Sneaking up on you isn't easy. You've got a one-sixth sense. You're a illumination sleeper goby, one of those men who"look into the noise."I don't even try to break you and convince you it was nothing anymore. You're always"hearing something"but, today, I'm sneaking up on you.

It's taken me, what ? Three minutes just to get down the hall ?

I put my footfall gingerly at the edges, right up by the wall so that the floorboards wouldn't squeak. Catlike in drive, if not in reflex, I've crept down the hall to your office and have been peering in at you. Not laughing is the grueling thing. You're so studious, so into whatever that book is on your desk that you don't card me looking in from the clear doorway.

I shift my right substructure to here, put my left hand infantry over there, and I'm in the room.

I do wish well your back was to me. It would be so much to a greater extent fun to jump you from behind, maybe a playful tickle or a goofball, but this will have to do.

overlord, but don't you look fine !

I love those jean on you. There's just no substitute for well American made blue jean and your blue button-down oxford hugs your shoulders beautifully. Your shoulders… I think that's the feature I most love about your body. Broad, strong, mesomorphic, all of you is delightfully intimidating but your shoulder ? Oh, yes, your shoulders.

"Trying for a baby"has been awe-inspiring ! It's been serious, and playful, and wild-eyed, and… Just… Mmmmm.

I know you're disappointed that it hasn't happened yet. It will. I wish I could tell you my hugger-mugger though. We don't sustain secrets but I have this one, this frightfully one : The truth is that I've only been pretending to share your defeat at not getting pregnant because telling you might make you think I don't want to carry your sister. I couldn't bear that. No, adept to keep my own counsel. I really do require sister with you, piles and tons of babies, and I love that time and money aren't worry for us. It's just that I love"us"as we are and I love my body as it is, a body that you ravish constantly and find so desirable. All of that is about to change and I haven't wrapped my mind and heart around it yet.

I reflexively cross my wrists and lift my tank up from the front, as quietly as I can, leaning down to neglect it to the floor. This bra doesn't go with my shirt. It's an usurious forest green on Negro lace but I know you love it. I've been wearing this wanton invitation to molest me all morning and that is exactly what I want and need right now. I'm done waiting for you to notice.

A few more footstep and I… but, damn ! One squeaky floorboard and you look up, taking me in in an instant. I forgot about that one but your face lights up and, man, my unanimous world lights up at you looking at me like that. You drop your pen on your desk and turn to face me. Three clitoris open on your shirt, and I can see your semi-erect phallus outlined in your pants.

You knew I was there didn't you ; knew I was creeping up on you and let me do it. Oh, how lovely !

I stare into your beautiful eyes. What color are they today ? I can't tell. They change with the lighting, the palate around you, your emotions. Right now, all I see is a ravening hunger and that fuels mine, already well on its way to being a deluge. Almost mechanically, certainly not with deliberation, I unbutton my dungaree, pushing them off my hips and letting them slip to the floor. They're Pomaderris apetala and you are watching me intently, taking me in, a collector of beautiful thing who has found a off-white of neat time value in me. Your gaze is mesmerizing, overpowering, absorbing. In an instant, you are my sole thought and compliments and desire and I come to you, straddling you in your chair, feeling your cock pressed against me through the fly on your jeans.

A low groan inadvertently slips from me as I lean in to kiss you. Your strong weapons system encircle me, and your experience hands lose no time in unclipping my bra. The framework loosens as I rub my hard nipples against you through your shirt. You stand, a stiff, panoptic hand under each cheek as I wrap my legs around your trunk. You carry me into our sleeping accommodation and we collapse on the bed with you towering above me, your hands on my breasts, kneading them as you lean in and snog me. Your spit pushes insistently between my lips and teeth as I struggle to reach your shirtfront, anxious to experience your hairy chest against my defenseless flesh but I haven't anything close to the durability required to move you an inch.

You laugh, that wonderful, mysterious, musical joke, at my frustration. You laugh at my demand, and it makes me angry. I pout. That makes you laugh all the more as you push down with your genu on my open second joint and apply my wrists above my read/write head. I struggle for a mo, knowing it is pointless, and then tilt to whispering"Oh, please lusterlessness, you know what I need, please ?"

You are moved by such thing and retain me for but a moment longer, demanding"then say it !"I giggle but I love this game, love it when you make me scream out my hot up longing."Say it !"you demand, and I cry out with a laugh"ravish me, take up me, fuck me !"

You hook your index finger in the sides of my panties and, as you stand, you take them with you. I lay here, a wanton display, my knees as wide of the mark apart as I can reserve them, my sex open to you and inviting as you stand and begin to strip down but there has ever been a teasing boy in you and you do not do so in a flurry of activity ; no, you are in control, slowly unbuttoning your shirt and sliding it from your berm. You make me lay there, like the elegant slut that I am at heart, leaving me in delicious agony for your jot as you undress very deliberately. First, your left shoe, then your right wing, your windsock, your jeans, then, finally, your packer, revealing your manhood.

Your penis is my greatest possession. He seems to be perpetually angry, a pink, red, and purple veiny affair that takes getting used to each fourth dimension we make be intimate, but I need services only he can provide. I reach down and slide my hand between my pegleg, tracing my sex from taint to clit, feeling that lovely slickness on my forefinger. You reach down and commence to stroke yourself as I let my fingers terpsichore in my folds. You pull on yourself gently but firmly and I can see the tip scintillation with pre-cum.

I smile and laugh as you come for me. A store of the first time instant through my mind, the bewildering emotions of being exposed to a man, entirely his, fearful, odd, emotional, the pain in the neck, the pleasure. When was that ? Twenty calendar month ago ? No, 22. Now, though, I want the wide discourse, the backbreaking sexual love of spouses, not your gradualness and my timidness, that wonderful, truly once-in-a-lifetime terpsichore of our wedding night.

I rise to my knees, the bed placing my face even with your collarbones. The dark-brown whisker on your chest of drawers covering relaxed muscles in your trunk, your nipples slightly protruding. I lean forward, kissing your chest, letting my tongue play in your curls as I seek out your allow mammilla. My arm are resting on your breast and my hands on your shoulders ; I find your nipple and trace it with the tip of my spit before sucking it between my sass. Your strong arms entirely envelop me, and your manpower are on my lower back as you pull me possessively into you.

There was no one before you, no one to touch me, have me, pep up me. It has only been and only will be you and I will never birth anyone to compare you with. Do early men like to deliver their nipples sucked or like to be touched gently, with just the fingertips and nails ? Do early men like to be teased or to hold back their wives down or to roughly rip off their wives'wearing apparel, only to make the gentlest of love to them or to train them roughly and nonchalantly just before going out and then to act like it was nada ? Do other men use sex as a profound voice of idolization, duty, and lie with ?

I don't know and never will bed but I love what we are, and I love you.

I stand and you let me flex your body so that, when we fall on the bed, I am straddling your thigh. I lean forward to kiss you. It is passionate, forceful, thrusting my natural language into your backtalk. Our tongues dance together as your cock inclination against my back, pulsing insistently ; but he will experience to hold back just a little bit. I need to find my breasts against your skin and your curls encircling my mammilla. The skin under my areolas is so sensitive and so much more so when I'm in heating system. I giggle at the thought ; yes, I'm"in estrus,"at my most rich and you are going to assume me.

Is it today ? Mmmm… Maybe, maybe today is the day you possess my womb as much as the remainder of me.

"I want you,"I whisper. You growl an inarticulate response, your focus on the need that is tapping against my humbled back. You know the temper I'm in, it's naughty, not delicate, and you instinctively advertize me off of you and down onto my belly. You pull my ass up and office yourself to participate me roughly. In one stroke, you fill me.

I love this bed. You are so much bigger than me that it is difficult to take up you from behind when we are both kneeling, but this bed is the perfect meridian, placing my opening at just the right piazza for you to hump me trench and full while standing and you are not slow or gentle now. You are a married man, taking and using what is his, and I am a wife, ineffectual to do anything else but be your plaything. Though, as you know well, I want zippo more than to be your plaything.

You pound me toilsome, groaning at my tightness as I moan through the current of erotic pleasure rushing through my body. You're the most tremendous lover, an paying attention and discrete man who focuses entirely on me when you're with me and today you are ravishing me with a recklessness that is both familiar and surprisal. Your strong hand have my hips in a vice bobby pin as you plunge deep into me and then draw in almost all the way out, only to plunge back in. You are thick that ever constituent of my sex is swept with your flesh on every movement. I am open and welcoming, our motions informed by tenner of thousands of years of evolution.

You reach forward and take hold of my left knocker in your script, roughly kneading the flesh and twisting my mammilla as you shift your right to have me up. You're so unattackable, so physically dominating, and all I can do is go along for the ride as you plough into my fertile physical structure. I can get a line and experience your sexual climax building, as mine is, but you cum first. Returning your hands to my coxa, you plunge as oceanic abyss into me as you can and you hold me there. I can find your ardent cum filling my womb, your seed flowing into me, in search of purpose, your semen coating me, and I cry out. My physical structure is wracked with an earth-shattering orgasm and my full-throated cry must surely be heard in the celestial sphere above.

I am yours and you are mine. We need no mementos or emblem, no tattoos or score to show it, it simply is and is on full display in our lovemaking. You collapse beside me and pull me close in. My rear is against your breast and your hips against mine. There is a delightful muteness as our hearts slow and our temperatures come down."Do you intend that did it"you ask hopefully…

"Mmmm… I'm for certain it did. ”