An Intimate Housewarming

It all started off rather unexpectedly.

There was nothing unusual about the evening, nothing in the wind, no premonitions, no out-of-the-ordinary events, just darkness and the quiet solitude that accompanies it.  The children were already tucked in and fast asleep in the bedroom.  My husband had retired as had become his customary earlier-than-usual hour brought on by the extended commute that a far more distant new house purchase had brought along.  I was alone, downstairs, cuddled up to a good book and warm mug of milk.  Quite the appropriate way to end a good day, or so I thought.

Reading had made my eyes heavy with sleep.  Rather than fight to finish the chapter, I surrendered to the onslaught of drowsiness and decided to retire to the master bedroom.

Making my way upstairs, I found the hall faintly illumined by the glow of night lights spilling from under the doors of the children’s’ bedrooms onto the carpeted floor.  Inside the master bedroom, the air was painted black with darkness.  Not even the moon seemed to be able to pierce the ebony curtain.  The only sound resonating was my sleeping husband’s breathing.  I had to clumsily feel my way around in the dark to find my night clothes.

I had just slipped out of my jeans and taken off my polo and bra, and was seated on the edge of the bed about to don a cotton gown, when suddenly I felt my husband’s presence behind me, his warm naked skin touching my own, his lips planting delicate kisses along the slopes of my neck and shoulders while his arms encircled me and his hands came to rest softly and play gently upon my breasts.  “I thought you were asleep,” I whispered.  “I couldn’t,” he whispered back, “I’ve been awake thinking about you all evening.”

He wasted no time in drawing me back onto the bed with him and into whatever sensual aura it was that had imbued his senses.  When I reached to embrace him, I found that he was already nude and fully aroused, his hardness rubbing against me as he pressed his sensually warmed body against my own.

Kisses moist and flavored by the kindled ardor of anticipation dressed my lips.  Hands sensuously radiating conveyed his passion and the heightened sense of his desire as they sought out my most pleasurable places to stroke and caress.  And then one slipped effortlessly into my bikini panties to make love to my womanhood, first atop my lips, and then, as I became wet and opened in invitation, inside the velvety dew of my pink enclave.  There was nothing to do, but to lie back, close my eyes, and be submersed in a pool of pleasure.

Wanting to reciprocate, to share in the sensuous delight in which I was so thoroughly immersed, I reached for him finding his soft fur missing, and the unobstructed full length of his tool mine to explore.  And explore him I did, running my fingers up and down his length, loving the way he responded to my touch, listening to his moans of approval, the way he verbalized his passion, feeling his penis growing in my hand, fondling him, rubbing him with the droplets of his own seed until he was slick and slippery to the touch.

We reached the point together where only that most intimate of convergences can satisfy the longing to know each other in that most incomparable way.  Usually we would stop and I would sheath his penis before he enters me, but this evening there was no time for stopping and no desire to do so.  Before we could do something stupid like second guess our actions, he pulled down my panties, and after I parted my legs to invite his penetration, he was inside me, filling the wetness of my vagina with his surging inches, plunging passionately into my honey, bringing us both over a most delicious edge.

It was like it used to be when we first married and discovered this wonderful pleasure.  There were times we couldn’t wait to get home and share our bodies in bed.  It was hard to believe that something like this even existed, but it did, and we delighted in it.  And it brought us a closeness one would think not achievable.  That night, he was the young, virile man again, and I was his willing bride, and we were selflessly giving to each other.

The scent of our loving perfumed the air in our bedroom.  The sounds we made, the words we uttered, the language of our bodies resonated around the room like a sensual symphony.  I was glad for the locks on the doors.

Then with a shudder, his velvet essence was filling my vagina, explosively, plunged deep within me, and again I just closed my eyes and basked in the sensation of his seed being planted inside of me.

When it was over, I thought we would just cuddle and fall into a wonderful sleep, but he kept touching me, caressing, kindling the fire, not letting the flame of our passion diffuse, like he used to, and I knew we would do it again.

Hours had passed when finally we lay calm in each other’s arms.   “You were beautiful tonight.”  His words flowed like sweet elixir from his lips.  “I want to do this again with you,” he whispered, “I want to make love to you in every room of this house.  I want to spend a whole weekend in bed with you.  Would you like that?”

“Oh yes,” I wanted to say, but the pragmatic side of me responded first.  “You know we have children.  We can’t do that sort of thing any more.”

“I know,” disappointedly he spoke, “but it’s worth dreaming.”

Yes it is, and weeks later his dreams would come true.

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