"Tonight," I say with a promise sealed with a kiss on your lips before straightening to tuck my shirt into my slacks. Tonight, I'll make up to you for last night. For getting home late and making you feel neglected. You pout and tug at my shirt, pulling it from my waistband. I smile, stroking my thumb against your cheek, then turn and walk out the door so I'm not late.
You are quiet all day. Even at lunch, when you usually call to make sure I'm eating, you barely speak. You seem distracted. So, I'm not expecting you to greet me at the door when I get home. I'm definitely not expecting you to be on your knees, wearing the wolf ears and tail plug we bought as a joke a few months ago. And not a stitch else. "Okaerinasai, Goshujin-sama!" you all but purr, despite the wolf features. I put my bag on the table and walk towards you, only just containing my smile.
You reach up and attack my belt and button and zipper, pulling open the front of my slacks to eagerly suck my rapidly growing member into your greedy little mouth, pulling me closer and closer to you.
You start to choke a little, but keep pulling me closer despite. You pull back, releasing my stiff rod with a sharp pop and gasp for breath for a moment before lapping at it, suckling my balls and stroking my hard shaft. I give you the moan you are waiting for, earning a moan of satisfaction from you. You shift uncomfortably on the hardwood floor, but keep licking and stroking diligently, taking the head into your mouth and stroking rapidly, urging me to cum.
I can't last long under your ministrations and cum hard enough to nearly buckle my knees. I hear the soft moan of approval from you as you swallow every shot down hungrily.
Not until my legs are finally steady under me and your mouth on my member gets to start feeling like too much do you release it with another pop, not a hint of anything but a thin layer of saliva on me. You stand and take one of my hands in yours and lead me wordlessly to the bedroom. Taking a look around, I see why you were so quiet through the day. New sheets that I'm sure the both of us will regret staining so horribly later&hellip.
The room made completely dark and then gently lit by candles&hellip. And a brand new harness for the bed that you spread yourself out between, wriggling eagerly, waiting for me to bind you. Who am I to deny you when you ask so politely? I bind your wrists first, brushing my lips lightly against yours and pulling back when you reach for a kiss.
Teasing, light, and just shy of what you want. You hate when I do that&hellip. And yet it makes you more eager. And I love when you're eager. I kiss my way slowly down your body, my fingers dancing across your skin, just missing the places you like to be kissed most.
Down your thighs, to your calves, then I strap your ankles to the bed and start working my way back up. I lick lightly between your thighs, earning a squeak from you. You've always been torn about 'how embarrassing' it is for me to lick you there, but I make you beg for it often enough that we both know any modesty is just you going through the motions anymore.
My tongue finds your swollen bud and you bite back a yelp. All the anticipation, all the eagerness, all built up so that you only needed a little attention yourself before orgasming. I eagerly lap up the sweet nectar leaking from you, filling the room with your delicious scent. My tongue digs deep inside of you, searching for more. I wrap my lips around your button and nip at it, oh so lightly, then at your wet lips, rapidly flicking my tongue back and forth before pressing hard in between, flicking again, then press, then a long lick from skin to hole to nub before I repeat the process.
As you get closer and closer, I increase the speed myself, the pressure, shorten the lick to just the most important parts, occasionally nip at you a little.
Higher and higher goes your voice with every moan, less and less time in between, and finally you are singing soprano in the most unsteady voice as I make you orgasm over and over, back to back, my unrelenting tongue joined by helpful fingers searching deep inside of you, curling towards my face on the outside, and finding that magic spot, drawing everything you have, everything you are, out through that one part of your body.
Minutes for me, eternity for you, but eventually your head clears enough to be aware of anything other than the slowly diminishing buzz in your stomach. Your hammering heart slows, then skips a beat as you finally see me standing beside the bed, undressing. I used to not like how I looked. But seeing the way you look at me, I can't help but like myself even just a little more. I'm not perfect, but, if your eyes are to be believed, I'm perfect for you. It's a genuine smile on my lips, not one of triumph or carnal desire, as I position myself between your legs, lean over you, and give you the kiss you've been craving all day.
You can taste yourself on my lips, and I think I can taste a little of me. That used to weird me out, I'll admit, but I couldn't just stop kissing you because your mouth tasted a little of me. I love tasting you far too much for that.
Both lips. Now the smile is carnal desire. I position myself over you, pressing myself against you.
You're more than wet enough for me to slip in, but still clenching now and then, coming off of the high I brought you to. Patience. Slowly. Gently. And then I am in. And you give me that deep, throaty moan of absolute delight, followed by a groan of despair at the fact that you cannot wrap your legs around me this time. Now the smile is triumph.
I start slow. I don't want to hurt you, or myself, and you're still clenching often and hard enough to make that a possibility. Patience. It's still only evening, afterall. Slow, at first, but deep. A gently rocking of my hips, my fingers playing against your skin again.
I love feeling you. Just skin touching skin. Love sleeping naked with you, love showering with you, love holding your hand, and feeling your lips touching mine.
But I especially love when your eyes roll into the back of your head and you moan my name. Not sure if it's like permission, or a plea, but it works either way. Now, I am not slow. I am not gentle.
I am not patient. I reposition myself, watch you bite your lip, and then hammer at you, driving you down into the bed hard, and deep, and each thrust punctuated by a gasp or moan or squeak from you, and the occasional grunt from me.
You were always better at expressing sexual gratification than me. I just sound like a caveman.
Perform like one, too, when it gets to this point. Harder, faster, deeper. Unrelenting and with a single purpose; to fill your belly with my seed.
I lose myself for a moment, my head falling to rest beside yours as I keep drilling away, and you lash out, biting at my shoulder. I groan loudly, both in pain and pleasure, and it drives me to the edge.
Two more pumps, and I bury myself deep inside of you, giving out one of those rare, clear moans that you so love to hear. My back arches, my toes curl, and if your own moans are any indication, I'm not the only one.
Slowly, it fades, and I fall against you, exhausted and satisfied. I'm not willing to move much yet, but I remove the restraints from your wrists. Your arms wrap around me, holding me tight, and I feel your legs try to press against my hips, eager to wrap around me as well, but still tied down. I brush your lips with mine again, not pulling away this time when you turn it into a kiss. "Happy anniversary," you whisper.
"Sorry we had to celebrate it a day late."