Morning Shock: Her Unexpected Pleasure

The hum of the computer filled my tiny office, a constant, insistent drone against the backdrop of the rising sun. It was my lifeline, my escape, and increasingly, my prison. I needed these uninterrupted hours, these precious pockets of digital solitude to manage my live stream, a job that demanded my full attention and offered a surprisingly decent income. My wife, Sarah, and our two kids, eight-year-old Leo and six-year-old Maya, understood this, and they respected it, mostly. There were exceptions, of course, but the general rule was, “Don’t bother me when the work is happening.”

Yesterday, though, that rule was shattered, replaced by a bizarre, exhilarating, and frankly, a little shocking surprise. I was deep into a particularly stressful live event, a high-stakes poker game with thousands of viewers, when she entered the room. She was dressed in a pale lavender silk robe, the fabric clinging to her curves as she moved with a languid grace that always managed to unnerve me, even after all these years. My back was to the bed, a king-sized affair draped in a plush, cream-colored duvet, and the rest of the master bedroom was out of my sight. It was a carefully constructed sanctuary, designed to maximize my focus and minimize distractions.

“I wanted to give you something to look at while you work,” she said, her voice soft and deliberate. It wasn't a request, more of a statement of intent. I didn’t turn around immediately. My fingers still danced across the keyboard, navigating the complex interface of the streaming software. But a sense of unease began to creep in, a prickle of anticipation that had nothing to do with the poker game.

Finally, I pivoted in my ergonomic chair, slowly, deliberately, turning to face the bed. And there she was. Standing directly across the room, bathed in the morning light, she wore a provocative purple two-piece – a sheer, lace-trimmed bra and a minuscule, low-cut thong. It was a blatant display of confidence and sexuality, a calculated move that both thrilled and slightly terrified me. She was holding a powerful, industrial-grade vibrator, its chrome finish gleaming under the light. It was positioned strategically on the edge of the bed, pointed directly at me.

“What are you doing?” I managed to stammer out, my voice a mix of confusion and mounting excitement. My fingers froze over the mouse. The stream, the viewers, the money – all of it faded into the background. All I could focus on was the woman before me, the object of her silent, sensual assault.

“You sit right there and do your work while I give you something wonderful to look at while I feel great!” she replied, her voice laced with a playful challenge. There was a genuine joy in her eyes, a radiant energy that made my pulse quicken.

A slow smile spread across my face. “Well, okay,” I said, my voice husky with desire. It felt foolish, almost absurd, but I couldn't resist. The sheer audacity of her actions, the blatant disregard for my work schedule, was undeniably arousing.

As she turned on the vibrator, the low hum intensified, vibrating through the room and directly into my body. She remained standing, facing me, her gaze locked onto mine. It was an intense, captivating stare, full of knowing amusement and barely concealed pleasure. She smiled when I smiled, a silent acknowledgment of my enjoyment, a confirmation that she was fulfilling her unusual request. Funny thing about a good marriage is that you communicate a lot without words, and we both understood each other perfectly, reading the unspoken desires swirling beneath the surface.

She was observing my reaction, gauging my arousal, feeding off my pleasure. It wasn’t just about her own enjoyment; it was about the power she held, the control she exerted over my senses. And I, despite my protests, was willingly submitting to her dominance.

For several minutes, she moved the vibrator back and forth, back and forth, creating a rhythmic pulse of sensation that spread through my body. Her face became less interested in my reaction and more focused on her own experience, her eyes closed, her breathing deepening, her body subtly shifting as she reached the peak of her arousal. She let out a series of moans, each one a crescendo of pleasure, a primal expression of her satisfaction. Then, as if pushed over the edge, she lost all control, letting out a guttural yell of pure ecstasy, "Oh, this feels good!"

The force of her orgasm sent her crashing onto the bed, her body writhing in a tangle of limbs and fabric. I could barely focus on the computer screen, the stream of viewers a blur of pixels and faces. My attention was entirely consumed by the spectacle unfolding before me, by the raw, uninhibited pleasure of my wife. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy, a secret shared between us, a delicious transgression against the boundaries of our daily lives.

I watched, captivated, as she lay there, panting and flushed, her body radiating heat. A strange sense of disorientation washed over me. I couldn’t leave the computer, couldn’t pull myself away from the hypnotic rhythm of the vibrator and the intoxicating scent of her arousal. It was as if she had created a parallel reality, a world where work ceased to exist and pleasure reigned supreme.

“Wow, that felt great,” she said, her voice still slightly breathless, “I should do this every morning after the kids go to school.”

The thought struck me with surprising force. The image of her, confident and sensual, turning on that powerful vibrator every morning, while I continued to toil away at my computer, was both unsettling and undeniably appealing. The idea of my wife taking control, of her asserting her dominance in such a blatant, yet intimate way, was a fantasy I hadn’t even dared to entertain.

“Wow,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper, “how many men would like to see their wives do that every morning?” The question hung in the air, unspoken, yet understood. It was a silent acknowledgement of the power dynamic at play, the delicious tension between control and submission.

We continued to talk and laugh, the initial shock giving way to a comfortable intimacy. As she slowly regained her composure, she reached for me, pulling me closer until I was leaning over her, my face inches from her lips. "Get over here right now and go in me!" she commanded, her voice filled with a playful urgency.

Without hesitation, I complied. The touch of her skin against mine sent a jolt of electricity through my body, igniting a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for years. It was the ultimate surrender, a complete and utter abandonment of my responsibilities, a moment of pure, unbridled pleasure.

As I plunged into her, the world narrowed down to the sensation of her body against mine, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing, the taste of her skin. I forgot about the computer, the stream, the money, everything except the exquisite pleasure of being lost in her embrace. This wasn't just about sex; it was about connection, about trust, about a shared experience that transcended the ordinary.

By: Tina

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Morning Shock: Her Unexpected Pleasure

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