I usually feel the loneliest and neediest in the early morning hours. As I lie here with my hand between my legs, gently rubbing my wet, aching pussy, my mind wanders back to when I first got married.
I married my husband at age 21, almost 30 years ago, and that's when I "went all the way" for the first time. I loved it, and I adored having sex with him!
It's Friday, just after midday, and I am in the lift of my Dom's office building. I have a caesar salad in my bag for him which is ostensibly my motivation for dropping in. Later, we're going away for a long, filthy weekend. A weekend which should have already begun except he was called into work to approve an emergency file. He promised to be back by early afternoon but I'm overcome by giddy anticipation.
Bound and gagged on her knees, she belonged to him and he would use her any way he saw fit.
A handful of her short, jet-black hair gripped in his hand, as he took her from behind, her pleasured moans stifled by the stocking tied around her mouth.
She bit down on the silk gag as his impressive cock smashed her aching pussy, her hands struggling against the silk restraint binding them behind her back.
His heaving cock glistened with my juices as I opened wide and took it all in my mouth.
I was on my knees in his penthouse apartment, a man I had only met the day before, but who now owned me.
He slid his fingers through my short, jet-black hair, grabbing a good fistful. I could taste myself on him as he slid his thick member down my throat, an act which would have caused a lesser slut to choke, but I had no gag reflex.
i wake up to my Husband/Sir spooning me from behind. His left arm draped possessively over my waist, pulling me back against Him. Softly i sigh and press my bottom against His swelling phallus.
His hands cup and knead my breasts, patient at first then becoming rougher. A sedate moan escapes my lips as i continue to wake from slumber. He pushes His hips forcefully against my supple bottom. He then turns me onto my front with Him rolling on top of me.
Natalie's pendulous breasts brushed my belly. My eyes grew wide at the sight—I wanted to absorb them, to brand their image in my brain. As it were, I panted like a dog.
"Am I making you hot?" she purred. Again, I tugged at my restraints. I was so tightly bound that I could barely bend my elbows, my knees.
"I can't—I can't do it," I gasped. "I can't do this anymore.
It was already the last days of July but it didn't feel like summer at all. She hadn't been in London for much more than a month and she was still not used to the constantly overcast, drizzly weather and all that suffocating humidity that makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. But no matter how this city beat her down the last few weeks, she still liked it here.