Bears Before the Feast

The rain hammered against the windows of the guest bedroom, a relentless percussion accompanying the anticipation thrumming between us. It was the night before Thanksgiving, and the scent of pine and cinnamon from the living room mingled with the heady musk of desire radiating from my wife, Sarah. She wore a fitted Chicago Bears t-shirt, the vibrant orange and white a stark contrast to her pale skin, the tight fabric doing its best to tease out the generous swell of her breasts. Paired with matching white and orange knee-high socks, she looked utterly captivating, a perfect storm of casual comfort and blatant seduction. I’d bought those socks for her, specifically, knowing the effect they’d have. They were a small indulgence, a silent declaration of my appreciation, and they were working wonders.

Our daughters were tucked into bed, deep in their innocent slumber, oblivious to the heat building between us. Usually, we’d wait for them to fully drift off before indulging, but lately, the pull had been too strong, the need for connection overwhelming our usual restraint. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second fueling the growing fire.

As we slid into bed, the familiar friction of our bodies sent shivers down my spine. I still wore my boxers, a little barrier against unwanted interruptions, but the gesture felt almost absurd in the face of the raw need consuming us. Sarah reached for me, her hand gliding over my chest, then downward, expertly grasping my cock. I instinctively moved to meet her, my fingers tracing the contours of her dry, yearning flesh. The sensation was electrifying. A few minutes of this slow, deliberate dance of touch ignited a spark, drawing moisture into her labia and solidifying my own cock. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she took over, retrieving her purple, vibrating toy and inserting it firmly into her clitoris. I watched, mesmerized, as she became completely consumed, her body writhing with pleasure. Simultaneously, I reached for my own arousal, running my hands over my own hard cock, feeling the escalating heat building within me. The shared experience, the mutual lust, was intoxicating. We continued this ritual, masturbating side by side, lost in each other’s gaze, the rhythmic vibrations and moans filling the room like a primal song. It felt so hot, so intensely satisfying, a release of pent-up desires that left us both breathless and craving more.

The heat intensified, pulling us closer. We shifted into a position that always worked wonders – she sat before me, her body arched, my cock perfectly positioned for penetration. As she took control, her hands gently gripping my head, holding it captive, her touch both gentle and insistent. She paused her sucking, her eyes locking onto mine, and she leaned down to take a nipple into her mouth, sucking it hard, just the way she liked it. As a man known for my appreciation of a generous chest, I reveled in the sensation, savoring the sweetness of her milk. After a moment, I moved on, taking the other nipple, deepening the kiss, pulling her closer still.

The urgency in our movements became palpable. We intertwined our tongues, lost in the pleasure of the moment, until she instinctively fell back onto the bed, her pussy opening wide before me. I leaned in for a quick, anticipatory lick, drinking deeply from her garden, ensuring she was thoroughly lubricated. Then, with a delicate touch, I licked my fingers, moistening the tip of my cock before sliding it deep within her. Her moans of pleasure were a testament to the exquisite sensation, a symphony of sounds that vibrated through my body.

We continued our passionate embrace, a whirlwind of kisses and moans, lost in the rhythm of our lovemaking. As we reached a fever pitch, she whispered, “Turn me over.”

Without hesitation, she shifted into a quadruped position, her body arched against my chest. It was a position she’d once vehemently rejected, but now she practically demanded it. As I entered from behind, a familiar thrill shot through me. Years ago, she had hated this angle, but now it was her favorite, a potent reminder of how much our desires had evolved over time. She grasped her vibrator, holding it against her clitoris while I continued my rhythmic thrusting. I found myself appreciating the view, tracing the curves of her back and the swell of her ass cheeks as I waited patiently for her to reach the peak of ecstasy.

Finally, she let out a piercing shriek of pleasure, a release that sent shivers through my body. I pulled out, and we switched positions again, this time with her on the edge of the bed, me standing before her, ready to continue the assault. I began to pump my cock hard, asking her if she wanted my cum.

“Yes, give me your cum,” she breathed, her voice husky with anticipation.

I kept pumping, the pressure building until it felt like an explosion within me. But even as I strained, I realized I couldn’t quite reach the ultimate release. The doggy style was taking its toll, leaving me breathless and depleted. Just as I was about to give up, something unexpected happened.

She reached down, her fingers grasping my legs, securing them firmly against the bed. This support allowed me to continue thrusting with renewed vigor. She then began to suck on my shaft, her wet lips tracing the length of my cock, a sensation that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through me. It was an incredibly hot experience, enhanced by the taste of her mouth. I loved the feeling of sharing our bodies, of savoring each other's essence. As I struggled to maintain my position, I felt an orgasm building within me. I delivered a small, forceful load into her mouth, and she continued her intense sucking, her body convulsing with delight. I pushed harder, determined to reach the peak, but it wasn’t enough. She kept sucking, her grip tightening, drawing me closer and closer to the brink. I could barely stand, my legs shaking uncontrollably. The intensity was overwhelming, pushing me to the very edge of pleasure.

Finally, she stopped, her breathing ragged, her body limp in my arms. I leaned in for a wet kiss, a desperate attempt to recapture the lost sensation. But I tasted nothing, a disconcerting realization that sent a shiver down my spine. “Wow, she swallowed,” I thought to myself, a mix of shock and arousal coursing through me.

She rose from the bed, intending to clean up, but I collapsed onto the pillows, struggling to catch my breath. She lay back down beside me, cuddling close, her warmth seeping into my bones. As she began to drift off to sleep, I gently rubbed her neck, feeling her relax completely. A wave of contentment washed over me, knowing that we had shared an unforgettable night, a perfect blend of lust, desire, and exquisite pleasure. Outside, the rain continued its relentless rhythm, but inside, in the quiet sanctuary of our bedroom, the memory of our passionate encounter would linger long after the storm had passed. The thought of our daughters still asleep, oblivious to the intensity of our lovemaking, brought a smile to my face. It was a moment of pure bliss, a testament to the power of desire and the profound connection between two souls.

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Bears Before the Feast

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