I have been reading the stories on MH off and on for several years, but I just joined the site. For context, I am a Christian, currently single, never married, and a virgin trying to be pure in thought and deed. I like to read, research, and write. I have applied these hobbies to the topic of sex for years, but this is the first anyone really knows about it. This is my first submission to MH. It is a fantasy I had recently, so I decided to write it down, flesh (pun intended) it out, and submit it. I hope you enjoy it. I know I did. Several times!
I open the front door and enter. Something’s different—a good sort of different and also not a rare one… thankfully! I recognize this. The faint, slow jazz music is but the first signal as to what’s afoot.
My wife wants me.
Sure enough, here she comes, sauntering around the corner.
“Hello,” she says with a low voice. I momentarily cannot find my own voice. This time she’s not wearing lacy lingerie (at least not that I can see). Instead, she’s got on what I consider even sexier – a sundress. She looks at me with clear, confident eyes and a hint of a smirk on her lips. Her hair drapes about her beautiful face in loose curls. The halter-style dress, white with yellow and pink flowers printed on it, has inch-wide straps. They frame a sweetheart neckline cut just low enough to show the tops of my wife’s breasts and the top of her cleavage. The cut skims her torso down to her waist, where it flares out in soft pleats over her hips that end at mid-thigh.
“Welcome home, dear.” She hugs me. Besides noticing her breasts pressed against me, I feel her fingers pressing my back muscles. My own hands discover the smooth, warm skin exposed by the open back of her dress. She looks at me. Instinctively, we kiss—not a chaste puckered peck, but also not spelunking into each others’ mouths with our tongues. Her soft lips are parted, tempting my tongue to dive in, but she inhales through her nose and gives my back a squeeze before backing away on her low heel, white summer sandals.
With that smirk still on her lips, my wife reaches behind her and unties the bow at the back of her neck. The halter straps loosen, but the front of her dress stubbornly clings to her torso. She peels the bodice down, revealing her round breasts. No bra. Her nipples poke the air, aroused. Even she can not resist and pinches them, holding my gaze and biting her lower lip.
I step forward and grasp her head and neck with both hands, my thumbs behind her ears. Our lips meet again. Again, her mouth is open. This time my tongue flicks between her lips, brushing against her teeth.
Meanwhile, her hands push the fabric of her dress past the slope of her hips and butt. The floral fabric collects on the floor around her feet. She grabs my glutes, pulls her hips against mine, and grinds her crotch against the erect penis barely contained by my pants. “Mmm!” she lilts into my mouth in acknowledgment of my stiff cock.
She breaks off the kiss, but before I can be annoyed (this is the second time!), she grabs my hand and pulls me in her path as she walks.
“This way,” she purrs.
“Okay,” I manage, overcoming the redirection of blood from my vocal cords to my cock. Her sumptuous butt cheeks, separated by a white thong, take turns jiggling and tensing as she walks. Her hand holding mine is nice but definitely not necessary for me to follow her.
We arrive at the bedroom. My wife turns and lets go of my hand, placing hers on my left pectoral muscle and copping a feel. After a quick kiss to my neck, she pushes off my chest and backs up to the edge of the bed. Lying back, she elevates her legs to vertical, and I notice a damp spot on the crotch of her panties. Her fingers hook the straps of the satin and lace garment, guiding the panties up and off her shapely legs. The undergarment clears her sandal-shod feet and is tossed to the side, forgotten, as her legs lower and spread, displaying her pussy. She props herself up on one elbow and looks at me, beckoning with her finger. “At your discretion, sir.”
Good thing, too, because my discretion had been straining like the rod in my pants. I step forward and kiss her neck, move down, and nip at her collar bone. Then, with my left hand supporting me above her, I palm her left breast with my right. I give her left nipple a few flicks with my tongue before taking one good lick. Then, I pinch and roll it while I catch the right nipple in my mouth, sucking and occasionally lightly biting it. My tongue swirls around her swollen areola as her chest rapidly rises and falls underneath my lips and hand. I feel her palm on my head; she wants me to go down further, but I stay where I am for another minute until she lets out a whimper. I brush my lips down her abdomen, pausing to give her belly button a kiss and plant pecks as I go lower.
Then, at her trimmed pubes, right before I hit the hood of her clitoris, I veer over to the inside of her right thigh. I kiss my way toward her pussy and let out a hot breath as I hover over it as if it’s my next destination. Instead, I go to her left thigh. She groans. I kiss up it, and when I arrive at her pussy again, I take a moment to appreciate its darker, swollen state. At the bottom, her wetness trickles onto the sheets. At the top, the tip of her clit has emerged from its hood. I almost wink at her. A little longer, I mentally tell her. My wife’s uniquely wonderful scent fills my nostrils; I inhale it, enjoy it before licking upward on first one outer labium, then the other. Finally, I split the difference and go straight up the pink middle.
I look up into my wife’s eyes. They beg me through her lashes. She utters, “Plea-.” I cut her off by sucking her clit.
Her head falls back down onto the bed. “Yes!” she exclaims. My cheeks hollow and flatten as I suck and release. My tongue’s tip flicks her clit’s tip. My hands grab her butt cheeks. Soon, her hips make thrusts upward rhythmically. Her hands pull my head in. Her breaths stutter. She’s close. I curl my right middle and ring fingers into her hot, wet opening. I stroke her G-spot. I keep sucking and licking. Her breath hitches, then holds.
“Aaahhhh!” she screams in orgasm. Her vagina clenches time and again, hugging my fingers. Her thighs close around my head. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she repeats through the last few contractions, then she lies there, dazed.
I rise to her mouth and give her a quick kiss. If there was a record for stripping off one’s clothes, I beat it. I support myself over her, and we kiss—the tongue-mouth diving commences. She wriggles herself backward fully onto the bed, and I keep right with her. Her hands are flying like she’s trying to touch every body part of mine in reach (and maybe a few that are not.) I transition to kissing the right side of her neck.
“Pl-please,” she gasps.
“Please, what?” I ask, moving to devour the left side of her neck.
“Put. It. In. Me!” she says.
I reach down and place the tip of my penis at her opening. I look into her eyes… and slide in slowly. Her moist, cushioned walls reflexively grasp my cock. She sighs. I have to pause to keep from cumming right then and there. The urge barely subsides, but as I start slowly thrusting, I know that this is not going to be a marathon session. Nowhere close. Maybe more like a 5k. Nope, more like a mile run. Maybe. Probably not even going to make it to another position.
You know, the missionary position has a bad rap for being boring. I think people who think that aren’t doing it right. Missionary lets the man lead and use his inherent yet restrained power. The couple facing each other allows for increased intimacy as they kiss and look into each other’s eyes. The sheer amount of front-to-front skin contact deepens the connection. Micro-rant done.
Her legs wrap around my hips and squeeze. I pump in a scooping motion, trying to hit her G-spot with my tip on the inward strokes. Her hands grab my head, and we kiss, open-mouthed. I feel her orgasm again, and she screams into my mouth. Her pussy pulsates around my cock. Yeah, I am not going to last much long- Oh! Here I cum.
“Ugh!” I grunt. I feel as though waves of semen are leaving me. Warm gusts wash through my nervous system. I stay conscious, which is good; I can avoid plopping all my weight on top of my wife. (It’s happened before.) When I can focus again, I look down at my wife. She has a big smile on her face.
“What?” I ask, knowing the response.
“I love you!” she says.
Slipping out of her, I roll to my left and lay on my back. She snuggles up next to me, head on my shoulder, hand on my chest.
“Guess what?” I ask.
“What?” she asks, a knowing smile on her face.
“I love you more,” I tease.
“No, I love you more,” she retorts with a grin, then kisses me on the cheek before settling more against me.
You know, I think to myself, She might be right. I gotta work on that. I look down at my gorgeous wife, her eyes closed in contentment. Loving another human can be hard, and it sure isn’t efficient. But if anyone makes it easier, it’s my wife.
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