Desire's Reckoning

The rain hammered against the windows of the kitchen, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart. She was there, as always, in her worn black riding shorts and a loose, faded T-shirt, the cotton clinging to her curves like a second skin. No bra, just the pale pink of her nipples peeking through the fabric. A familiar comfort, a well-worn routine, yet tonight, it felt charged with a new, unsettling energy. I’d been thinking about this all day, the idea of deliberately withholding pleasure, of playing with the expectations, both hers and my own. It was a strange experiment, a deviation from the usual script, but one I felt compelled to pursue.

I tossed my briefcase onto the counter, the leather making a dull thud, and walked purposefully toward her. No lingering glances, no awkward pauses. Just a direct, deliberate approach. As I drew near, I reached out and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back with a swift, controlled motion. She yelped, a surprised, slightly panicked sound, but there was also a flicker of something else in her eyes – a hint of anticipation, a secret acknowledgment of the unusual turn our evening was taking.

I pinned her against the cool granite of the counter, my body a solid wall against hers. My hands moved instinctively, tracing the curve of her spine, the line of her shoulders, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her breath. Then, the kiss began. Not the casual, lingering kisses we usually shared, but a desperate, demanding assault of the senses. My tongue explored every inch of her mouth, devouring her lips, her teeth, her tongue, seeking a connection that went beyond the familiar comfort of our intimacy. She struggled against my grip, her muscles tensing, her nails digging into my arm, but I held firm, determined to break through her resistance.

"Hey! What the freak?!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and irritation. But even as she protested, her body seemed to relax slightly, succumbing to the intoxicating rhythm of my kiss. I intensified my pressure, my hands moving lower, exploring the sensitive skin beneath her shirt. Her giggles began, small and hesitant at first, then growing in intensity as my touch ignited a spark of pleasure within her.

I pulled her closer, my body pressing against hers, and began to explore her with more urgency. My fingers danced across her breasts, teasing and stimulating, while my mouth continued its relentless assault on her senses. I reached around, my hand finding its way to her nipple, pulling it free from its hiding place. Hard, deliberate strokes with my tongue, devouring its delicate flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Then, I moved on, molesting her breasts, her stomach, her hips, each touch designed to maximize her arousal. Her struggles intensified, her moans echoing through the kitchen as she fought against my advances, but I persisted, driven by a strange, almost sadistic desire to push her to the very edge of her pleasure.

As I continued my relentless assault, I noticed a small, silver ring glinting on her finger. A belly button ring, she’d gotten it a few years back. A quick, playful flick of my tongue sent the ring spinning through the air, landing softly on the counter. "Haaaaah! Okaaaay!" she gasped, her breath coming in ragged bursts. The sounds of her pleasure were both intoxicating and unsettling, a testament to the effectiveness of my unorthodox approach.

My attention shifted downward, my hand seeking out the sensitive flesh of her clit. I ran my tongue down her abdomen, tracing the contours of her belly button, before pausing to give it a playful flick. Then, with swift, decisive movements, I tore her shorts from her waist, pulling them down to her ankles. "Hey!" she cried out, a mixture of outrage and pleasure in her voice. "No underwear!!"

"No underwear!!" I gasped, feigning a loss of control. I plunged my tongue into her mound, rolling it over her clit, feeling the immediate, intense response that followed. "What are you DOING?!” she protested, her voice a blend of shock and excitement. I ignored her pleas, continuing my assault, determined to push her beyond her limits.

Ignoring her protests, I grabbed her foot, pulling it free from her shorts and letting them fall to the floor. Then, standing over her, I pressed my body against hers, lowering myself to her level. With a deliberate movement, I plunged my tongue into her mouth, meeting her moans of pleasure with my own, a primal exchange of sensations.

As I continued to explore her, my hands moved systematically, each touch designed to heighten her pleasure. I grabbed her arm and threw her against the other side of the counter, bending her over it. I pressed my bulging pants against her, kneading her cheeks, feeling the heat radiate through the fabric. “Geez! Just FUCK me!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with desperation.

Without hesitation, I unbuckled my pants and pulled them down, revealing my hard, erect cock. My pants barely reached my knees before I grabbed her ass, spreading her cheeks and plunging myself deep inside her. The scent of her arousal filled the air, a potent mixture of sweat, desire, and anticipation.

Taking a deep breath, I focused on the task at hand, reminding myself of the goal: to reach climax without cumming. I began thrusting, hard into her, slapping her clit with my shaved balls. "Don't lose it. Relax. Remember to relax. This is for her, “ I mentally chanted, pushing myself through the pain and fatigue.

As I continued my relentless assault, I felt her body arching back, her muscles tensing, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. She reached a point of intense pleasure, a wave of ecstasy washing over her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. It was then that she shouted, "STOP!” Her voice was laced with a mixture of pleasure and frustration, signaling that she was close to the edge, on the verge of losing control.

I paused, listening intently, feeling her body convulse with pleasure. She discovered a few years ago that if they both remained completely still when she reached the point of climax and rode the wave of ecstasy over the crest, it made her orgasm last longer and was fantastically more intense. She almost never cums without wanting to do this now.

I observed her for a few seconds, watching her cresting that wave, her body almost imperceptibly writhing with pleasure. Suddenly, she arched her back further, her moans intensifying, her breathing becoming more labored. She arched her back, then she screamed, three times. I felt the spasms continue for almost a minute until her moaning and breathing approached normal.

Finally, I gave her three more hard thrusts, feeling the release build within her, before slowly pulling out of her, still hard as steel. Pulsing. And dripping. I smacked her bare ass, then pulled up my pants and started walking away, leaving her to savor the afterglow of our shared experience.

“Did you cum?” she asked, her voice still trembling with pleasure.

“Nope,” I replied matter-of-factly, picking up my work bag to take it to our room.

“What the heck? Why not?!?! Come back here! Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?!” she cried, her voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“Meh.” I said, “Return the favor later.”

After thinking for a few seconds, she slowly, maniacally chuckled. “Oh, you just wait.”

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