Lost Weekend Lust

The rain hammered against the windows of our penthouse suite, a relentless, insistent rhythm that mirrored the insistent throb building in my groin. Saturday had been a blur of sun, green, and the clinking of ice in glasses, followed by the predictable ache of a long day on the links. Now, Sunday morning found me staring at the ceiling, a slow, delicious burn spreading through me as the memory of my wife, Seraphina, played out in my mind. She’d been a tease all day, sending a series of increasingly provocative texts, each accompanied by a new, breathtakingly naked photo. The anticipation, the unspoken promise hanging in the air between us, had built until it felt unbearable. Then, the inevitable: two rounds of golf, a few celebratory beers with the boys, and finally, the quiet, solitary return home.

And there she was, sprawled across the king-sized bed, lost in the embrace of sleep. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow, framing a face sculpted by both beauty and a mischievous spirit. The thought of leaving, of abandoning this exquisite moment, felt like a betrayal, a denial of the primal urge that had taken root within me. The insistent pounding in my groin was a tangible reminder of what I was missing, what I desperately needed.

6:30 AM found me stirring, the remnants of last night’s indulgence clinging to me like a second skin. The sight of her, vulnerable and unguarded in her sleep, ignited a fresh wave of desire. She was naked, her pale skin glistening with moisture, one leg drawn up beneath her. The curve of her hip, the gentle swell of her belly, painted a picture of perfect sensuality. It was an invitation, a silent plea to abandon my plans and indulge in the pleasure that awaited.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her, and padded over to the bedside table. A small, silver pistol lay there, a silent testament to our shared fantasies. But my gaze wasn’t drawn to the weapon. It was focused entirely on her, on the intoxicating scent of her skin, on the promise of the exquisite sensations she held within.

Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and gently massaged her clitoris, my fingers tracing the delicate folds of skin. Her breathing deepened, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she began to stir. The first blush of color crept up her neck, a signal that the pleasure was taking hold. As she fully awoke, she stretched languidly, pulling her legs closer to her chest. The sheets slid off her body, revealing the full extent of her nakedness. Her body was a masterpiece, each curve and contour sculpted by nature and honed by pleasure.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I murmured, my voice husky with desire.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes fluttering open. A slow smile spread across her lips, a silent acknowledgment of my intentions. “You look like you have some unfinished business,” she whispered, her voice a low, seductive rumble.

“Indeed,” I replied, pulling her closer, my hands caressing her waist. “I was thinking about that tease you sent me last night.”

Her laughter was a melodic sound, a confirmation of my thoughts. She rolled over, spreading her legs wide, inviting my touch. The heat radiating from her body intensified my arousal, sending shivers down my spine. I leaned down, inhaling deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent of her flesh.

Then, I began to lick her honey pot, my tongue exploring every inch of her delicate skin. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me. She moaned softly, arching her back as she intensified her movements. The urgency in her touch fueled my own, pushing me to the edge of ecstasy.

It wasn’t enough to simply taste her; I needed to penetrate her, to lose myself completely in her embrace. With a surge of adrenaline, I entered her from behind, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer. The feel of her body against mine sent a jolt of electricity through my veins. Her muscles tensed as I pushed deeper, feeling her moan louder, her breathing becoming more frantic. The world narrowed down to the sensation of her body, the rhythm of our movements, the overwhelming desire consuming me.

As she came, her body convulsed with pleasure, her leg kicking against my back. The power of the thrust was incredible, sending waves of sensation through my body. It felt as if my own pleasure was being amplified by hers, a perfect synchronization of our needs. I let out a guttural cry, lost in the moment, unable to resist the pull of her ecstasy.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body arching further back as she pulled me closer. The heat between us intensified, the air thick with the scent of arousal. We continued to ride until her release brought a wave of relief, followed by an even greater surge of desire.

After a moment, she shifted her position, pulling me down onto her lap. She grabbed my head with both hands, pulling me hard against her as she began to suck my cock. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, a primal connection that transcended words. I moaned in response, lost in the depths of her embrace. Her rhythm was masterful, each stroke a new wave of sensation washing over me.

I felt myself losing control, succumbing to the intoxicating power of the moment. There was no thought, no resistance, only the pure, unadulterated pleasure of being consumed by her. The world faded away, leaving only the sensation of her lips on my skin, the heat of her body, and the overwhelming desire that burned within me.

Finally, as she reached the peak of her arousal, she thrust deeply, sending a powerful wave of pleasure through me. I let out a final, desperate cry as my muscles tensed, my body quivering with the force of her thrust. Then, she pulled away, leaving me breathless and spent.

She gently wiped her mouth, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, that was satisfying,” she said, her voice filled with amusement.

I lay there, panting, unable to speak, my body aching with pleasure. As she pulled the sheets back up, covering us both in their comforting embrace, I knew that I would never forget this morning, this moment of perfect, uninhibited pleasure. The rain continued to beat against the windows, but it no longer seemed intrusive, merely a gentle soundtrack to our shared experience. The lingering scent of her skin, the memory of her touch, would remain with me long after the storm had passed. It was a Sunday morning quickie, a stolen moment of bliss, and one that I would cherish forever. The thought of leaving for a few days suddenly felt even more unbearable, a cruel irony in the face of such exquisite pleasure.

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