Crimson Gifts and Silent Wishes

The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the crystal decanter of red wine as I looked across the table at her. Just thinking about the morning we’d shared earlier filled me with a potent mix of desire and lingering warmth. The scent of pine and Christmas music still clung to the air, a fragrant reminder of the intimacy we’d cultivated. I held up the wine, its rich color reflecting in my eyes, and offered a small smile.

“To the only gift I’ve ever needed this season, one God gave to me and I will always cherish,” I said, my voice low and intimate. I held her gaze, savoring the subtle play of emotions in her eyes, waiting for the familiar downplay of affection that I secretly found endearing. It was okay if she did, I thought. It was something I actually loved about her – her quiet grace, her ability to hold back, to tease. It made the moments when she truly let go all the more precious.

She didn’t play it off this time. Her eyes, usually a cool, measured blue, were glossy with unshed tears, and a slow, hesitant smile bloomed across her lips. It wasn’t a playful smile, not the one she usually reserved for inside jokes or shared secrets. This was something deeper, more vulnerable. A single tear traced a lonely path down her cheek, a testament to the raw emotions she rarely allowed to surface.

It had been a year of uncomfortable firsts, a strange and turbulent period of growth for both of us. My first marital screw-up, an ill-advised exchange of emails and explicit messages with a former flame, had shaken the foundations of our relationship. Our first honest discussion about the deep-seated issues that had been simmering beneath the surface, the need to actively work on our compatibility. Reconnecting physically, tentatively, as if rediscovering each other after a long and arduous separation. It had been a year of healing, of painful self-reflection, and of slow, painstaking rebuilding.

God had played a significant role in our journey, a silent but constant presence throughout our struggles. We’d spent the day attending church, immersing ourselves in the sermon, which had focused heavily on the importance of selfless service and mutual support. Each of my prayers had been filled with desperate pleas for guidance, for strength to mend the fractured pieces of our marriage. The message about serving each other resonated deeply, a call to action that felt both profound and deeply personal.

“I want to ask you something,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, placing her delicate glass on the table. “How can I serve you?” Her eyes held a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, a silent plea for my guidance.

We had discussed the sermon while running errands and picking up groceries, our teenage daughter, Sarah, absorbed in her headphones, oblivious to the intimate conversation unfolding around her. Our conversation had remained largely focused on the small, everyday acts of service we performed for one another – bringing her coffee in the morning, taking out the trash, helping her with her homework. I had even made a clumsy attempt at a sexual innuendo, a poorly timed quip about “serving” her, which had been met with a pointed glare. But she hadn’t shied away from the topic this time. Instead, she seemed genuinely eager to fulfill my request, to explore the boundaries of our connection in a way that felt both exciting and slightly unsettling.

I repeated my question, letting the weight of it hang in the air. “Sexually?” The words felt both awkward and liberating, like peeling back a layer of inhibition that had been slowly accumulating over the past year.

She nodded, a subtle but decisive movement, and rose from her chair, her movements graceful and deliberate. She moved towards me, her presence radiating a captivating blend of vulnerability and confidence. As she approached, she began to remove the two place settings from the table, creating an empty space for us, a physical manifestation of the intimacy we were about to embark on. We had another half hour before the roast was done, and perhaps even longer if it needed to be left to rest.

Our last vacation had been filled with conversations about boundaries, fueled by the stories of our adventurous friends. They had described various taboo sexual acts, pushing the limits of their comfort zones and challenging societal norms. We had discussed these concepts openly, delving into the nuances of consent, communication, and the importance of mutual respect. She had agreed with most of their suggestions, admitting that she was open to exploring new experiences, provided they were approached with care and consideration. She prefaced her comments with “under the right circumstances,” a phrase that translated to “a little more wine than normal.” As we’d opened the bottle earlier in the evening, the atmosphere had become increasingly charged, the air thick with anticipation.

The music shifted to a more upbeat, jazzy Christmas carol, courtesy of Harry Connick, Jr. The tempo increased, injecting a playful energy into the room. She began a slow, sensual striptease, first lifting her sweater and shirt over her head, her movements fluid and captivating. She swayed rhythmically, her eyes closed, her hands running over her cleavage as if not even slightly embarrassed by my gaze. Then, she slipped her left cup down, her hand gently caressing her breast, teasing her own arousal. Next, she pulled the bra over her head, using her arm to cover her chest, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin beneath.

She opened her eyes and turned around, bending over to show me her beautiful, toned backside. She leaned over, resting her chin on her knees, her gaze intense and direct. Her breasts hung suspended for a brief moment, offering a tantalizing glimpse before she quickly covered them again. The song changed to a slow, soulful R&B carol, perfectly complementing her movements. As she stood up, she began to slowly undress, revealing her colorful jeans and a delicate VS bra. Her hands moved in a rhythmic pattern over her hips, drawing attention to their curves.

Her movements were impeccable, a testament to her discipline and control. I felt a surge of desire, a primal instinct taking over as I watched her, my cock rising rapidly in anticipation. She walked towards me, her steps deliberate and graceful, her presence filling the room with an intoxicating aura. She slid the two place settings off the table, creating a clear space between us. We had approximately another half hour before the roast was ready, and perhaps longer if it needed to wait.

On our last vacation, we had listened to our friends discuss the importance of setting boundaries, both physical and emotional. This had led to an interesting conversation between my wife and me about the potential for exploring taboo sexual acts. She had agreed with most of their suggestions, admitting that she was open to experimenting, but only under the right circumstances. This translated to “a little more wine than normal,” a concept we were now embracing as we’d opened the bottle earlier in the evening.

As she approached, she began her slow descent towards me, her body radiating heat and anticipation. Her movements were deliberate, controlled, and utterly captivating. She moved closer, her eyes locking onto mine, a silent invitation that I couldn't resist. She then gently pushed the two place settings off the table, clearing the space between us and solidifying the intention of our upcoming encounter.

On our last vacation we had listened to friends talk about their boundaries. This led to some discussion between my wife and me about taboo sexual acts. She agreed most of what they talked about we’d had done once or twice, or we could do sometime. She prefaced her comments with “under the right circumstances.” Translated, that meant “a little more wine than normal”. We were approaching that as we had opened the bottle earlier in the evening.

The music shifted to a more modern, Harry Connick, Jr. Christmas favorite. Uptempo and jazzy. She began a striptease, first lifting her sweater and shirt over her head, not missing a beat. She danced in her colored jeans and VS bra. Swaying, eyes closed, hands running over her cleavage as if I wasn’t there. She slipped under her left cup, her hand over her breast. Then she slipped the bra up and over her head, arm across covering her chest.

She opened her eyes and turned around, bending over to show me her lovely backside. She leaned over, looking at me between her spread legs. Her breasts were hanging down for me to see just a glimpse before she covered them again. The song changed to a slow, R&B carol as she stood up and undid her pants. Her hands moved in rhythm over her hips.

Her movements were perfect. My cock rose quickly and I could almost feel a desire to cum right there. She pushed her pants over and down to her ankles. She stepped out, wearing only panties and still holding her breasts behind one arm. Her gaze was fierce and strong. Our eyes joined and she moved towards me. She slid her ass back on the table, spreading her legs wide.

I moved forward to nuzzle into the rich aroma her hot wetness put into the air. But alas, she pivoted and slid back down the table, laying back so her face was at the edge. Her arm and hands finally left her chest. Her hard nipples caught the candlelight perfectly.

“Feed me,” she said softly, the words and her tongue wetting her lips. Her arms reached out to my hips and pulled me towards her. Her face was in perfect position, and her eyes were fixed on the button of my jeans. She helped me release the button and unzip. My cock sprang out. She took control from her and held it there. She had her legs crossed, one raised up with the other over its knee. My hands found her breasts as she slipped the head and shaft over her tongue and to the back of her mouth. We had talked about the idea of deep throating. Now, she was ready to do it for me!

“Tilt back a little more and relax,” I said, pretending to know what to do.

Her eyes were a little wider, but she did exactly that. Her hands found my hips and began to squeeze my ass. I took control from her and held my cock in her mouth. I pushed against her tongue, then the roof of her mouth and slid further back. She was now pulling me to her a little more. I didn’t think she was struggling with me as I pushed my weight forward. She took another inch or so.

I looked down and I could see her throat, her hands pulling me deeper still. My cock was finding a little resistance. I pulled back a little and thrust in harder. I got twice as much as that last push. Her hands stopped pulling and came forward as if to stop my advance.

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