Author's Note: "Uxorious" has complex etymological connotations, but essentially means pussy-whipped.
"She stopped. Fuck, fuck, she stopped..." I have to focus.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Juliana looked up from her book as I stepped inside our townhouse and took off my boots, but she didn't put it down.
She wore a deep plum scuba dress, cut low and slit high, and probably designed by someone whose name she thought I should know. Dark hose encased her long shapely legs. I kinda wanted to drop to my knees and lick the nylons, but her frown stopped any horseplay.
Her long dark hair was neatly placed behind her ears. She tucks it there because she takes her glasses off when she reads.
"You're up late." I greeted her as I leaned over and kissed her hello. That got me a small smile as she turned her cheek to accept my kiss. I got a whiff of the Channel Juliana'd worn to work and brushed innocently against her friendly bosoms briefly.
"Engrossing read," she answered and wrinkled her nose. "You smell of smoke and barflies."
"You know you love it, baby." I grinned and winked at her in mock chauvinism.
She raised her eyebrows and stared me down. I love that she can do that.
"Some of the guys lit up cigars after the Thunderbirds won," I half-apologized, all the while knowing that I would have probably had a cigar too, had Joe been passing out a better quality stogie. "But not me. And nothing to drink for me either."
"You better not have drank, Kris. You drove for Pete's sake." She kept her place in her book with her thumb, but set it down on her lovely lap and smiled fondly at me. "Still, you need a shower."
Her eyes sparkled and her teeth gleamed as she calmly reinforced her rather stringent standard of hygiene on me. Her glossy dark red nails gleamed too. She tapped them rapidly and impatiently against the arm of our gray suede couch. And stared me down again.
My pussy tightens involuntarily every time she does that.
My hesitation and accompanying thrill was short lived. Since I've become pretty enamored of both her and sharing a bed with her, I capitulated readily with minimum natural rebelliousness. Plus, I did need a shower.
I tossed my head and walked to the laundry room to drop my offending clothes in the washer before heading through the living room in front of her and upstairs to the bathroom.
She set down her book again to check me out as I walked back through the living room in the buff.
Yeah, I'm hot.
I turned on the shower and brushed my teeth while waiting for the icy water from the old taps to come up to temperature. In short order, I sudsed up with some apricot bodywash, quickly shaved, and carefully washed all the smoke out of my messy black hair. Then I shook like a dog, dried off thoroughly, and tossed the used towel in the clothes basket.
Four months ago, I lived in a little downtown micro apartment of my very own, where I did not have a clothes basket. (Or anything else that smacked of domesticity.) But you can't really argue with the bathroom smelling like potpourri instead of mildewed towels. In fact, most of the minor adjustments that I'd made to my natural habits in order to live peacefully with her were objectively improvements.
She'd moved to the bedroom by the time I'd returned from the shower, but was still reading her book. I'm not complaining. As far as addictions go, bibliophilia seems fairly harmless.
"Whatcha reading?" I slid under the covers next to her, noticing that her moisturized feminine body was as naked as mine and much hotter by my standards.
"
Perfect Poison: A Female Serial Killer's Deadly Medicine.
"
"Should I be worried?" I joked.
"No." She brushed her fingers through my damp hair. "You're a very uxorious woman."
"You know I don't know what that word means, right?"
"I know you don't know what that word means."
Then her lips were on my collarbone and I couldn't care less what uxorious meant. The book fell from her hand to the bedside table.
Her soft lips found my nipple next, lightly sucking as it hardened. A loving hand massaged my other breast simultaneously with slender fingers. I caressed the soft skin on her shoulder and let my head fall back on the fluffy pillow.
She continued to manipulate my sensitive boobs until I got too hot to take anymore of her teasing. My sexual puppet master, she knows exactly the string to pull, when to pull, and how hard to pull so that my libido dances for her.
I pulled out Mr. Plow from the bedside table drawer, a large red rubberized dildo attached to a leather harness. My trusty strapon is far more interesting to me than the silly book that sat mostly finished atop the same table.
She shifted to the side – but kept kissing the hollow of my neck – as I lifted my hips and strapped in. I put a semi-reluctant end to her foreplay by rolling her over and climbing onto her.
I laid on her quietly for a moment, enjoying the way my weight pressed down on her lovely curves and the way her beautiful face softened as she looked up at me. I love her looks, her attitude, her texture, her smarts. Her.
Her intelligent brown eyes tend to make me lose myself, so she had to wriggle provocatively beneath me to bring me back to earth.
Afterward, it was her turn to let her body relax, while I nuzzled her cheek and positioned myself. Slowly, I nudged the six inch dildo into her sweet pussy until I felt the warm skin of her bare mound against mine.
Then I kissed her. Her mouth opened and my tongue slipped inside to play with hers. So warm. So welcoming. So enticing.
The long french kiss preoccupied me. Her supple lips on mine, the tip of her tongue rubbing and tapping. Her teeth ever so lightly grazing over the top of my tongue. I sank into it as deeply as I had sunk into her.
Her insistent hands on my firm asscheeks brought my other pursuit to the forefront of my mind with an explicit squeeze.
I wasn't about to stop kissing her. My ardent lips still locked on hers and my tongue still captivated by the antics of hers, I raised my hips to pull out slightly and lowered them in turn to push back into her slick heat.
The ensuing pace I set stayed slow and gentle. She likes it tender and I like giving it to her how she likes it.
Soon our heavy breathing forced us to end our kiss, so I went back to nuzzling her cheek and letting my hot breath caress her ear.
My thrusts found the rhythm suggested by her breathing and the only other thing I could hear was my heart beating in my ears as her body responded to being filled and loved.
Her smooth thighs clamped onto my hips causing my thrusts to shorten dramatically. Her heels rubbed back and forth over my calves.
A hand on each side of my face drew me back into a kiss, more torrid and fierce as she approached her climax. Even more impossible to maintain however, since she teetered on the edge of freefall.
A few more patterned strokes had her up and over the cliff.
Her face registered the rapture, but she remained silent. Her quiet – but powerful – orgasms confused me on our first night together and made me doubt myself. Juliana reassured me that it was as she would have it though.
She's particularly beautiful right after she comes. There's a serenity borne of satisfaction as everything about my normally tense girlfriend relaxes entirely into a calmed repose.
I stayed lying on her and buried inside her. Her odd composedness after I make love to her always leaves me feeling conflicted. A natural protectiveness stirs me to cover her body and whisper sweet devotions in her ear as she experiences the physical weakness that follows her orgasm. Simultaneously, I never feel more vulnerable.
"I love you, Juliana." I whispered to her.
"I love you, too." She patted the small of my back, but then returned to enjoying her moment.
Her body shifted, telling me that she'd returned in spirit and wanted me to pull out.
