Forbidden Friday Night Desire

The rain hammered against the windows of the motel room, a relentless rhythm mirroring the frantic beat of my heart. Five days. Five agonizing days since I’d last held my wife close, since I’d tasted the sweet nectar of her skin. The sterile scent of disinfectant clung to my clothes, a bitter reminder of my work, but the anticipation bubbling within me was far more potent. I’d spent the previous evening meticulously preparing myself, indulging in the forbidden pleasure of self-stimulation, a deliberate act of building the tension I knew she craved. I shaved my cock and balls until they gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, focusing my every thought on her, on the image of her juicy pussy and those magnificent, overflowing tits. It was a torturous restraint, a desperate holding back of the torrent within, but I’d promised her, and I always kept my word. The delay only amplified the desire, turning it into a burning need that gnawed at my insides.

When I finally arrived home, the key turning in the lock felt like a liberation. She was there, already anticipating my arrival, a subtle smile playing on her lips. The casual conversation, the shared duties, they were merely a prelude to the storm that was about to erupt. As we moved towards the bedroom, the air thickened, charged with unspoken desires. Her movements were deliberate, sensual, a silent invitation to abandon all restraint. The moment she discarded her clothes, the sight was both shocking and exquisite. Her pussy, meticulously shaved down to almost nothing, was a pale landscape begging for exploration. The smoothness of her skin, the subtle curve of her belly, the delicate dusting of hair clinging to her pussy lips - it was a masterpiece of vulnerability. I'd missed this so much. It was too much, it was too hot.

The tension escalated as we settled onto the bed, an uncomfortable distance between us, yet somehow close enough to feel the heat radiating from her. She took the lead, her movements slow and deliberate, a deliberate invitation. Her clit, exposed and vulnerable, began to throb, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. As I gently stroked my cock, mirroring her movements, a wave of pleasure washed over me, a confirmation of my control, my dedication. The rhythmic friction built, each stroke intensifying the mounting anticipation. We were both lost in the moment, our bodies aching for release, desperate for connection.

The bath was a ritual, a cleansing before the inevitable. The warm water enveloped us, loosening our inhibitions, peeling away the layers of the day. Naked and vulnerable, we lay side-by-side, the scent of lavender filling the air. Her legs opened wide, revealing the shocking pink of her pussy, glistening with moisture. It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse. The slow, deliberate movements of her clit, the rhythmic pull and release, ignited a fire within me, a primal urge that threatened to consume me. My cock, hard as a rock, pulsed with anticipation. Each stroke was a deliberate act of dominance, a testament to my control, and a silent plea for her pleasure. The sounds we made, moans and gasps of pure bliss, filled the room, a symphony of lust and desire.

Then, she came. A powerful, earth-shattering orgasm ripped through her body, shaking her from head to toe. The force of it knocked me off balance, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. Her body stiffened, every muscle tensed, as she rode the wave of ecstasy. I watched, mesmerized, as her tits bounced and bucked, her hips undulating in a frenzy of pleasure. The heat radiating from her was intoxicating, a physical manifestation of her arousal. As she finished, her body slumped back against the pillows, exhausted but satisfied. The intensity of her pleasure had left me breathless, my own body trembling with the aftershocks. The urge to lose control, to succumb to the primal instincts, was overwhelming.

I moved to claim her, pulling her down onto my lap, close enough to feel her warmth, her scent, her life force. The raw intimacy of the moment was both exhilarating and terrifying. I grabbed her, turning her on her side, forcing her to reach back and grasp my dripping cock. The sensation of her fingers tracing the length of my shaft, the anticipation of the inevitable, was almost unbearable. Her pussy, still moist and sensitive, begged for attention. I leaned down, savoring the sight of her exposed body, before thrusting my hard cock deep within her. The pain, the pleasure, the release, it was all so intense, so consuming. She screamed her delight, her body writhing in response.

The rhythm intensified, our bodies locked in a frenzied dance of lust and passion. Every thrust was a declaration of love, a testament to our connection. The clit, still throbbing with pleasure, demanded further attention. I reached around, gently teasing her sensitive spot, drawing out a moan from her lips. It was a moment of exquisite anticipation, a slow burn that threatened to ignite into an inferno. At last, she came again, a second wave of ecstasy washing over her body. We both collapsed, gasping for breath, our bodies slick with sweat and tears. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the shared pleasure of the moment.

As the sun rose, casting a golden glow over the room, we lay entangled in each other's arms, spent but satisfied. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent. My wife reached for my cock, pulling it deep down her throat, a final, intimate act of devotion. I welcomed the sensation, the taste of her warm, moist flesh, the feeling of being completely consumed by her. As she began to finger-fuck my pussy, my g-spot, I knew this was just the beginning. The weekend was far from over, and the possibilities seemed endless. A slow smile spread across my face, a silent promise of more pleasure, more passion, more love. Thank you, Jesus, it was good to be back home again!!!

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