Divine Union: Pure Passion in Marriage

The rain hammered against the windows of our bedroom, a relentless rhythm mirroring the insistent pulse in my groin. My wife, Eleanor, lay beside me, her breathing shallow, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her pale skin. She’d had a migraine, a brutal, throbbing affair that had left her weak and prone to sudden bouts of nausea. I knew she wouldn’t want me to awaken her, not now. So, I retreated into the sanctuary of my own body, seeking solace in the familiar ache of anticipation.

It wasn't always like this. Before Christ, before the rigid confines of faith, my world was a tangled mess of lust and desperate longing. Masturbation was a refuge, a shameful indulgence, a way to fill the gaping void within me. The memories of those days were sharp, visceral, and I confess, they still occasionally surfaced during moments of vulnerability. But now, those urges were tempered by a fervent desire to serve God, and, more importantly, to serve my wife.

As I began, my mind immediately drifted to her. I conjured her image, the way the sunlight caught in her auburn hair, the curve of her jaw, the delicate arch of her back. Then, the thoughts began to escalate, fueled by the mounting heat. I envisioned her, not as a sleeping beauty, but as the vibrant, sensual woman she truly was. Her hands, so soft and supple, tracing the contours of my body. Her lips, full and succulent, demanding my attention.

I started slowly, gently, exploring the sensitive skin of my shaft with my fingertips, savoring each sensation. The heat intensified, radiating throughout my body, making me eager for release. As I brought my cock into play, my thoughts spiraled further into the depths of desire. I imagined her, kneeling before me, her face tilted upwards, her eyes drinking in every inch of my flesh. She would slowly, deliberately, unbutton my jeans, exposing my pale, taut flesh. Her nails, long and painted a deep crimson, would trace patterns on my thighs before she began to devour my cock.

Her hands, slick with anticipation, would grip my thighs, pulling me closer, closer. Her breath, warm and heavy, would fill my nostrils, carrying the intoxicating scent of her perfume. I could hear her moaning softly, a low rumble of pleasure that vibrated through my body.

Then, the crescendo. My muscles tensed, my breathing quickened, and the world narrowed to the intense pleasure of the moment. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume me. I felt the first tremors of orgasm, a delicious shiver that spread from my core to my extremities. As I reached the peak, I unleashed a torrent of cum, a thick, white river that streamed down my body, soaking my t-shirt and clinging to my skin.

It was glorious. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy. And the best part was that it was all fueled by my thoughts of Eleanor. Her presence, even in my imagination, had amplified my pleasure, transforming it into something truly transcendent.

When I finished, panting and exhausted, I shifted slightly, ensuring that I was still facing her. I gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, and then, slowly, deliberately, I revealed my still-wet t-shirt. The sight of the glistening fluid was meant to be shocking, perhaps even a little provocative, but I knew it would also bring a smile to her lips.

And it did. She let out a small, satisfied sigh, and her eyes widened slightly as she took in the evidence of my arousal. “You had a good one, didn’t you?” she whispered, her voice husky with pleasure.

“The best,” I replied, my voice low and intimate. “Because I was thinking of you.”

She chuckled, a throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Always thinking of you, aren’t you?”

“Always,” I confirmed, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek with my thumb. “It’s the most righteous thing I can do.”

As we lay there, entangled in each other’s arms, the rain continued to fall outside, a constant reminder of the world outside our sanctuary. But inside, in the warmth of our shared intimacy, we were lost in a world of pleasure and desire, fueled by the shared experience of our fantasies.

Later, as she stirred and began to wake, I continued to feed my imagination, conjuring up even more explicit scenarios. I pictured her, lying on her back, her legs raised, her hands sliding down my shaft, her nails digging into my skin. The thought of her dominance, her control, sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I imagined her taking a deep breath, arching her back, and thrusting her pelvis forcefully into my mouth, her tongue exploring every inch of my body. The sensation was both painful and exquisite, a reminder of the raw, primal connection between us.

I continued to masturbate, lost in the pleasure of my own body, the thought of Eleanor always present in my mind. I knew that she was experiencing her own arousal, her own pleasure, but we were both united in our shared fantasy, our shared desire.

It was an act of devotion, a way of honoring God and my wife. It was a testament to the power of imagination, the ability to transcend the physical and enter into a realm of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

The rain eventually subsided, and the first rays of dawn peeked through the clouds. As I watched Eleanor slowly awaken, her eyes still heavy with sleep, I felt a surge of gratitude. I was thankful for the gift of masturbation, for the opportunity to explore my own desires while still maintaining a sense of control and purpose. And I was especially thankful for my wife, for her willingness to participate in this sacred ritual, for her ability to share my fantasies without shame or reservation.

As she reached for me, her hand brushing against my chest, I knew that our connection was stronger than ever. The shared experience of our fantasies had deepened our intimacy, solidified our bond, and reaffirmed our commitment to each other.

Looking at her, I realized that our lovemaking was not just about physical pleasure; it was about spiritual connection, about shared worship, about living a life that honored God and brought us closer to him. And as we prepared to embrace again, I knew that we were embarking on a new day, filled with the promise of even greater intimacy, even greater devotion, and even greater pleasure. The rain might have stopped, but the storm within our hearts would continue to rage, fueled by the enduring power of our love.

Did you like this story? Divine Union: Pure Passion in Marriage look, but like these, here Sex stories.