It’s date night, the first in too long between a nauseous pregnancy, covid restrictions, and a demanding harvest.
The date was set weeks in advance, and it’s finally here. I dab on some makeup for the first time in probably two years and marvel at how much has changed since the first time I got dolled up for this guy.
Nearly six years ago to the day, we met for ice cream after a text requesting “to talk in person.” Who knew such an awkward conversation of “I’m interested,” “Me, too,” “So now what?” “I don’t know,” would blossom into a flourishing relationship, marriage, and now child.
Touching up my hair—which I kept down, knowing he prefers it—I check the clock and move to the door. The rumble of his farm truck tickles my ears, and I greet him with a kiss as he flies through the door to get showered and changed. I lick my lips, seeing his firm ass and thick member bounce as he speed-showers today’s grime off. I think to myself, “When I learn to masturbate, this will be one of the moments I remember.”
My man catches me watching from the door. “Hey, you’re letting all the steam out! Go finish getting ready!”
I slink away to the bedroom and get changed, quickly swapping my work clothes for a casual night-out dress. I preen in front of the mirror and compliment myself on the surprise hiding underneath.
In another ten minutes, we are both dressed and in the car, hoping to make our reservation at the most esteemed restaurant in our small town. I have the menu memorized, so I order my meal at the same time as our drinks.
My husband follows suit, telling the waitress, “I’ll get the chicken Santa Fe—” but I hold up my hand and interrupt. “That sounds great, hun, but are you sure that will give you enough energy for everything we have planned tonight?”
His jaw drops in awe of my boldness in front of the waitress, and then he collects himself enough to change his order. With a wink, the waitress leaves us to ourselves.
“I can’t believe you said that,” he gasps.
I slip my foot from my shoe and up his leg. “I can’t believe you’d pass up the chance for a bronco burger, especially knowing I’m going to put those calories to good use,” I retort. Though his face shows shock, his cock rises and strains against his pants. I lightly tickle it with my toes and hear him gasp.
“Put that away—there’re no tablecloths here!”
I withdraw my foot but promise more to come.
Our meal is amazing, and we make it to the movie in plenty of time. B has been raving about this show since seeing the trailer, and we make sure to get a spot in the middle for perfect audio—and near the back for perfect privacy.
We snack and laugh together, and I recall our first movie date six years ago. So young, hesitant, shy, and afraid to misspeak or even bump arms in the theatre. That cliched “hand meeting in the popcorn” was as far as we went that night.
Now married with all the liberties it brings, I move my attention from the screen to my husband. Shifting in my seat, I lean my breast against his arm and trace a line up his neck to his ear. I rub his earlobe and whisper sweet nothings of my appreciation for him.
Turning to see why I was such a distraction, he gets a perfect view down my dress, where shadows from the screen dance across the top of my cleavage. He freezes, apparently liking what he sees. Not wanting him to miss too much of his long-awaited movie, I turn his chin back to the screen.
Minutes pass, and I decide to get naughty again. “Hun,” I whisper, “do you have those raffle tickets? I’d hate to miss out on the draw after the movie.”
He shrugs. “I think we put them in your purse.”
I swivel in my seat and lean to the floor away from him as he watches, knowing that my skirt will ride up and give him a peek at the lace underneath. As I take my time, I hear him gasp and feel his finger trace up my exposed leg. Then I return to my seat, still feigning lost tickets. “Maybe they’re in your coat,” I whisper, kneeling on my seat to lean over him with my ass in the air for his viewing pleasure. He grabs my hips and pulls me back down, anxious about who else may have gotten that up-skirt view.
By now, he knows what I’m doing. “Behave! If you’re quiet and good, I’ll reward you when we get home.”
With a fake pout and an innocent nod, I turn back to the screen and snag some popcorn from the bag he holds on his lap. A smile creeps across my face as the next naughty idea swirls in my mind.
Reaching as far as I can into the bag of popcorn, I put pressure along the bottom of the bag. His cock jumps, and his head snaps toward me, but I’m just casually eating popcorn and watching the movie. I blindly reach for the popcorn and rub him again. Another twitch, another glance, but I keep my composure.
I go for a third popcorn rub and am surprised to find he’s moved the bag. My hand lands in his lap and on his waiting bulge. He catches my wrist and coaxes me to begin rubbing his bulge and between his legs. I happily oblige, but he shushes me when I start to tell him how pleased I am that he changed his mind.
We fold up the armrest between us to fix the awkward angle of my arm, and I lean my head on his shoulder to give my other hand access to the action. Before I can get his fly open, his arm is around my hips, pulling me closer. With my ass now half on his seat, he lifts my leg over his knee.
In the dark of the theatre, his hand climbs up my skirt and massages my inner thighs. I suppress a moan but lean in to whisper, “More, please!” He tantalizingly traces to the tops of my legs but refuses any contact with my lips, slit, or clit. I grasp at his package, hoping if I spoil him well that he’ll return the favor.
He languidly tortures me, getting closer and closer but never landing contact. The end of the movie can’t come fast enough. We’re both breathing heavily and bolt for the exit as soon as the lights are on.
The drive home is short, and I tease him about how shy he is not to let me toy with him more in the theatre. As we close our front door behind us, I innocently twirl and ask, “So what’s my reward? You said I would get a reward if I stayed quiet.”
“Not so fast; I promised a reward if you were quiet and GOOD, and my naughty wife didn’t quite deliver on that.”
I can’t believe it! I NEED sex with my husband! It has been too long, and we finally have a date night with an empty house.
“You mean you’d deprive yourself just to prove a point about my behaviour?” I whimper.
“No, I’m not depriving myself of anything. But instead of spoiling you YOUR way, we’re going to do things my way tonight.” With that, he grabs the full-length hall mirror and leads me to the bedroom. “When was the first time you were naughty tonight?”
I ponder his question, but before I can answer, he has his pants down.
“You let the heat out of the shower. Now you’re going to shower me with kisses!”
I try not to giggle and spoil his game of punishment, so I suppress my glee by putting his giant cock in my mouth. Though it has calmed down since my attention in the theatre, it quickly rises back to attention and fills my mouth and throat. As I kneel on the floor, I feel his hands in my hair as he thrusts into my mouth.
“You wore your hair down tonight, love.” The words are tender, but his voice is gruff with the staccato pumps of his dick into my mouth. “I love when you wear your hair down.”
With that, he lifts me to my feet, throws me to the bed, and poises himself to 69. I gasp as he pushes my underwear to the side and plunges his tongue into my crease. His cock taps at my lips, and I ravenously resume licking and sucking him, occasionally deep throating and gagging, until I’m shaking with pleasure from his mouth rewarding me.
He takes his cue and rights himself, replacing his tongue with a finger. As he strokes my hair with his other hand, the firmness comes back to his voice and the fire back to his eyes. “When was the second time you were naughty tonight?”
I’m too enraptured by the magic of his submerged fingers to answer, so he withdraws them and places them in my mouth. I lick my wetness from his fingers and wait for his next punishment.
“At the restaurant, you interrupted me in front of the waitress, alluded to our marital acts, and wantonly fondled me in public. You’re such a dirty girl; you need to know actions have consequences.”
Suddenly, he pulls me across his naked lap. While none of the mentioned offenses have been problems before, I go along with his game and wonder what my punishment will be. I don’t have to wonder long, as my skirt comes up above my cheeks and his hand comes down on my ass. I shriek at the unexpected smack, then hold my breath in trepidation for the next blow to land. We’ve never really spanked before, but the anticipation heightens my senses, and I grind my pelvis against his leg. He rubs my ass cheek and the exposed material between my legs, and I moan just before another smack comes down.
“You did a great job cleaning out the car to be ready for tonight,” he murmurs as he rubs my stinging ass. “And I really appreciate how you’ve watched the budget so carefully to give us a night of luxury.” His fingers massage my cheeks and press against the wet fabric. I sigh, my senses on high alert. I gasp as he withdraws his hand, expecting another spank. But instead, his massage moves up my back to my tense shoulders.
“What was the third time you were naughty tonight?” he asks, kneading the flesh of my back. I melt into his lap, appreciating his inherent tenderness despite tonight’s punishment game.
“I was immodest at the theatre,” I drawled.
“That’s right! You taunted me with glimpses and grazes that shouldn’t happen outside our home. You got me wound up, and now I’m going to get the same visuals while I fuck you.”
I sit up and look at him inquisitively.
“Put your hands down on the mattress,” he tells me, placing the hallway mirror across from me. “Your dress is staying on, but I’m going to look at that amazing cleavage while I fuck you.” He comes around and grabs my hips.
“This skirt was too short for the theatre, and there was too great a chance for a double feature if anyone caught a glimpse of you bent over.” He pulls up my skirt and kneads his thumbs into my ass cheeks. “Put your knees on the bed; I want to look at this ass while I fuck you.”
I crawl into position and moan as he slides my underwear to the side again. I glance up at the mirror just in time to see his face as he sinks into me, slowly, torturously, inch by inch. I push back hard against him, desperate to be overtaken by his full length, but he holds my hips steady.
He swats my ass cheek again, and our eyes meet in the mirror. “Patience,” he drawls, as he slowly withdraws, slowly re-enters, slowly pulls back, leisurely presses back in.
I quiver in anticipation, and my eyes plead with him in the mirror.
“Tell me what you want,” he teases.
“I want you to fuck me!” I whimper.
Slowly out, slowly in.
Slowly out, slowly in. A grin spreads across his face. “Torture, isn’t it, when you want a good fuck, but you can’t do anything about it?” Slowly out, slowly in.
I moan and writhe, completely understanding now why he chose our favorite position to punish me. I look toward the mirror to plead with him but see his eyes flit between my gaping neckline as he pulls slowly out and his dick disappearing into me as he goes slowly in. “Please,” I murmur, wanting more but also entranced by the show happening in front of (and behind) me.
“Time to make this an even better show.”
Before I can understand, he rams into me, and the only thing keeping me upright is his hands on my hips. I gasp, feeling his length so powerfully buried into me. I look at the mirror to say thanks, but my eyes lock on the same sight as his: my voluptuous globes now swinging as pendulums after such a sudden thrust.
“More,” barely passes my lips before he’s pounding into me again. I lock my wrists and brace, pushing back against these strong thrusts and watching my tits fight their binding as they sway and dance.
“Fuck, more!” I cry, and he moves his hands from my hips to my swinging breasts, humping hard as he lays himself across my back. I struggle to hold our weight and balance, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the mirror. My passion rises as I watch him, watch us, feel the extra intimacy of a position we frequent but have never had such connection with. I thrust back, pushing into his advances, and growl as he pinches my tits through the dress. I can’t hold back any longer, and I collapse to my elbows, lost, as the waves of passion roll over me.
I look into the mirror and watch as B grasps my hips and keeps pumping and pounding, edging closer to his own release.
“Is my punishment over?” I gasp out, rolling with his thrusts.
His eyes find mine in the mirror, and he looks confused, lost in the moment and having forgotten our game. His thrusts pause, and I take the opportunity to crawl out from under him.
“Before you finish, is there any other naughtiness to address?” I turn and crawl across the bed toward him, my gaping neckline holding his attention. I near the edge of the bed and kneel, sitting on my feet so he can see down my dress and I can reach to fondle his balls.
My touch reignites his memory, and his eyes flash. “The popcorn hand job! I’ll never be able to share popcorn with anyone else again!”
I bat my eyelashes and glance up at him. “Do I need punishment for that, too? Or can I reward you for your patience instead?”
I slap his dick against my cheeks and fondle his balls and penis as I await his decision. He moans and nods, and I pull him down to sit on the bed. We both quiver in anticipation—he, waiting to know his reward; I, eager to show him the surprise under my dress.
I turn on our bedroom music and leave the lights on. I slowly run my hands up my sides and reach above my head, knowing that his gaze is trapped on the fabric pulled taut across my tits. As my arms come back down, his hand absentmindedly travels to his erection. I drop my hands to his lap, giving another great view down my dress, and pull his hands away.
“It’ll be so much better if you leave that to me.” I turn and bend from the hip to remove the shoes that miraculously haven’t fallen off yet. I take my time, leaving my ass (and skirt) up and vulnerable. As my second shoe comes off, I feel his hand brazenly caress the thin piece of fabric between my legs. I snap back to standing and turn to brush his hand away.
“Hey, since when am I the one being punished?” I cajole him with a firm grasp of his member as I lean over him and stick my tongue down his throat. “Okay, waiting is worth it,” he smirks as we come up for air.
I resume standing and begin to dance with the music, feeling the short skirt ride up and knowing my tits are bouncing wildly. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and can’t believe the wild sight before me. My hands lift my hair from my shoulders, and I give another little shimmy before I pick up the mirror and return to my husband.
“I promised a treat, and now you’ll get extra access to it,” I explain, propping the mirror in front of him. His eyes lock on mine as I wiggle my ass and begin grinding on his lap. Our moans mingle, and I know we’re both resuming the climb to climax. I stand and remove my soaked panties, then straddle his lap and carry on grinding. I pull his hands forward for balance, and he hungrily gropes at my ass, pulling me closer and attempting to line up.
I shift my hips until I’m lying on his lap with legs stretched behind us and grind my warmth against his stomach, moving his hands to my tits. As he massages over the dress, I see the recognition on his face as he realizes that he can’t feel my usual bra under the dress.
“Take it off!” he hoots, guiding me back to the floor and grasping his dick again. I lean towards the mirror, giving him a full view of my swollen pussy lips and a mirror view of my gaping cleavage, and he begs again, “Take it off!” grasping at the hem to assist me. I pirouette out of reach, making my globes bounce, flashing my ass and lips, and driving him wild. His hand pumps frantically on his rod, and I know I’ll need to be fast if I want to get in on the action.
Timing my hips with the music, I sway as I bend to the floor. I trace my fingers up my legs and raise the hem to show my trimmed lips. I pull the dress higher but turn to the mirror.
He lunges forward and grabs my ass, pulling me down to his lap and wrapping an arm past my hip to plunge his fingers into my wetness. He watches the mirror as I raise my dress further, and as it clears my head and flies to the floor, I witness his shock that instead of a bare belly and a bra, I’m clad in a leather half-cup corset.
My tits spill out, and he abandons my hot hole to sink all ten fingers into my fleshy breasts. I moan at the attention and grind hard against the penis standing at attention behind me. I reach a hand back and begin to fondle. The show in the mirror is exquisite, but I ache for him to fill me again. I extract myself from his adoring, groping hands and turn away from the mirror. Straddling him, I lower myself onto his cock and feel the hot fullness. His hands return to my nipples, and I writhe on his dick as he twists, tugs, and pinches. I ride him hard and fast, bouncing my tits in his face as I plunge myself onto his rod. He catches hold of my hips and buries his face in my chest.
When at last I can’t take the burning passion of his mouth nipping and suckling, I wrap my legs around his back and throw myself backward. We both freeze and look in the mirror, seeing the most illicit visual ever to grace our marriage bed. Me, clad in leather, upside-down along his lap with my hail trailing to the floor and tits bounding; he, gripping my hips and holding us locked at the pelvis.
We watch the mirror, and he begins to thrust, slowly at first, grinding, humping, then working up to a strong, primal thrusting. My hands find the floor for balance, and I watch in awe as my breasts fly erratically in time with his pounding. I tighten my legs to give him freedom, and his hand descends to twiddle my clit as he fucks his upside-down wife.
We both begin to tire, so he pulls me back into his lap. I grind against him, then lift before dropping and puncturing myself again as we lock eyes and know what comes next. Wrapping my arms around his neck and never losing connection, he rises and walks to the end of the bed, dropping me down on my back. We both check the mirror and are impressed at the view it provides.
I look up at my handsome husband and pull his hands back to my tits. “Fuck me,” I tell him, squeezing my hands over his. “Fill me,” I plead as he begins to grind and swirl within me. “Fuck me until I pump you dry, and all that’s left is inside your hot mess of a wife.”
With that, he releases my breasts, pulls my ankles onto his shoulders, and answers my plea.
“Fuck, yes!” I cry as he stretches me further. “Fuck, more!” as his rhythm bounces my breasts free from the half-cups and into my face.
“Fuck, beautiful!” This time it’s him as he watches the mirror to see his thrusts, my tits, and both our mouths gasping in pleasure. He pounds me hard and fast, using up the pent-up fire from our night of teasing naughtiness, consequences, treats, and fucks. I cry out as B folds me in half and plows into me. My hands alternate between teasing my nipples like he taught me and holding my ankles to give him more unhindered access. The waves crash over us together, and we fall to the bed, spent.
“Well, my naughty leather-lady, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he goads.
I roll to face him. “Of course! And I promise to be naughty again soon.”
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