Welsh Winter's Heat

The biting Welsh wind howled outside, a fitting soundtrack to the anticipation thrumming through my veins. It was Christmas Eve, and the scent of pine and woodsmoke mingled with the rich aroma of maple syrup, a heady combination that both calmed and ignited my senses. I lay nestled in our bed, the warmth of my husband, Rhys, a comforting weight against my back, his deep, rumbling breaths a constant reminder of his presence. The winter sun, a pale orange disc, peeked over the rolling hills, casting long shadows across our room, but I barely noticed. My focus was entirely consumed by the delicious ache in my own body, a primal pull that demanded attention.

Rhys stirred beside me, a slow, sleepy movement that sent shivers down my spine. As he opened his eyes, the deep green pools reflecting a mixture of affection and desire, I arched my back, presenting my ample backside to him. It was a deliberate act, an invitation to indulge in the pleasure we both craved. I could feel his gaze tracing every curve, every swell, before he responded with a slow, deliberate caress of my thigh. The vibrations of his touch sent waves of heat through me, intensifying the pleasure that had been building within me all morning.

"You look good, love," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and lust. "Like a Christmas angel."

His words were a spark, igniting the fire within me. I let out a soft moan, arching further back to expose more of my body. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered, "You're going to make this a very special Christmas, aren't you?"

The thought, the implication, sent a jolt through my system. This wasn't just about the physical, it was about the anticipation, the build-up, the shared desire that hung heavy in the air between us. I knew exactly what he meant.

As Rhys shifted slightly, pulling me closer, I felt the familiar warmth of his hands on my bare skin. They were strong, calloused from years of working the land, but undeniably gentle when they brushed against my flesh. He pulled me onto my side, his body a perfect fit against mine, and began to explore my form with slow, deliberate movements.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, letting his touch guide me deeper into pleasure. My moans grew louder, more insistent, as he continued to tease and tantalize. Then, with a swift, decisive movement, he drew me closer, pulling me onto his massive chest. The weight of his body pressed down on me, a comforting, grounding force.

My senses heightened, every inch of my skin alive with anticipation. I could feel his heartbeat, a steady, rhythmic thump against my back, matching the frantic beat of my own heart. He began to grind against me, his muscles flexing with each thrust, sending shivers through my entire being. The heat intensified, spreading across my body, igniting every nerve ending.

With a gasp, I gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responded with renewed vigor, his hands digging deep into my flesh, while his mouth explored the curve of my breasts. The pleasure was overwhelming, both intense and exquisite.

As he continued his assault, I felt a familiar warmth building within me, a sign that the pleasure was becoming too much to bear. I arched my hips, digging my fingers into his back, pulling him closer still. He moaned, a guttural sound of pleasure, as he pushed even deeper, the pressure building within me until it became unbearable.

Then, with a final, explosive push, I released a torrent of pleasure, a wave of sensation that washed over us both. My body trembled with the aftershocks, my muscles weak and limp. Rhys held me tight, savoring the moment, while I lay there, breathless and spent, lost in the euphoria of our encounter.

As he gently eased away, I reached for the small chest of drawers beside the bed. Pulling out a silky white apron with a delicate black lace finish, I donned it over my nightgown, feeling the cool fabric against my heated skin. Then, I selected a cheeky little black bow tie and tied it around my neck, completing my transformation into a sensual masterpiece.

I took a deep breath, savoring the scent of coffee and maple syrup that permeated the room. Looking into the mirror, I painted my lips a vibrant red to match my long, curly hair. A final touch: a pair of towering black high heels, adding a touch of height and confidence to my appearance.

Stepping onto the kitchen floor, I grabbed a few special items from the drawer. "This will be his first Christmas gift from me," I whispered to myself, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

The aroma of bacon sizzling in the pan filled the air as I began preparing a breakfast feast. I wanted to make something truly special, something that would remind him of our first Christmas together, when we had spent the entire day wrapped up in each other, lost in passion and pleasure.

"I’d love to try American pancakes with bacon and maple syrup again someday," Rhys had said some weeks before, and I knew exactly what I had to do. The memory of his strong, bulging arms lifting me onto his throbbing cock filled me with anticipation.

As I stirred the batter, humming a Celtic tune, I couldn’t help but muse about our future together. He had left the Land of Our Fathers to play on a worship tour around the States a few years prior, and I missed his presence terribly. "Oh, I will be a meal for you soon, my boy!" I thought to myself, my heart pounding with a mixture of desire and anticipation.

Taking my place on the table, amidst the chaos of the breakfast preparations, I called out to him as he entered the room. Nervous yet excited, I presented myself to him on the table, a vision of beauty and sensuality. His eyes, wide and green, devoured every inch of my body from my snow-white skin to the mane of fire that cascaded down my back and kissed my bottom.

Reaching his sexy, tattooed arms behind his head without breaking his gaze, he turned his face to the side to reveal a cheeky grin. My heart melted, and so did my pussy as I savored the fullness of this rugged hunk of a man before me. He stood tall over the dining table, a mighty figure, and seductively swooped down to meet me, gently but firmly placing his thick arms on the table on either side of my head. His tasty torso skims my own, and he leans in so that his thick brown beard playfully strokes my chin. His huge hands move to cradle the sides of my face, and he stares, he salivates, and I gulp.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me now!” I screamed in my head; my eyes now glazed and my lips slightly part, almost but not quite yet meeting his. Wanting him. Needing him.

Before I could think another “fuck me,” in a deep, gruff voice that sounds like home, he finally said, “Merry Christmas to you an’ all, love!”

We laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen, a testament to the joy we shared. “Nice spread,” he whispered, surveying the first course. “Just one more thing.”

Taking the maple syrup, he dripped a message onto my patiently waiting tits: his name. Curious, I went to rub my fingers in the sweet stickiness that now covered my breasts, and moaned, showing him how I liked to grip and flick my nipples with the syrupy goodness. And so the first course began...

His tongue began to fervently dance over my body in lustful licks and sweeping strokes before circling down to my now soaking wet pussy. He started to gorge on the dripping wet feast between my legs.

“Baby, finger fuck me too!” I panted. “You know what to do.”

And I felt him there, his long, full finger bursting into my aching depths. With his tongue dining on my swollen clit and his fingers enjoying the warm gooey center, my love groans into me. My Not-So-Little Drummer Boy plays me like a beat, and in a crescendo, I flood over him there on the edge of the table.

“Yeah! Squirt for me, baby!” he urges me, as his fingers rhythmically pound my pussy.

“I’m cumming! I’m squirting everywhere!” I reel.

“Mmmm,” he says, roughly wiping his face with his arm and then rubbing his drenched fingers on my serving apron. “Hope the second course is as good as the first.”

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