Emily and her husband are trying for a baby and have the house to themselves in the afternoon.
Sneaking up on you isn’t easy. You’ve got a sixth sense. You’re a light sleeper, one of those men who “investigate the noise.” I don’t even try to stop you and convince you it was nothing anymore. You’re always “hearing something” but, today, I’m sneaking up on you.
It’s taken me, what? Three minutes just to get down the hall?
I put my step gingerly at the edges, right up by the wall so that the floorboards wouldn’t squeak. Catlike in movement, if not in reflexes, I’ve crept down the hall to your office and have been peering in at you. Not laughing is the hardest thing. You’re so studious, so into whatever that book is on your desk that you don’t notice me looking in from the open doorway.
I shift my right foot to here, put my left foot over there, and I’m in the room.
I do wish your back was to me. It would be so much more fun to startle you from behind, maybe a playful tickle or a goose, but this will have to do.
Lord, but don’t you look fine!
I love those jeans on you. There’s just no substitute for good American made jeans and your blue button-down oxford hugs your shoulders beautifully. Your shoulders… I think that’s the feature I most love about your body. Broad, strong, muscular, all of you is delightfully intimidating but your shoulders? Oh, yes, your shoulders.
“Trying for a baby” has been awesome! It’s been serious, and playful, and romantic, and… Just… Mmmmm.
I know you’re disappointed that it hasn’t happened yet. It will. I wish I could tell you my secret though. We don’t keep secrets but I have this one, this awful one: The truth is that I’ve only been pretending to share your frustration at not getting pregnant because telling you might make you think I don’t want to carry your baby. I couldn’t bear that. No, better to keep my own counsel. I really do want babies with you, lots and lots of babies, and I love that time and money aren’t concerns for us. It’s just that I love “us” as we are and I love my body as it is, a body that you ravish constantly and find so desirable. All of that is about to change and I haven’t wrapped my mind and heart around it yet.
I reflexively cross my wrists and lift my tank up from the front, as quietly as I can, leaning down to drop it to the floor. This bra doesn’t go with my shirt. It’s an outrageous forest green on black lace but I know you love it. I’ve been wearing this wanton invitation to molest me all morning and that is exactly what I want and need right now. I’m done waiting for you to notice.
A few more steps and I… but, damn! One squeaky floorboard and you look up, taking me in in an instant. I forgot about that one but your face lights up and, man, my whole world lights up at you looking at me like that. You drop your pen on your desk and turn to face me. Three buttons open on your shirt, and I can see your semi-erect penis outlined in your pants.
You knew I was there didn’t you; knew I was creeping up on you and let me do it. Oh, how lovely!
I stare into your beautiful eyes. What color are they today? I can’t tell. They change with the lighting, the palate around you, your emotions. Right now, all I see is a ravenous hunger and that fuels mine, already well on its way to being a torrent. Almost mechanically, certainly not with deliberation, I unbutton my jeans, pushing them off my hips and letting them slip to the floor. They’re hazel and you are watching me intently, taking me in, a collector of beautiful things who has found a pearl of great value in me. Your gaze is mesmerizing, overwhelming, absorbing. In an instant, you are my sole thought and wish and desire and I come to you, straddling you in your chair, feeling your cock pressed against me through the fly on your jeans.
A low moan inadvertently slips from me as I lean in to kiss you. Your strong arms encircle me, and your experienced hands lose no time in unclipping my bra. The fabric loosens as I rub my hard nipples against you through your shirt. You stand, a strong, wide hand under each cheek as I wrap my legs around your torso. You carry me into our bedroom and we collapse on the bed with you towering above me, your hands on my breasts, kneading them as you lean in and kiss me. Your tongue pushes insistently between my lips and teeth as I struggle to reach your shirtfront, anxious to feel your hairy chest against my naked flesh but I haven’t anything close to the strength required to move you an inch.
You laugh, that wonderful, deep, musical laugh, at my frustration. You laugh at my need, and it makes me angry. I pout. That makes you laugh all the more as you push down with your knees on my open thighs and hold my wrists above my head. I struggle for a moment, knowing it is pointless, and then shift to whispering “Oh, please Matt, you know what I need, please?”
You are moved by such things and hold me for but a moment longer, demanding “then say it!” I giggle but I love this game, love it when you make me call out my heated longing. “Say it!” you demand, and I cry out with a laugh “ravish me, take me, fuck me!”
You hook your forefingers in the sides of my panties and, as you stand, you take them with you. I lay here, a wanton display, my knees as wide apart as I can hold them, my sex open to you and inviting as you stand and begin to strip but there has ever been a teasing boy in you and you do not do so in a flurry of activity; no, you are in control, slowly unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it from your shoulders. You make me lay there, like the elegant slut that I am at heart, leaving me in delicious agony for your touch as you undress very deliberately. First, your left shoe, then your right, your socks, your jeans, then, finally, your boxers, revealing your manhood.
Your penis is my greatest possession. He seems to be perpetually angry, a pink, red, and purple veiny thing that takes getting used to each time we make love, but I need services only he can provide. I reach down and slide my hand between my legs, tracing my sex from taint to clit, feeling that lovely slickness on my forefinger. You reach down and begin to stroke yourself as I let my fingers dance in my folds. You pull on yourself gently but firmly and I can see the tip glisten with pre-cum.
I smile and laugh as you come for me. A memory of the first time flashes through my mind, the bewildering emotions of being exposed to a man, entirely his, fearful, curious, excited, the pain, the pleasure. When was that? Twenty months ago? No, twenty-two. Now, though, I want the full treatment, the hard lovemaking of spouses, not your gentleness and my timidity, that wonderful, truly once-in-a-lifetime dance of our wedding night.
I rise to my knees, the bed placing my face even with your collarbones. The brown hair on your chest covering relaxed muscles in your torso, your nipples slightly protruding. I lean forward, kissing your chest, letting my tongue play in your curls as I seek out your left nipple. My arms are resting on your chest and my hands on your shoulders; I find your nipple and trace it with the tip of my tongue before sucking it between my lips. Your strong arms entirely envelop me, and your hands are on my lower back as you pull me possessively into you.
There was no one before you, no one to touch me, possess me, inspire me. It has only been and only will be you and I will never have anyone to compare you with. Do other men like to have their nipples sucked or like to be touched gently, with just the fingertips and nails? Do other men like to be teased or to hold their wives down or to roughly rip off their wives’ clothes, only to make the gentlest of love to them or to take them roughly and nonchalantly just before going out and then to act like it was nothing? Do other men use sex as a profound articulation of adoration, duty, and love?
I don’t know and never will know but I love what we are, and I love you.
I stand and you let me turn your body so that, when we fall on the bed, I am straddling your thighs. I lean forward to kiss you. It is passionate, forceful, thrusting my tongue into your mouth. Our tongues dance together as your cock leans against my back, pulsing insistently; but he will have to wait just a little bit. I need to feel my breasts against your skin and your curls encircling my nipples. The skin under my areolas is so sensitive and so much more so when I’m in heat. I giggle at the thought; yes, I’m “in heat,” at my most fertile and you are going to take me.
Is it today? Mmmm… Maybe, maybe today is the day you possess my womb as much as the rest of me.
“I want you,” I whisper. You growl an inarticulate response, your focus on the need that is tapping against my lower back. You know the mood I’m in, it’s naughty, not delicate, and you instinctively push me off of you and down onto my belly. You pull my ass up and position yourself to enter me roughly. In one stroke, you fill me.
I love this bed. You are so much bigger than me that it is difficult to take you from behind when we are both kneeling, but this bed is the perfect height, placing my opening at just the right place for you to fuck me deep and full while standing and you are not slow or gentle now. You are a husband, taking and using what is his, and I am a wife, unable to do anything else but be your plaything. Though, as you know well, I want nothing more than to be your plaything.
You pound me hard, groaning at my tightness as I moan through the currents of erotic pleasure rushing through my body. You’re the most wonderful lover, an attentive and discrete man who focuses entirely on me when you’re with me and today you are ravishing me with a recklessness that is both familiar and surprises. Your strong hands have my hips in a vice grip as you plunge deep into me and then pull almost all the way out, only to plunge back in. You are thick that ever part of my sex is swept with your flesh on every movement. I am open and welcoming, our motions informed by tens of thousands of years of evolution.
You reach forward and grab my left breast in your hand, roughly kneading the flesh and twisting my nipple as you shift your right to hold me up. You’re so strong, so physically dominating, and all I can do is go along for the ride as you plough into my fertile body. I can hear and feel your orgasm building, as mine is, but you cum first. Returning your hands to my hips, you plunge as deep into me as you can and you hold me there. I can feel your warm cum filling my womb, your seed flowing into me, in search of purpose, your semen coating me, and I cry out. My body is wracked with an earth-shattering orgasm and my full-throated cry must surely be heard in the heavens above.
I am yours and you are mine. We need no mementos or emblems, no tattoos or marks to show it, it simply is and is on full display in our lovemaking. You collapse beside me and pull me close in. My back is against your chest and your hips against mine. There is a delightful silence as our hearts slow and our temperatures come down. “Do you think that did it” you ask hopefully…