Velvet Threshold

The scent of almond oil hung heavy in the air, a strange, almost clinical fragrance that clung to the sheets as my wife, pregnant with our firstborn, lay on her back. The doctor had recommended perineal massage as a preventative measure against potential tearing during labor, and frankly, I’d been hesitant. The very idea of touching that sensitive area, even for a good cause, felt a little too intimate, too vulnerable. My wife, bless her heart, knew exactly how to get under my skin. She'd spent the last week relentlessly pursuing my interest, showering me with chocolate and pleading with me to indulge her, pointing out that she felt insecure about her body, convinced she wasn't sexy enough. The truth was, she was breathtaking. The pregnancy had transformed her, filling her out, giving her a voluptuous curve that sent shivers down my spine. Her bust had ballooned from a modest DD to a glorious G+, and her skin glowed with an almost ethereal light. It was difficult to deny the primal urge that surged through me whenever I caught a glimpse of her. My affection for her was boundless, my desire to possess her insatiable. I couldn’t resist the temptation to fulfill her request, especially knowing she had such a specific vision in mind.

The first few nights followed the doctor's instructions: a gentle, methodical massage, slow and deliberate, focusing on the delicate tissues of the perineum. I applied generous amounts of the almond oil, its smooth texture soothing against her skin as I worked, my face inches from her pussy, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through her, her body arching slightly in response. She seemed hesitant, almost embarrassed by my attention, but I pressed on, determined to conquer her reservations. Her breathing grew more rapid, her muscles tensed, and her hand, clutching the pillow, tightened its grip. There was a palpable tension in the air, a delicious mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

Then came the fourth day, and everything shifted. There was an undeniable electricity in the room, a heat that radiated from my wife and intensified my own arousal. She'd shaved meticulously, revealing the smooth, taut skin of her pussy, a shocking contrast to the soft, fleshy folds I was accustomed to seeing. Her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with a naughty glint, and her breasts, now even larger, seemed to beckon me closer. “Would you care to rub me, down there?” she asked, her voice husky with desire. It was an invitation I couldn't refuse.

I knelt beside the bed, my heart pounding in my chest, and began the massage, my fingers gliding deeper and deeper into the folds of her flesh. The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that left me breathless. Her breathing grew ragged, her muscles quivered, and she gripped my hand tighter, pulling me closer. I could feel her clit swelling beneath her skin, a throbbing pulse of anticipation. Driven by an overwhelming urge, I abandoned the gentle strokes and dove in, my tongue meeting her sensitive pleasure point. Licking with furious intensity, I explored every inch of her body, my movements becoming more frantic, more desperate.

“Finally! I thought you’d never do it! Lick it good! Oh God!…” she moaned, her voice choked with pleasure. The words were a release, a validation of my actions. I continued my assault, my hands and tongue working in perfect synchronization, pushing her closer to the brink. Her body convulsed with each stroke, her hips arching, her legs kicking against the bedsheets. She shivered uncontrollably, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. As she arched her back, her head snapped away from me, collapsing onto the pillow, panting heavily.

I rose my head and gazed down at her, observing the rhythmic contractions of her body, the glistening sheen of her skin, and the frantic movements of her limbs. She looked utterly spent, but her eyes still held a hint of mischief. "I’m not sure," she whispered, her voice weak but insistent. "Shall we try that again?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desires. Without hesitation, I responded, "Absolutely."

For the next two hours, we continued our exploration, each touch, each stroke, more intense than the last. We pushed boundaries, experimented with different rhythms, and allowed ourselves to succumb completely to our lustful urges. Her body responded with abandon, her pleasure deepening with every passing moment. As the night wore on, she became increasingly erratic, her body writhing in ecstatic spasms. The air crackled with tension, the scent of almond oil mingling with the intoxicating aroma of her arousal. Finally, as she reached her peak, she let out a primal scream, a release of all the pent-up desire she had been holding back. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us, lost in the depths of our shared pleasure.

Her pregnant nights continued to become hotter from that moment on. The intimacy between us deepened, fueled by the shared experience of our exploration. I found myself craving her touch, her scent, her presence, and the anticipation of their next encounter. The thought of our firstborn filled me with both excitement and trepidation, but there was no denying the profound connection we had forged through this shared journey. As I held her close, feeling her warm breath against my skin, I knew that this was just the beginning of our passionate love story. The world outside faded away, leaving only the exquisite sensations of our bodies intertwined, lost in a symphony of pleasure and desire.

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