Pre-Event Pleasure

The humid air of the early morning clung to me as I pedaled furiously on the stationary bike, the resistance set high, pushing my muscles to their limit. Sweat beaded on my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I ignored the discomfort, focusing solely on the burn in my legs, the satisfying ache in my core. It was a good workout, a necessary one, but as I finished my set, a different kind of heat began to build within me, a slow, insistent simmer that had nothing to do with exertion. I’d been looking forward to this morning, anticipating the quiet solitude, the chance to indulge in the fantasies that simmered just beneath the surface of my daily life.

The shower was a welcome relief, the hot water washing away the grime and the lingering scent of the gym. I reveled in the sensation, letting the steam envelop me, my body relaxed and vulnerable. My husband, Grant, was already in the master bathroom, meticulously applying cologne, preparing for his day at the office. The scent of sandalwood and citrus filled the air, a sharp contrast to the primal urges building inside me. He was leaving for work, which meant I had a clear shot at fulfilling my desires, and the thought alone sent shivers down my spine.

As I stepped out, towel wrapped around my body, the bedroom beckoned. It was a sanctuary, a place of refuge and intimacy, where we shared our deepest desires and most passionate encounters. Grant was drying off, his semi-hard cock swaying gently as he worked, the pale pink flesh visible beneath the damp towel. He turned, noticing my presence, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. “How was your workout?”

“Good,” I replied, my voice deliberately nonchalant, a mask to conceal the turmoil within. I dropped the towel, letting it pool on the floor, and knelt before him, taking him in my hands. The roughness of his skin against my palms was electrifying, a primal connection that bypassed reason and went straight to the core of my being.

“Babe,” he breathed, his voice a low rumble against my ear.

I took the head of his penis in my mouth, my fingers digging into his shaft, pulling him closer, tightening my grip. He was immediately rock hard, responding instantly to my touch, a delicious hardness that promised intense pleasure. I made my intentions abundantly clear, my lips moving rhythmically, a silent invitation to the pleasure that awaited.

“I want you to go into work with the taste of my pussy in your mouth,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire. It wasn’t just a request; it was a command, a declaration of my control, a promise of the pleasure he was about to experience.

I rose slowly, deliberately, placing myself on the edge of the bed, allowing him to lift me slightly with his hands. He had a natural strength, honed from years of playing rugby, and I enjoyed the feeling of being supported, of being completely at his mercy. As he began to tongue my clit, my body writhed in anticipation, my senses heightened, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Licking and fingering me, he had me squirming around, pushing against his hands, desperate for release, for the moment when he would fulfill my deepest fantasies.

“Stand up,” I commanded, my voice laced with urgency. “Let’s go.”

He complied without hesitation, his muscles flexing as he rose to his feet. With a surge of power, he entered my pussy, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisite. This was a favorite position of ours, a dynamic and intense experience that always left me breathless. Grant, a strong athletic man, truly knew how to use his strength, and I loved taking the pounding, surrendering completely to the pleasure he offered.

As he began to slow, the climax building, I could feel my body tensing, my muscles clenching, my breath catching in my throat. “Fuck me harder,” I demanded, my voice strained, my body trembling with anticipation.

His strokes intensified, each thrust a wave of pleasure washing over me, building towards the inevitable release. My toes clenched, my body arching in anticipation, as the final moments approached. Then, finally, it happened. The orgasm hit me with the force of a tidal wave, a release so intense that it left me weak and spent.

I let out a moan, a primal sound of pure pleasure, as my body convulsed with the aftershocks. He pulled out, and I slid down the bed, stroking him, savoring the lingering sensations, feeding off the energy of our shared experience. As he exploded on my chest, showering me with his cum, I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, a feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by pleasure.

With a quick suck of his leaking head, I stood up, catching my breath, feeling the heat radiating from my body. “Good work,” I said, a playful smile on my lips. “You earned that.”

Then, before he could react, I snapped a picture, capturing the moment of ecstasy, the glistening droplets of his semen clinging to my tits. It was a fitting tribute to our shared pleasure, a visual reminder of the intense connection we shared.

He stopped back in the bedroom to say goodbye, his eyes lingering on the picture as he left for work. As soon as he was settled in at his office, I sent him a text. “Hey, do you have a second?”

He replied, “Yes, what’s up?”

The point of my text was to ensure he had his phone in hand. My reply was just the picture of my cum covered tits, a provocative image designed to both tease and captivate. I loved knowing he was surrounded by coworkers, completely absorbed in the moment, imagining the sensation of my semen raining down on him. It was a perfect combination of intimacy and voyeurism, a potent blend of desire and control. Lying there, feeling the residual heat of our encounter, I realized that this was exactly the kind of experience I craved, the kind of pleasure that made my blood sing. As Grant left for work, I knew that this was just the beginning. The seeds of desire had been sown, and I was eager to cultivate them, to explore the depths of our shared fantasies, and to push the boundaries of our pleasure together.

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