Our Weekend, His Fantasy (Part 1: Prelude) (L)

This post contains strong language (L).

Before I dive into a delicious-sounding fantasy of my husband’s, I wanted to write about what led to our conversation about (and various *ahem* fun activities that came before) said daydream. This will be the first of three parts.

To begin, our sex life has taken a significant dive in the last few years. We currently live with hubby’s parents to help with their health needs. I also have my own health problems and need to travel out of state for a week+ a few times a year. And we have a 5-year-old who wants nothing more than to spend every waking (and sleeping) moment between us. To say it’s been stressful and divisive is an understatement. So when we had a rare chance for an overnight stay away from our son and out of my in-law’s house, we knew we had to take it. We attended a local festival, met up with some friends, planned to see a movie, got a little tipsy, and rented a nearby hotel room for the night.

At this point, I’m a little sloshed and blathering on to Hubby about the bottle of wine I’d bought for after the movie as I enter our room to freshen up before the night’s public activities. The hotel door slams closed just behind me. I hear the SNKT of the deadbolt sliding into place as I glance over my shoulder. Oh shit. All traces of fogginess in my brain evaporated in a blink. The look on his face says everything: I’m about to eat you. A thrill shudders through me. I feel hypnotized into stillness in his gaze. I don’t even think I took a breath.

He’s naked in the space of the two steps he takes between the door and me, all languid grace and fluid movements while his clothes leave his body. His penis stands up bare and proud to nudge a hello against me.

Meanwhile, I’m slack-jawed and definitely NOT naked. Or graceful. Or anything remotely sensuous. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. And sexy. And… My stupid brain finally switches out of statue mode as he pulls my shirt over my head then sets to unsnapping my bra. I unfasten and shimmy out of my shorts and thong.

“We’re going twice tonight,” he growls, hands in my hair, framing my face. “I can’t let you have all the fun.” His mouth descends to mine, and our tongues start to dance. When we eventually make it to the bed, he pushes me across it to our favorite position: me across the bed, and him poised over me. A finger pushes inside me as he takes a nipple in his mouth. I tangle my fingers in his hair in an attempt to ground myself before I’m lost in a maelstrom of sensations.

He mutters dark promises while switching between breasts as a second finger joins the first to hit just the right spot inside me. That sexy, deep, and breathy timbre I love so much adds to the shivers running down my spine—“Finally get to fuck you standing up.” It tips me over the edge into my first orgasm of the day, but he is far from finished with me.

He draws back to watch me while his fingers circle and flick across my very sensitive clit. I’m still shuddering. The pleasure tingles while a smirk plays about his lips, and I feel very much out of my depth. I want to ask how much time we have before we’re late, but he’s already moving into a 69 position with himself above me. Fuck it. The movie can wait.

I accept as much of his penis as my mouth can manage and start pumping my hand up and down the rest while my other hand gently massages his sack and strokes his taint. He starts pleasuring my clitoris and outer lips with a will. I’m sucking and swirling my tongue around his head, and the sounds he makes and the salty taste of precum let me know I’m giving just as good as I’m getting. Another climax wracks me. His noises and hip thrusts deepen. I’m preparing to swallow when he suddenly jerks away and stumbles, panting, to the side of the bed.

“What are y-?” I begin to ask, but I’m cut off by my own moan as he slides to his knees on the floor. Hands on my hips, he jerks me to the side of the bed and feasts on me like a starving man until I’m crying out loud. I don’t care about anything anymore. We haven’t had the chance for more than quiet, hurried couplings in over a year now. Let anyone in earshot know what we’re doing in this room. I don’t live with them. I don’t need to feel embarrassed. It feels like hours pass in the waves of pleasure, but I know it’s really just moments.

One final swipe of his tongue leaves me gasping, wrung out on the bed. I’ve lost count of my climaxes now. He is standing up again, looking half-feral, panting, and very mussed. His hair is standing in all directions, his beard shiny with my fluids, and his eyes pin me to the bed with a look that is almost tangible. He’s stunning.

His erection looks almost painful at this point. I reach for it, but he bats my hand away. “Hold that thought.” He moves to the bathroom where I hear the sound of the tap running and water splashing. He’s back in a minute, face dripping from the washing he’s given it. I followed his instructions. My fingers were busy keeping myself from “cooling down.”

The smirk returns.

I’m still where he positioned me at the edge of the side of the bed, feet dangling. It’s the perfect height for our favorite position with him standing. His hands span my hips as he lines up to fulfill one of his amorous promises from earlier. When he finally slides in, it’s glorious. Everything to this point has been unhurried and calculated for maximum pleasure and has built to this: it’s an unspoken race to see who finishes first. No one loses because everybody wins.

He brings my ankles to his shoulders, grasps my wrists in his hands somewhere below my hips, and we set a blistering pace. Are we loud? Probably. Do we care? Not a bit. At some point, he releases one of my wrists so he can lick his thumb to circle my clit. I lose my rhythm and wail as the biggest climax of the afternoon slams into me, dragging him over the edge too.

He collapses into my chest. We’re both sweating and dragging in gulps of air.

“I don’t think I can walk,” I pant.

“Me neither,” he chuckles, then kisses the tip of my chin, the only part of my face he can currently reach.

Talks of trying to squeeze together into the bathroom’s tiny shower end abruptly when a flurry of texts hit both our cell phones. It has been over an hour, and we are about to be late rendezvousing with our friends.

“To be continued.” His sweet peck on my lips deepens when he pushes his tongue into my mouth even as his penis softens enough to slip out of me. He draws close to my ear. “I’m coming in you again tonight.”

Dammit. That hot whisper is all it takes to have me ready for another round, and his thrice-damned smirk tells me he knows. He nips my ear and gives me a sexy view of his ass as he moves back into the bathroom.

“Get ready to go. We’re late.”


End part one of three.


The post Our Weekend, His Fantasy (Part 1: Prelude) (L) appeared first on Married sex stories – erotica – marriage sex blogs.






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