Giving Me Head
Sitting on the couch made me feel lazy, always did. I'm a moving kind of person, always going, always doing. When I'm not doing, I'm feeling like I should be doing, almost all of the time. This was one of those times.
It was 7:30 at night, the shadow of the day had already crept over us, revealing the sparkling Milky Way to us and an icy wind howled steadily outside. Being a doing kind of person, this was all imposing upon me to be lazy, or rather inventive with my time.
There was a movie on our conservatively sized flat screen, something about lawyers or convicts, something irrelevant, but it liked to show tits for some reason. The second scene in got me a little worked up, but not nearly as much as the next thing I seen come through my living room.
You, my wife, in nothing but one of my old black army recruiting t-shirt and panties, walked in front of the TV nonchalantly, your golden hair in a sporty ponytail, with a bowl of cookie dough ice cream. Usually I would tease you about the bowl of ice cream, but at the moment, considering that I was revved up about boobs and knowing there was nothing under that shirt, forced my hand so to speak.
Before you could sit down on the couch next to me, I spoke up, "Right here baby," I said rubbing my blue jean thigh and leaning back into the couch. I wanted you laying on me while you ate ice cream, but not for the ice cream. As soon as you are in my lap, my hands wrap around your stomach, caressing the soft skin with my warm fingertips.
"Mmmhh," you moan as you take a bite of the ice cream and I begin caressing you. Another scene showing some movie star bimbo's fake tits comes on, she's undressing and it flashes to her ass. I close my eyes; I don't want to see some fake tits, spray tanned to somebody's idea of perfection. I want real tits, tits that are mine, that I own and touch and pleasure myself with, tits that are not part of my body, but that are mine all the same. That is right, I want your tits, those sweet melons of fun, I want those, and I take them.
With ice cream in your mouth, I reach up with both hands and begin cupping them, the roundness filling my palm as I squeeze them in my fingers, the flesh spilling between my knuckles while my fingers sink into them. I hear you moan with it slightly, but you don't move. You are always willing to let me play with your tits, and I love that about you, but this is different.
My dick is hard but I'm not satisfied with it, with myself. I want to have a hard on ready to drill concrete before I nail you tonight. I know I'm going to get laid, you know it too, and our vanilla sex life is always often, but typically the same. I know you are happy with it, to a degree, because it is not about you, you never feel it is, it is about fulfilling me and my needs, and if I roll off after a single minute, then so be it, as long as I'm happy, your happy.
Vanilla doesn't make me happy, and this time I'm going to make sure you know it.
I continue kneading your breasts, the mountains of pleasure doing the trick and turning you on enough to make it acceptable for me to safely put my dick in your pussy. Your clit quivers a little bit, your legs twitch once and I can smell your vaginal fluids gently seeping out of you. It makes me happy knowing that after so long a relationship, and after so much blandness, that I can still do that, still make you want to fuck me, or at least let me fuck you.
Not tonight, or even this weekend, will you just simply get wet, you will gush from the pussy. And I am determined that will happen, for us, for you, and for me.
Now, I have to interject and explain one thing very quickly. Natalie isn't home, Grandma Laura practically begged to take her this weekend for us, and despite mutual reluctance from us, we relented and agreed to pick her up Monday afternoon, so the whole house is ours alone, with nothing but a cold wind to disturb us.
I'm still kneading your tits, the skin warm from my efforts and now your head is leaning back to mine, your ear next to my lips, your ice cream resting in your lap half ate and not getting any closer to your mouth when I begin to speak my dark words to you.
"I want you, I want your body," vanilla music to your ears. Your legs twitch gently at the thought of me in your pussy, me on top of you, grunting with my normal effort. "I want you as a toy, as mine." Confusion enters your brain for a second, then it clicks, the vanilla flavor is tweaked now, changed a little bit. 'Maybe tonight will be a good long night for us, I would like a good fuck,' you think to yourself.
"Yea?" you ask, nestling closer to me. Throwing your legs over one of mine, it puts one of my thighs between your legs, your panties resting on the rough denim. You wish you had nothing covering your pussy, the rough denim would feel good on your cunt.
"I don't want a wife tonight, I want a toy, I want a slave, I want you to give over to me, let me own you," I pant into your ear, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Own me? As a toy, I would like that, Master," you say to me. You're a little taken by the change, but this has happened before and it changes the flavor of the sex some, when it happens, but you know I'm a nice guy at heart and it usually shows through in various positions, in breaks in character, because it is all an act. You have never been owned before, not like I mean, not like I want.
My voice is stern, commanding, but different this time, "Kneel on the floor in front of me."
Okay, here comes the cock in the mouth, you knew this was coming, but you obey without question all the same. I love having you suck my cock, and you know it, it is something that happens a lot, but not something you normally get anything out of.
Leaning forward and with blazing eyes I look intently into your soul, "I want you to tell me how you are mine, how I own you."
This is different, but the words come slowly to you, "You own me, my body, my heart, my soul, everything is yours, take what you will of me, you have always owned me, I am yours for the taking...Kind Master," you say, finishing with a kinky smile.