Spinning Descent

The rain hammered against the windows of their secluded cabin, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my own heart. Chris lay prone on the plush king-sized bed, a pale ghost of the man I’d known before the surgery. The stereotactic halo, a cruel reminder of the tumor and the invasive procedures, cast an unsettling shadow across his face, highlighting the swelling in his temples and the persistent, salty drip from his nose. Last week’s operation had taken its toll, leaving him weakened and depleted, a shadow of his former vitality. He’d been despondent, lost in the fog of recovery, desperately craving connection, a desperate plea for release. And I, ever attuned to his needs, was more than willing to oblige.

The initial attempt at missionary position had been a disastrous failure, a clumsy, painful experience that left both of us frustrated and slightly bewildered. The thought of him thrusting upwards, straining against the restraints of the halo, was a grotesque parody of pleasure. It was a mistake, a desperate measure born of frustration, but tonight, I intended to rectify it.

“Well, Angela, that didn’t work too well!” Chris had grumbled, pulling himself free from atop me, a touch of annoyance coloring his voice. He’d laid his head back down on the pillow, seeking refuge in the familiar comfort of sleep. But the yearning in his eyes, the palpable desire for release, had been impossible to ignore.

Turning my attention to him, I pressed a deep, wet kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of his exhaustion, his vulnerability. Then, pulling back slightly, I took in his ravaged features, the subtle tremor in his jaw. The scars from the surgery were still raw and tender, and the halo, while now fitted snugly, served as a constant, visible reminder of his ordeal. He was clearly in need of something more than just rest; he needed a full, uninhibited immersion in sensation.

“Chris, darling,” I murmured, my voice laced with a hint of command, “just lie back, and leave everything to me.” The words hung in the air, a silent promise of the pleasure to come.

My fingers traced the length of his body, a slow, deliberate exploration that ignited a fire beneath his skin. I lingered on his neck, his nipples, his belly, applying gentle, teasing caresses that sent shivers down his spine. The scent of antiseptic clung to his skin, mingling with the earthy aroma of the pine trees outside, creating a heady, intoxicating blend.

As I moved lower, my lips descended upon his weakened erection, firm but pliable, easily bending to fit into my mouth. Ignoring the taste of the saline solution clinging to his flesh, I licked and slurped, stroking him with a sensual intensity that bordered on frenzy. The rhythmic movements sent waves of pleasure through his body, awakening dormant nerve endings. He groaned softly, a low rumble of anticipation, his balls straining against the confines of his trousers.

I knew that he didn’t need oral sex, not tonight. He craved something deeper, something primal, something that would shatter the remnants of his self-consciousness and plunge him headfirst into the depths of sensation.

I felt his hungry gaze fixed on my bosoms and trimmed pussy, the anticipation radiating from him like heat. With a sigh of satisfaction, I straddled him, bringing my vulva close to his shaft. The sight of my exposed flesh, combined with the lingering scent of the surgery, intensified his arousal. He had to crane his neck forward, straining against the halo’s restraints, the unnatural angle exacerbating the sensation.

“Close your eyes, Lover, close your eyes and lie back,” I whispered, leaning down to press a deep kiss against his lips. Allowing my breasts to dangle and brush against his chest, I felt him responding, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.

His hands, guided by instinct, reached up to find my breasts, kneading them with a feverish delight. The feeling of his calloused fingers against my sensitive skin was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body. As he shifted his weight forward, guiding his swollen manhood to the moist, musky entrance of my vulva, I anticipated the inevitable.

“No Peeking, she gasped, placing her hands firmly on his chest for balance, squeezing his nipples for good measure. Then, she leaned down to kiss him deeply again, allowing her breasts to dangle and brush against his chest.

His hands reached up instinctively and found her breasts as if guided by radar, and he kneaded his round soft prizes gleefully, feeling Angela shift her weight forward and guide the swollen tip of his manhood to the moist musky entrance to her vulva. Then she leaned way back, pointed his dick straight in the air, lowered herself onto him, onto his thick rigid phallus, and impaled herself deeply onto her man.

Up ever so slowly, then plunging downward, arching backward to feel him gliding smoothly against her G-spot, then forward to get that exquisite friction along her throbbing clitoris, again and again and again, now twisting left and right all the while clutching his hips tightly with her statuesque thighs.

Eyes obediently closed, Chris was thoroughly immobilized by her technique, and he soon forced himself to completely relax under Angela’s skillful ministrations. He allowed his mind to wander to a story he’d read recently on a certain website, posted by a loving couple explicitly sharing one of their own romantic interludes, and before long he felt the warm glow of an impending orgasm.

Angela too felt the swelling in his balls and the sudden new girth filling her womanhood, and increased her body’s tempo so that she was grinding her pelvis down onto her lover, squeezing for all she was worth with the velvety walls of her vagina, and was promptly rewarded with the sound of a low feral groan from Chris’ throat, followed by the sweet contractions of his ejaculation, reveling in the wonder of his seed shooting deep into her core from his position below her. Aahhh!!!

Now the frenzied spinning in his brain was welcomed as a faithful friend, just the right thing, the mind-blowing roller coaster ride of sexual climax brought on solely by the action of his dear wife, too beautiful for words.

But as he lay with his fingers caressing and probing her G-spot a moment later, touching his own fluids dripping from her body, feeling her own spasms and writhings of multiple orgasms while he gave her the pleasure that was due her, he knew that he would try. The memory of that initial failure, the frustration and the desperate need for release, fueled his determination. He would conquer his weakness, embrace his vulnerability, and submit to the exquisite pleasure that awaited him. And as he clung to her, lost in the throes of ecstasy, he realized that this was not just a physical release, but a profound affirmation of their love, their connection, their shared desire for a deeper, more intense union. The rain continued to fall, washing away the last vestiges of his pain, leaving only the intoxicating scent of arousal and the undeniable truth of their intertwined souls.

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Spinning Descent

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