. Looking into each other's eyes. Watching the now familiar faces we each made in the throes of passion. I was getting close once more. So was she. I could feel the telltale clenching around me, her body trying to draw me deeper within her. Devouring my entire length, until my balls slapped against her bottom. Our rhythm was faster now. We both knew it was time...
"Planteth thy seed deep within my fertile womb," Shavonda cried out. "Maketh me heavy with thy child." I stopped, shocked, in mid stroke. I wasn't expecting that. Damn, I was so close. I stared at her, and she at me. Then we both burst out in hysterical laughter. I'd never been inside her when she laughed. The way her pussy walls contracted around me as she shook hysterically was new. It was great. It was all too much.
"Ohhhhhhhh," I groaned as I gave in to the sensations and let go of the orgasm I'd been toying with for so long. I pulsed inside her, filling her with my sperm. Spurt after spurt, I emptied myself in her willing body as she clenched around me. Exhausted, I collapsed on top of her. "I love you so much," I panted as she ran her fingers through my long hair.
We lay there for a while, gently rubbing each other, trying not to fall asleep. I couldn't let her drift off. I had other plans for Shavonda.
,
"You deserve a long, luxurious bath," I said, watching her face light up. To me, there was no sight more beautiful than Shavonda's wide grin when she was happy. I took her hand and led her to the bathroom. While the tub was filling, I sat on the floor and rubbed her legs and feet, much to her delight. She sat on the toilet and raised each leg in turn to give me access.
We hadn't brought her bubble bath. It hadn't occurred to us we'd need it. Instead, I dumped about half a bottle of her body wash into the water and let the suds rise. I helped her into the tub and sat behind her. I used her bath gloves to sensually wash her back, then turned her around and did her front. I couldn't resist removing the gloves and feeling up her soapy nipples. That was one of the things I liked most about taking baths and showers with her: the silky slick way her skin felt when she was soaped up.
Stepping from the tub, I dried her off, then led her by the hand back to the bed. There, I used her lotions and coconut oil to give her an all over massage. My queen deserved to be pampered. To be truthful, I hadn't been pampering her the way she deserved. This woman was my everything, and in the stress that had lately impacted our lives I had taken her for granted.
"Never, ever forget that I love you with all my heart. Sometimes it's scary how much you mean to me," I told her as I massaged her back. Shavonda moaned, giving in to the pleasure my loving hands created. As I worked my way down to her booty, she squirmed. All the while I worked the oil into her skin until she was shiny and slick. I massaged her thighs and legs, ending up with a long foot massage.
Finishing her feet, I asked Shavonda to roll over so I could massage the rest of her. To my surprise, she got up from the bed, walked across the room to her purse, and started writing on a sheet of paper she had inside. Finishing, she walked back to the bed and handed it to me. "This is for your protection," she said in a serious tone. I read what she'd written.
"To whom it may concern, I, Shavonda M Waite, hereby give my consent to any acts, sexual or otherwise, that my husband Jefferson S Waite performs with me this night." The message was signed and dated. I looked at my wife, confused. "Do you really feel you need to do this?" I asked.
