Sweet Surrender: Dessert First

The scent of lemon polish hung in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos that had erupted just moments before. Work had been a blessing, a welcome escape from the demands of raising five energetic children. Leah, my beautiful, plump wife, had been a constant source of joy, her soft tummy and generous breasts a constant reminder of the pleasure awaiting me at home. Tonight, however, the usual rhythm of our lives had been disrupted, leaving a simmering tension in its wake.

As I pushed open the front door, the cacophony hit me like a physical blow – yelling, crying, the insistent beeping of the kitchen timer, and the unmistakable sounds of sibling rivalry. Leah, her face etched with weariness, was frantically trying to salvage a dinner that seemed destined for disaster. My children, a miniature tornado of needs and desires, swirled around her, each vying for attention. Teri and John were locked in a heated argument over a particularly obscure word, Grace was inconsolable over a perceived lack of affection, and the twins, Floyd and Evelyn, were engaged in a bitter battle over a shared toy. The air crackled with frustration, and I knew I had to intervene before the situation escalated further.

“Excuse me,” I boomed, cutting through the din. Every head snapped in my direction, and Leah offered a pleading glance. With a wave of my hand, I signaled for her to return to her culinary duties, and the children immediately turned their attention to me, their faces a mixture of expectation and impatience.

“Teri says that ‘onomatopoeia’ is the correct term,” John declared, puffing out his chest. “It means words that imitate sounds, duh!”

“Daddy, Floyd won’t share his dinosaur with me,” Grace wailed, clutching her favorite plush toy.

“Why won’t anyone play with me?” Evelyn added, her voice laced with indignation.

“Enough,” I commanded, my voice firm but gentle. “Teri and John, you two have a perfectly good dictionary on the bookshelf. Use it to settle your argument. And Evelyn, you have two of the dinosaurs Floyd has. Go play with Grace.” Shaking my head in exasperation, I turned towards the kitchen, determined to restore order and soothe my wife’s frayed nerves.

The sight that greeted me was both comforting and unsettling. Leah was standing at the stove, meticulously stirring a sauce, her slightly snug jeans clinging to her round but undeniably attractive butt. Her t-shirt, a little too tight across her chest, accentuated her generous breasts, creating a figure that was both powerful and vulnerable. Despite the chaos around her, there was a quiet strength in her eyes, a resilience that I deeply admired. As I approached her, I instinctively reached out and pulled her into my crotch, initiating a slow, sensual dance of intimacy. I began to kiss and nibble along her neck, savoring the scent of her skin and the warmth of her body. She responded with a soft sigh, leaning back into my embrace, and slowly sliding her butt against my penis. The movement was deliberate, tantalizing, and sent shivers down my spine.

“Thank you for handling the children,” she murmured, her voice husky with pleasure. “They’ve been acting like this since I came home. It’s like they’re deliberately trying to test my patience.”

“Don’t worry about it, my darling,” I replied, my voice low and seductive. “How was your day?”

“Great until I encountered our argumentative children. Yours?”

“Fantastic, got a lot done, and have several projects lined up. But that wasn’t my main focus today. Can you guess what has been on my mind all day today?”

“Couldn’t have been me,” she teased, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, but it was, my dear. I’ve thought of nothing but slowly peeling your clothes off, licking your hot pussy, squeezing your delicious butt, teasing you and making you beg for my cock.”

“Pity I’m only wearing jeans that are too small and a ratty old t-shirt.”

“I like your jeans,” I said, a genuine admiration in my voice.

She laughed, a throaty, infectious sound. “Love truly is blind.” I squeezed her butt, feeling the warmth of her skin against my hand, and prepared to continue whispering sweet nothings in her ear when the familiar sound of chaos erupted from upstairs.

“I’ll go handle this,” I announced, pushing myself off from her and heading towards the staircase. The scene that unfolded above was even more chaotic than I had anticipated. The children were engaged in a full-blown war, screaming, crying, and throwing things at each other. I spent the next hour mediating disputes, doling out punishments, and generally trying to restore order to the household. Eventually, after a series of spankings, privileges revoked, and much yelling, the children finally calmed down, exhausted and subdued. By the time I returned to the kitchen, I was feeling a migraine brewing, and the thought of intimacy was the last thing on my mind.

Leah and I crawled into bed for the night, both feeling defeated and slightly frustrated. The rest of the week followed a similar pattern, with a constant stream of interruptions and demands pulling us away from our desired moments of connection. Late sports games, bad dreams, illnesses, and endless squabbles between the children conspired to thwart our efforts. Despite our best efforts, we found ourselves longing for the simple pleasure of uninterrupted intimacy.

Finally, on Friday, a lifeline appeared in the form of my mother. A phone call brought the joyous news that my father was taking our five bundles of joy to her house for a sleepover, leaving Leah and me alone for the first time in weeks. I wasted no time in preparing for our reunion, making dinner, gathering delectable treats, and carefully crafting a note for Leah. I slipped out of the bedroom, donned a pair of whipped cream underwear with a delicious Dove chocolate on the tip of my penis, drizzled caramel sauce across my chest, dotting my self with strawberries and chocolate, and added whipped cream to my nipples. With a playful smirk, I returned to the bedroom, eager to welcome my wife home.

The door swung open, and there she was, my beautiful Leah, radiating anticipation. Her eyes widened with desire as she took in my appearance, a silent acknowledgment of the pleasure she was about to experience. I leaned in and kissed her passionately, savoring the taste of her lips and the scent of her skin. The tension in the room was palpable, and I knew that this night would be different.

As soon as the children were safely tucked away, I moved quickly to strip her of her clothing. The t-shirt clung to her chest, revealing the curve of her breasts and the fullness of her stomach. Her jeans, slightly too tight, accentuated her round figure, making her look even more alluring. She let out a moan of pleasure as I reached for her, my hands tracing the contours of her body. My touch was gentle at first, a slow exploration of her skin, before escalating into more demanding caresses. I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and felt her body relax into my arms.

“You’ve been thinking about me all day,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire.

“You know you have,” she replied, her voice equally sensual.

As we continued to explore each other, the passion intensified. I began to tease her, lightly nibbling on her neck, stroking her breasts, and gently caressing her stomach. She responded with moans of pleasure, arching her back and pulling me closer. The anticipation was building, and I knew that it wouldn't be long before we succumbed to our desires.

Finally, I took the plunge, my hand sliding beneath her jeans and grasping her delicate body. The sensation was electrifying, and I felt a surge of pleasure as I brought her closer. Her cries of delight filled the room, and I knew that I had finally achieved what I had been longing for. The rest, as they say, is history. We remained entangled in our passion, lost in a world of lust and desire, until the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, signaling the end of our private rendezvous.

Mom sex stories

Sweet Surrender: Dessert First

Did you like this story? Sweet Surrender: Dessert First look, but like these, here Mom sex stories.