Bond's Legacy: A Family Feast

The scent of roses and lavender hung heavy in the air, a fragrant reminder of the opulent setting of the Astoria World Manor. It was 1996, and my aunt, bless her soul, had thrown a lavish 60th birthday party, bringing together a motley crew of family and friends. The manor itself held a special significance for me; my sisters and I had held our wedding receptions within its walls, a nostalgic touch that added an extra layer of comfort to the already extravagant affair. The event was strictly formal, so naturally, the evening unfolded with a touch of playful intrigue, a secret game of Mr. and Mrs. Bond that I'd always enjoyed with my husband.

I’d chosen a dress that perfectly embodied the spirit of the night – a white silk confection adorned with delicate black lace, lending it a Parisian air that felt both elegant and slightly provocative. The food was divine, a symphony of flavors that prepared us perfectly for the dance floor. As the familiar strains of Celine Dion’s “If You Asked Me To” filled the ballroom, a wave of blissful nostalgia washed over me. The song instantly transported me back to our wedding night, the memory of dancing with my husband, lost in each other’s arms, a feeling I still cherished.

The banquet was a resounding success, filled with laughter, conversation, and the clinking of champagne glasses. As the evening drew to a close, and I said my fond farewells to my dear aunt, my husband and I retreated to our opulent suite. The girls, exhausted from their own evening of celebration, were already nestled in their beds, their sleep a welcome respite from the revelry. We knew they’d be sound asleep, leaving us free to indulge in the pleasures we craved.

“You know what I liked most?” I murmured, leaning against his shoulder as we stood by the large windows overlooking the city lights. “Dancing with you, sweetheart.”

“Me too,” he replied, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “Holding your hand with my arm around your waist felt so special as it always does.” The simple words, spoken with such genuine affection, sent shivers down my spine. It was a connection that transcended the superficial, a feeling of complete comfort and trust in each other's arms.

As we knew they would be, our girls were both sleeping like babies after this big night, but my husband and I had no intention of sleeping yet. We played Marilyn Martin’s version of “Move Closer,” the sultry rhythm setting the mood for what was to come. My husband, ever the charmer, loosened his bow tie and one of the buttons on his impeccably tailored suit, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin beneath. A playful kiss on my lips followed, then a gentle caress of his collarbone, a silent invitation that I eagerly accepted.

I returned the favor, slowly undressing him while stealing glances at his arousal. The sight of his exposed chest, glistening with anticipation, was intoxicating. I unbuckled his belt, then carefully unzipped his pants, watching with a mixture of delight and anticipation as he lowered them, revealing his boxers. I loved the vulnerability in his expression, the raw desire that filled his eyes.

He lay on his back, anticipating my touch, and I reached for a bottle of scented oil, applying it generously to my hands. The silky texture felt incredibly sensual against my skin. As I massaged his back, I noticed my own arousal escalating, my ladyplace growing increasingly sensitive. My thighs tightened involuntarily as I straddled over him, applying pressure on his shoulders and back with my hands. The scent of the oil mingled with the intoxicating aroma of my own arousal, creating an atmosphere of pure indulgence.

“Oh, yes, my sexy that’s the stuff! You’re always so silky down there when we have sexy times!” he moaned, his voice thick with desire. The words were a sweet affirmation, a confirmation of our shared passions. My pleasure intensified as I continued to massage his back, my body responding with a rhythmic pulse.

As I continued, I applied some oil on my breasts and front of my body, sliding on him back and forth, listening to my husband’s aroused breaths. “Oh yes, baby, yes!” he moaned, his voice a desperate plea.

Then, I laid on our bed so he could do me. My husband skillfully used his fingers and hands to do my back before doing my head and neck. “Oh, honey you’re always so good at this!” I managed to say as he massaged my neck and shoulders. As I spread my legs for the best part, I could tell my husband was thinking “Oh yes, my sweet. You’re wetness feels best on my hardness.” The entrance to my vagina was extra sensitive as he came inside me, with no hesitation at all, and he kissed me passionately. Everything turned passionate immediately. We embraced tight as he passionately thrust deep inside me and grunting with every thrust, while I, too, responded pleasurably.

“Throbbing and slippery hot, my little darling. You smell wonderful with that rose and lavender. It gets me extra turned on,” he said between kisses. Every part of my ladyplace felt the pleasure as he went at it with a passion and he felt my right breast before moving his hand up to caress my neck, French kissing me again. My moans turned into cries as he heightened his speed. He was so deep inside me, and that in itself was always intense for both of us.

As my sexy husband pleasured me, I had a sudden orgasm, accompanied with ecstatic cries and slight pelvic jerking movements, thus making my orgasm even more intense, so much so I could barely handle it! My arms were wrapped around him tight as I responded to the throbbing orgasm while he hugged me tight. Sweaty when I came down, my arms remained around him as I relaxed, enjoying the erotic sounds of my husband coming.

He let it all out, loudly vocalizing and then taking a moment to catch his breath after the orgasm subsided. He rolled me on top of him and he gently kissed my head as I rested my head on his chest. I remembered his heroic act when we played Mr & Mrs Bond in 1987, and smiled as he stroked me. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, not letting go until we got out of bed the next morning. The lingering scent of roses and lavender, a tangible reminder of the night's passionate indulgence, clung to the air, a silent promise of more nights to come. The memory of that decadent evening, filled with lust, desire, and explicit pleasure, would forever be etched in my mind, a cherished secret shared between us.

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