My Desire for Her: The Sweetest of Gestures

This post contains brief strong language (L)

Like many women (so I read), my wife Beth is at her horniest the week she ovulates. This past month it occurred right after the kids went back to school from winter break. I’d love to share it with you.

She hinted that morning that we ought to fool around later on. At work, I texted her that I couldn’t wait until the evening.

Hours later (too many hours), with the kids in bed, the house picked up, and both of us naked in bed, she said something I’ve only heard a few other times, each time indelibly seared into my memory:

“You can do whatever you want with me.”

Wow. I’m pretty certain I’ll carry the experience of hearing that from her all the days of my life.

I knew exactly what I wanted, something we only did once before, briefly, in our first year of marriage. I directed her to kneel on the edge of our bed, ass facing out. She probably expected to sense me standing behind her, to feel my cock probing the moist opening of her pussy. Instead, I knelt down on the floor, raised my face to her pussy, and started lapping at her wet slit.

I wouldn’t stay here long; I knew that she was likely self-conscious about this position with her bottom so close to me. She wouldn’t have been able to let herself go enough to orgasm. But for a little while, I enjoyed her pubic hair tickling me, the sound of my tongue wetly caressing her lips, and the taste and smell of her pussy getting all over my mouth and face. I loved it.

She enjoyed it too, the taboo nature of it all: her vulnerability at being splayed open for me, both of us on our knees, her presenting, and me in submission, hunger, and worship.

How happy I’d be if we could work up to a longer session in that position someday, but I didn’t want to risk it now. Eventually, I moved my face away, and then had her crawl forward on the bed a little but stay on her hands and knees. I moved to sit on the bed’s edge, still behind her but higher up than before. Gently, I move my middle finger to her pussy, stroking her slick, glistening lips, gradually working my way in. I couldn’t believe how wet she was inside.

This was still a new position for us. All the other times I’ve used my hand, she’s been on her back with her legs generously spread open for me. There was heightened tension in the room because this was new and because Beth still likely felt deliciously vulnerable with me having quite the view of her pussy and ass. I could tell we were both very excited at what we were doing.

My hand had been palm down since I started, the only comfortable option given our relative positions. I continued softly finger fucking her, and then I felt her hand moving near mine; she started rubbing her clit, just what I was hoping for. Her hand was palm up. We were both using our middle fingers, mine wetly penetrating her, hers on her hard clit. Our other fingers made tentative contact a few times, hers lean and long, toned from years at the cello, mine strong from woodworking.

And then it happened—a truly lovely and loving gesture, holy in effect. Our hands found each other’s, her’s palm up, mine palm down, and our other fingers intertwined, forming a gentle clasp. It was so powerful, the two of us having that simple physical bond. It was a physical echo of all the other times we’ve held hands in our marriage: while exchanging rings, staying in close touch during childbirth, walking in the park, sadly riding together to a parent’s funeral… facing life’s changes together. It’s how we first fall asleep at night, hands held. It was lovely. All of this was left unsaid, yet surely felt.

And yet, this was undeniably sexual. Yes, we hold hands often, but this time was different. There was no hiding it. Our loving hand-holding, gentle finger-clasp took place between her smooth pale thighs, right outside her hot, humid, and hairy pussy. My middle finger was up inside her wet cunt, feeling the tight slick walls of her vagina; hers was rubbing her engorged clit. Our other fingers were right there at her hairy, wet crotch. We could each feel her full pussy hair, both our hands making contact with her wet pink pussy. Our hands were soon slick with her sex.

When she came, I released our clasp briefly to push an extra finger inside her. She moaned my name. But we returned to the finger embrace right away, sighing with gratitude, both feeling her wet, spent pussy on our hands. It was lovely.