My Exotic Queen

It’s a Friday.  We slept in, and now I’m standing in the kitchen door, looking at her as she cooks a late breakfast—my woman, my wife. Shazia. My exotic queen.

We are an Egyptian couple in our early 30’s. Shazia is no bathing beauty: she’s big, husky, matronly.  The flow of her kaftan exposes and outlines the bulge of her ass, which, always delicious, has nonetheless expanded a bit since motherhood. You’ll hear no complaints from me, though.  I enjoy mauling the soft moons, so gazing upon them like this without a panty line interfering with the flow is a pleasure.  Her breasts, enlarged by their use in feeding our three children, sway and jiggle unfettered as she stirs.  I love them.  She hasn’t dried up yet from our youngest, probably because I play with them so much, enjoying teasing her turgid brown nipples. They’ve grown probably twice the size they were when I took her for my bride.

What beauty age has taken from her features has been replaced by character.  It doesn’t bother me at all.  What she brings to the table transcends such superficial things.

I enter the room, step up behind her, and run my hand over her belly, pressing my erection into the crack of her plush ass.  Her lips quirk. “Looking for something?”

“Found it, I think,” I reply, moving my hand up to collect a breast.  Her nipple erects immediately; I can feel it through the fabric.

“I’m cooking…” There is no anger or irritation in her voice, and her lips still quirk.

“That’s how I knew where to find you,” I reply.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes.” I hump her ass, sliding my cock up and down the crack.

“I see.” She reaches back to rub the bulge that my cock makes under my trousers. “I’m sorry, Dear One, I cannot leave the food long enough to take care of this properly,” she murmurs.

“Oh.” Disappointment flows from my voice.

She frowns, pretending concern. “This seems urgent.  Something quick, to stave off a disaster?”

“That sounds good,” I agreed.

She lowers the flame under the meal, turns to me, and settles to her knees, smiling up at me as she extracts my erection.  This is why she is irreplaceable.  My friends spend their days complaining about their wives or girlfriends and how they bitch and moan when asked for sex—or a host of other things, in some cases.  My wife enjoys making love.  I stand there, watching her smile up at me, her eyes on mine as she rolls her lips over my circumcised cock.  

I rub her nipples through the fabric of her kaftan while she sucks in my shaft, washing the underside with her tongue, hitting all of my ticklish spots.  After all, she knows every one intimately. Her other hand works its way under the bunched fabric of her kaftan to get at her mound—and soon, I can smell her arousal and hear the wet sounds her fingers generate in her cunt.  She enjoys collecting my semen; it arouses her.  The sounds of her masturbation add to the sensations of her hot lips and frisky tongue, providing me with a cascade of pleasure.  I slide my hands along her cheeks, caressing her face with my thumbs as the intensity builds.  It seems like only moments before my arousal spins out of control!

“I cum!” I gasp, only a moment before the eruption!  My woman wails and shakes, rocking on her knees, my ejaculation triggering a simultaneous detonation in her; she’s ALWAYS enjoyed collecting my cum!

We are one for a moment that lasts probably less than a minute, then she releases me, and I step back, helping her to rise.  I pull her in for a kiss, knowing my seed is long gone.

Smiling, she turns back to the stove as I tuck myself away.  This was an appetizer; after breakfast, I will give her the main course, pulling climax after climax from her with my pounding cock.  My wife does not begrudge me my blowjobs; I return the orgasms at three for one when we make love.

Appearances can be deceiving; my wife appears to be quite average—maybe less—but the reality is that she is a jewel who makes my life a pleasure!

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