Day of Love (L)

(L) – This story contains strong language. 

 

Author’s note:

If I ever get married, I hope to make Sundays a literal day of rest and refreshment with my husband.  Sundays, I have often found, are too rushed.  Of course attending church, serving the family of Christ, and ministering to the lost is no burden to me, and I pray I’ll always be faithful in those areas.  But worship doesn’t need to become a hassle, full of stress and boxes to check off.  Here is my ideal Sunday with my future husband.

 

Church was over.  I held my husband’s hand as we chatted with friends and welcomed newcomers, and thanked the pastor for his message.  I had listened to my husband sing a special, which is always a treat because his voice and style captures the crooners of olden days.  The reverence of his performance, combined with his whole persona and presence (not to mention his handsome physique clad in a suit and tie), had warmed both my heart and my body.  As I sat in the pew, I praised the Lord that the wonderful man up on stage singing to his Savior and blessing the congregation was mine.  It was almost hard to grasp.  I was his wife!

As a couple, we’d made the decision that Sundays would be phone-free, except for emergencies.  This was the Lord’s day, so we were going to make it all about Him, and thus, because His love was exemplified in our marriage, about each other.  We would eat lunch, talk about the sermon, pray, cuddle, and indulge in some kind of intimacy, then take a nap.  There were no plans and no appointments.  That didn’t mean we never got together with family or friends, especially if there was a call to show hospitality, but for most of the time, Sundays were our time of renewal, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.  The distractions of daily life needed to be put aside.

I always planned lunch on Saturday so I’d know what we would eat.  I’d made chicken salad, which we had on wheat bread with some vegetables, fruit, and oat milk.  My imaginative husband had found a recipe for a healthy chocolate coconut dessert which we enjoyed with lunch.  As we ate, we discussed church and what had specifically touched our hearts from the preaching and music.  We’re blest with a Godly pastor who skillfully brings us the Scriptures.

“You sang so well today, baby,” I told him, smiling across the table at him.

“You know, uh, you were looking up at me as if you wanted to eat me up,” he grinned.  “Made it kind of hard to stay focused on worship.”

“Oh no! Was I that obvious?” I chuckled, wondering how a girl could help visibly admiring this tall, dark-haired, keen-eyed, strapping hunk of masculinity.

“Maybe not to anyone but me, and I’m pretty honored to be the recipient of a lovely woman’s desire,” he said, his voice a little softer and more tender.  He reached for my hand.  I wrapped mine in his.

“You are always desired by me,” I declared.

He pushed his chair back and stood up, still holding my hand.  “How about we get comfortable somewhere?”

“Just let me load the dishwasher.”

Once I did that, we moseyed to our room.  We’d already changed into our “relaxing” clothes – him in shorts and t-shirt, me in shorts and a camisole – so we were ready to lounge.  We stretched out in bed with just a soft throw blanket tossed over our legs.  I snuggled into his arms.

For a little while, we talked about this and that, addressing some of the little things that crop up in every marriage, all while keeping our voices low and calm.  Even in our speech, we wanted to be restful.  No tension or discord should invade our day.

My husband suggested we should pray for our pastor, whose family was dealing with some stressful issues at the time, so we joined hands and began petitioning the Lord.  The back-and-forth prayer turned into thanksgiving for our uncountable blessings, the foremost being our salvation and the second being our marriage.  I was moved almost to tears as I listened to my husband speak words of deep gratitude to God for bringing me into his life; he praised me as a woman of virtue and grace, who only did him good, as Proverbs 31 says.  I had to respond, pouring out my thanks to the Lord for this sweet, strong man of God that I had been so honored to marry.  The unification of our spirits seemed to further tighten our marital bond.

When we finished, I kept very still for a blissful moment, my head bent, my husband’s lips at my forehead.  To be still in the presence of our loving Lord, in the arms of my heaven-sent spouse, was one of the closest feelings of perfection I’d ever known.  The only thing that compared was when we made love and our bodies as well as spirits were joined.  The thought must have occurred to my husband, because he began kissing my forehead and cheek.  Then he found my mouth and proceeded to ply me with soft, lazy kisses.

I arched into him, grabbing his shoulder, and wholeheartedly welcomed and returned his caresses.  I love kissing him in every way, whether slow and sweet or fast and mad.  This was the slow, sweet kind, no rush, just enjoying the taste of each other and anticipating the feast of love yet to come.  An occasional little groan deep in my man’s throat stirred the coals of my arousal.  Moisture began building in my hungry pussy and dampening my panties.

His hands strayed, rubbing over my arms and back, then down to squeeze my soft, round butt.  I half-rolled onto him, hooking my thigh over his.  We continued this languorous kissing.  I loved the way he supped from my mouth and bathed me with his tongue.  Even his teeth played a sensual role and nipped at my bottom lip.  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply.

“I love you,” I said softly, a sigh of contentment and enjoyment leaving me.

“And I love you, baby,” he answered.

My hand slid deliberately down his chest towards his crotch.  I rubbed over that clothed ridge of male flesh, and my husband groaned.

“I love your hands on my dick,” he murmured.

Stroking him over his clothes was fun; it always awed me to watch his member grow and swell and push against the fabric.

Then his hand was slipping under me.  “My sweet girl,” he said huskily.

“Oh baby,” I breathed as his fingers caressed my covered groin.  “Yes, rub my pussy.”

Everything we said was bracketed by kisses.  I just loved melting into him.  It was a peaceful kind of eroticism to lean into him and lovingly massage his manhood, that part of him that he kept sacred for me alone.  He returned the tender act by drawing his strong fingers along my camel-toe.  My shorts were getting moist.

A little moan rumbled in his throat.  “You don’t know what you do to me, darling.”  I could tell by his breathing as well as the thickness beneath my hand that he was getting excited, and that excited me.  Our kisses were no longer sweet and slow.  They were passionate, wet, and filled with heat.

“Keep touching me and you’ll have me feeling the same way,” I said playfully, though my entire body was tingling with the current of desire.

Abruptly, my husband rolled over so I was now beneath him.  I had planned on taking charge and ravishing him while I was on top, but I let him take over.  His strength always melted me and broke down any resistance on my part.  He sucked at my neck, which I absolutely love, and caressed my shoulders and arms and thinly-clothed breasts.

“I can never get enough of you,” he grunted, again finding my mouth with his.

Since he was kissing me so lustfully, I couldn’t answer with words.  A sensual moan sufficed.  My hands were now busy, rubbing all over his back and shoulders, even squeezing his nice ass.  His weight on me was so erotic, and I wanted to feel it without the barrier of clothing.

“Please, I want you naked,” I begged, pushing him back a little.

“Only if you are too,” was his cheeky rejoinder.

I grinned.  “You naughty boy.”

He helped me pull off my shorts while I got rid of the camisole, then I helped him take off his shirt and shorts.  As soon as we’d both tossed away our underwear, I grabbed him and pulled him down on me, needing to feel the heat of his body stretched over me.  That joining of warm animate skin was intoxicating.  We kissed more, devouring each other in a desperate attempt to meld.  I ran my palms up the length of him, from his thighs to his shoulders, down his arms, and grasped his wrists.  Our eyes met.

“What do you want?” he asked gently, desire edging his words.

“You.  Always you,” I replied, loving every angle of his face.

“Do you want me to eat your pussy?”

Usually, I love that, but I needed more, right now.

“I want you in my pussy,” I stated bluntly, hotly.

His nostrils flared and he growled low in his throat.  Already his hips were nudging against me, teasing me with the thickness of his manhood.  I groaned, my eyelids fluttering as he bathed himself in my slippery juices.

“You are so beautiful,” he muttered.  “You know what the hardest moment is for me?  It’s right now, before I get inside you.  Your wriggling hips and drooling pussy are so sexy.  You make me want to cum right here before I’ve even fucked you.”

His words ignited my loins with hunger.  My deepest parts clenched.

“Oh God…baby, you make me feel so desired,” I cried softly.  “I want you so bad.  You’re everything I could ever have asked for.  I love being with you, being loved by you…being fucked by you.  Please,” and my voice got desperate, “please make love to me, hard and deep.”

“I will never get tired of doing that for you,” he declared.  And as he hungrily held my gaze, he pressed into me.  I gripped his shoulders.  It was the most sensual thing in the world to look right into his eyes as he entered me.  The stretch was almost uncomfortable, but I would adjust in moments.  I was oozing liquid arousal, and his slow, deliberate movements were helping me to open up.

“Yes…yes!” I gasped, my arms twining around his neck.

He exhaled sharply, then kissed me again.  He picked up his pace and steadily claimed me.  I welcomed it, trying to meet his hips with my own in this sacred love-dance.

“My God, you feel amazing,” he gritted out, his breath hot against my neck.

“So do…you,” was my breathless reply.  It was hard to talk when all my senses were focused on melting into oneness with my lover’s body.  “Oh…my goodness…oh yes, baby!”

“God, thank You for this incredible woman!” he groaned.

Hearing his passion turn into prayer always filled me with such joy that I couldn’t explain.  It both increased my hunger for him and made me praise God for a husband with strong faith.  I had to join in this worship.

“Lord, You are so kind to me, giving me this good man!”

“Help us love You more so we can love each other better,” he continued, still screwing me intensely.

I held him and reached down between us to rub my clit.  “Yes…yes! We are so grateful for this love.  Thank You for loving us first.  Oh God, bless this man.  He is so selfless, so giving to me.”  I kissed my husband’s neck.  My voice was becoming unsteady.  “I waited so long for a guy like this.  Help me be the wife You desire me to be.”

My husband moaned.  “I’m not worthy that she loves me like this, Jesus.  Please make me a better and stronger man, who always protects and cares for this treasure.”

Tears came to my eyes.  “You loved us first with unspeakable love, Lord.”

“Help me love like You do.  I can’t do it on my own,” my husband said brokenly.

“Neither can I.  Get us closer to You every hour.”

In the eyes of today’s Church, and certainly in the eyes of the world, our sex-infused communion with God would seem strange, maybe even irreverent.  But to be bound intimately with the man set apart for me, while we both lifted prayer and gratitude to our mutual Savior, seemed to me the highest form of worship.  It struck me that there need be no separation between the fervent, sweaty joining of our bodies and the pure, sweet adoration of God in our hearts.

“He gives good gifts to His children,” I whispered, the sobs clear in my voice.

I realized my man was weeping too.  “Yes He does.”  He said no more, but kissed me with intense tenderness.  His tears mingled with mine.  And our rhythm never stopped.  In fact, it increased.

His hand dove down to help me harvest pleasure from that spot above my cleft.  His hips thudded faster against me, driving his hot, veiny shaft along my honeyed channel.  How I loved that feeling! To be filled by him…the mere thought made me lightheaded.  That, combined with his skilled play on my clit, was pushing me towards the burst of orgasm.

“Baby, I’m…I’m almost there,” I gasped.

That pleased, feral look lit his face.  “Good.  Cum all over me, my baby.  I love watching you cum.”  He lifted himself on his forearms so he could gaze into my face.

That wave was building…getting closer…cresting…

“Please cum with me,” I begged.

“I will,” he promised quickly.

“Faster!”

He rammed me and I rubbed my clit for all I was worth.  The heat inside my loins was unbearable.

“Harder!”

I don’t think he had ever fucked me that fiercely.  His expression was one of intensity, of focus, and of bone-deep lust.  Knowing I was the one causing him to feel those things overloaded me with even more pleasure, and I came undone.

“Oh my God…yes…yes…ohhhhhhhh……ffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

I shook, I gasped, I tensed, and I felt wetness spilling from my cunt.  Then the hoarse gasps of my husband pierced the euphoric cloud in my brain.  I gripped him as he bellowed and thrust a few more times, emptying himself inside me.

“Oh fuck, yes!” he blurted.  “Oh God! Oh, that’s so damn good!” And he gently lay over me.  I held him.

“Thank You for this, Father in heaven,” I whispered, my heart still racing, my breath still short.

“God, I love this woman.  I praise You for giving us each other and this amazing sex,” my man added breathlessly, lifting his head to look into my eyes.

We kissed gently, quietly.  He stayed in me as long as he could before softening and slipping out.  But we didn’t clean up immediately.  I loved feeling his warm cum keeping me wet.  I cuddled into him so we could enjoy an afterglow nap.  This was how Sunday should be, I thought.  A day of rest, yes, but also a day of love.