Forgotten First Love's Bitter Sweetness

The scent of roses and something musky, undeniably him, filled the air as I moved slowly from the bathroom, a deliberate display of confidence and allure. My leopard print lingerie, a daring choice for a woman of my age, clung to my curves, the sheer panels hinting at the delights beneath. I’d taken the time to sculpt my glutes, toning my lower body, and the body oil I’d applied amplified the effect, making me appear even more enticing. My earrings and heels, both silver and gleaming, completed the look, adding a touch of sophisticated seduction. It had been almost ten years since my wedding, a milestone marked by two beautiful, demanding children, and while my body had changed, my desire for attention hadn’t. My husband, Mark, was my first and only, a man who had opened his heart and body to me in a way no other had. He had dated before, a past that held a bitter experience with black women, a subject he’d confided in me early on. I’d dismissed his reservations then, but now, looking at him, I understood his cautious nature. We'd been married since 2011, and while life as a soldier, parent, and businessman left little time for romance, we always made room for passion.

Friday night, as usual, Mark was immersed in his video game, seeking refuge from the demands of his life. But tonight, I was determined to break through his digital world and remind him of the woman he adored. I’d been listening to Rihanna’s "Pour It Up" on repeat, and the song’s provocative rhythm fueled my desire for connection. As I strutted out of the bathroom, deliberately slow, I intended to tease him, to draw him out of his virtual reality and into the tangible world of our shared intimacy. The fragrance of my perfume, a blend of rose and musk, hung heavy in the air, instantly catching his attention. He paused his game, his eyes widening as he took in my appearance. A subtle smile played on his lips, a hint of anticipation in his gaze. He’d clearly noticed the effort I’d put into my look, the toned physique, the alluring lingerie.

I placed my music on, the bass thumping through the room, and began my performance. I moved with a slow, deliberate grace, a seductive sway that demanded his attention. When I dropped it low, teasing his anticipation, he quickly turned off the game and pretended to watch television, clearly enjoying my show. I needed to escalate, to push him past the point of mere observation and into the heart of my desires. I took a step forward, pulling on his shirt, and led him to the edge of the bed. Then, turning around, I climbed onto his chest, sitting face to face, taking off his shirt with a deliberate movement. I leaned down and kissed him deeply, feeling the heat of his body, the pounding of his pulse against my skin. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the friction between our clothes a tantalizing precursor to the pleasure to come. As he struggled to hold me, trying to undo the top of my lingerie, I pulled away, gracefully sliding off his lap. A small, knowing smile played on my lips, a silent invitation to indulge in the pleasure he craved.

I knew he wanted to lose himself in the depths of my chocolate pudding, and I was more than happy to oblige. I took a few steps back, ready to unleash my full potential. With a flick of my wrist, I pressed play on the song, "Pop That" by French Montana. The infectious beat immediately ignited his senses, and I felt his excitement rise within him. As the music took hold, I bent down to my knees, my hands resting on my thighs, ready to display my assets. When the next verse dropped, I popped my ass in the air, leaning slightly forward, spreading my legs and popping one cheek at a time as I descended to the ground. The next line of the song triggered another wave of movement, and I found myself on all fours, arching my back, clapping my ass, bouncing on the ground, and rolling my juicy booty all around him on the floor. The energy was palpable, a shared experience of lust and anticipation.

During the last minute of the song, I grabbed his hands, pulling him close as I spun in a circle, showcasing my ample backside. Looking back at him, I sat down on his hard cock, rolling my ass and grinding against him, lost in the rhythm of the music. As the final note faded, he groped my breast, his tongue exploring the sensitive tissue with unrestrained passion. He squeezed my breast, pulling me up onto his lap and holding me close. The body oil on my skin created a slick sheen, intensifying the sensation. I caught sight of his abs, reflecting the light, and found myself responding to the visual stimulus.

As he lifted his shirt, revealing his pulsating penis thrust out of his boxers, I knew I was ready for the pleasure he offered. The freshly shaved cocoa pussy, glistening with a viscous fluid, was an invitation to indulge in the raw, primal instincts we both shared. I pushed him back to the bed and devoured the tip, my senses overwhelmed by the exquisite sensation. I knew he was enjoying it, his lips parted in anticipation as he bit his lip and gripped my head with one hand. I sucked his cock like a blow pop, paying special attention to the sensitive tip, savoring every moment. He pulled me up onto his chest, flicking his tongue on both my nipples as he squeezed my breast together. Without pausing, he continued to fondle my breast, his hand never straying far from the sensitive tissue. Then, he flipped me onto my back, stretching my legs back to the wall and plunging deep inside me, his balls repeatedly striking my ass with each powerful thrust. The pleasure was intense, a torrent of sensations that left me breathless and wanting more. We switched positions, me sitting directly on his hard cock while he held me, gyrating hard and slamming his cock into me with each movement. The rhythm was hypnotic, the connection electric. As he reached climax, I screamed in ecstasy, squirting on him while we French kissed, lost in a shared moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was a night filled with passion, a testament to the enduring power of our love and desire.

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