Morning Wood Revelation

April 12, 2018: The soft light of morning began to inch into our bedroom, casting grey shadows through the closed plantation blinds. Flat on my back in bed and alone, I was in that half-sleep, half-awake stage, coming to terms with the new day. I heard my wife turn off the blow dryer in the bathroom and saw the sheets covering my naked body tented by some serious morning wood.

My wife opened the bathroom door and walked in front of the bed on her way to the closet. She wore only her bra and a narrow pair of panties that displayed the words “property of” followed by my name across her ass.

Man, how I love that ass. The sheets jerked as my hard-on strained to reach the ceiling.

She turned and changed course, walking to the side of the bed and planting a wet, hot kiss on my forehead. “You’re going to get sex tonight. I promise,” she whispered.

“I’m going to get sex tonight?” I replied. “You should say, ‘If I’m lucky, my husband will make me crazy by having sex with me tonight.’ And then either your husband will or he won’t. He might choose to do something else.” I grinned, still lying on the bed watching her every move.

“Oh, you always want sex,” she bantered back, returning to the closet to finish dressing. “And tonight you’re going to get some.”

“Okay, you got me. I’m always up for meeting the woman of my dreams in bed—or anywhere.”

“So I see,” she answered, walking back to the bed and patting the top of my flagpole inflating the sheets, still throbbing and reaching for the stars. “Be careful,” I said as I sat up, “or I’ll have to get some this morning.” I pulled the sheets off and began to get out of bed.

“Sorry, big man,” she threw back at me, walking out the bedroom door into the upstairs hallway. “You’re on your own until tonight. I love you.” She closed the door and made her way downstairs; she was off to work.

“I love you, too,” I called back, “and don’t even think about teasing me. You’re on for tonight now. No turning back.” She hummed as I heard her heels on the polished wooden steps leading to the marble tile in the foyer below. I hummed, too, getting into the shower.

My wife teaches school. She has to be in her classroom early, much earlier than I must appear in my office. But that meant she would beat me home, as well. So by the time I’d parked the car in the garage that evening and passed through to the kitchen, my junk was already hard. It was pushing against my pants in anticipation. The natural friction between my penis and the fabric was even more of a turn on because I never wear underwear.

My wife was pulling one of my favorite meals out of the oven. We were home alone, dinner for two. We talked about our days at work, the kids, the weekend’s plans, and the news. I didn’t mention sex, and neither did she. But there was sexual tension in every minute.

After dinner, I told her I would be glad to do the dishes. I praised the perfect meal and said that she was free to relax in any way she liked.

“I’m going upstairs to our bedroom then,” she said, “to sit for a while and read.”

I imagined her in the yellow-checked easy chair in the corner of our bedroom, curled up with her Kindle like she loves to do.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she said. She turned as she left the room to give me a clear, ‘don’t waste too much time in the kitchen’ message in her glance. Deal!

With the dishes done, I walked into the bedroom and found her in the reading chair as I had predicted. She had changed clothes, though. Now she wore not her leggings and teacher-sweater but a camisole and those panties with my name on them.

Yes! I thought to myself. I stood on the far side of the bed and began to undress, watching her.

She was reading and, I’m sure by design, ignoring me. She knows that pushes my buttons and does it for fun.

I pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, inviting her to join me.

She looked up. “It’s about time,” she said with a sultry, I’m-going-to-rock-your-nuts-off tone that made my dick jump. She removed her camisole then pulled off her panties and waved them in my face.

The moment she lay next to me, I rolled over on top of her and began to kiss her with passion. The touch of her skin on mine has, from day one, electrified me. I dove deeper into her mouth with my tongue. Massaging her breasts with my hands, I found her nipples hard and already erect.

She threw her arms around my back, caressing me. Now and then, she dug her nails in or gave me a sharp slap.

I moved up to my knees, elevating my hips so that the head of my engorged cock could graze her slit and clit. Oh, was she wet! Like the dinner before, perfect.

After some time in this position, she put her hands against my chest and pushed up, as if to move me off. I extended my arms and did a push-up, bent at the waist. I stared down at her; her blond hair spread about the pillow, and her breasts glistened with my spit where I had been sucking and circling them, too.

“I want this to be all about you tonight,” she said softly. “I want you to think of nothing but yourself, doing what you want, how you want, not focused on bringing me over the top.” She looked into my face, gauging my response.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I’m the take-charge guy, the ‘I’m in control’ guy, most everywhere and certainly in my bedroom. But, I’m also the guy who always wants to be sure my wife has an orgasm or two or four before he gets down to his business.

“What? You want me to do my own thing without pleasuring you, too? Pleasuring you is my thing. You know that.” The thought stopped me in my tracks. This was new territory. “Is something the matter? If you’re not feeling well or want to call it a day, I’m good with that. We can sleep tonight and go for it tomorrow. Don’t go through the motions for me. You know I never want to be only ‘serviced.’ I need you to want me, to crave me, not just indulge me.”

“No, no,” she reassured me. “I do want you, I do crave you, and what I want is to watch you, to feel you, and to make you crazy. I’ve noticed myself lately getting so turned on by the way you experience sex with me. This time, I want to not think about myself but only you. Go wild, and let me experience the animal that you are.” There were tenderness and authenticity in her voice that melted me.

I rolled off and lay down on my back next to her. “Are you sure you want to have sex this way tonight?”

“Absolutely,” she answered, “I told you this morning YOU were going to get sex tonight. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. It’s an adventure for me, too.”

“Do you have any requests, as I ‘let myself go,’ tonight? Is there something you’d like me to do for you? That special move? That thing you love, whatever it is?” I smiled but posed the questions seriously.

“Yes. What I want is for you to get so turned on that you can’t think straight. Then explode with your cum inside of me and scream in pleasure like you’re in the jungle. That’s what I want. Do not wait for me to cum, do not pay attention to my reactions, just do it. Fuck me.”

Whoa. I am no stranger to using the F word in my bedroom, but my wife never uses it. She had told me before that she liked it when I “talk dirty” in bed and get verbal, especially because my speech in every other context is never profane. And she has always smiled and shivered when I am audible at orgasm, grunting or letting loose with a primal cry of ecstasy. But, “let me experience the animal that you are?” Wow. I knew she was pushing her envelope. I comprehended the gift she was giving me. And, honestly, it excited me.

I reached into the drawer of my nightstand that every man has, stocked with lubes, toys, and dreams. I grabbed my favorite “cooling” JO lubricant and squeezed a mess onto my throbbing cock, which stood at attention with veins bulging. Lying back, I said to my wife, “All right, let’s do this. Get your hand on my dick and start to make this happen. I want your other hand on my tits, pinching. You know how it works.”

“Wait,” she asked, “don’t you want to cum inside of me?”

“Oh, yes,” I grinned. “I am going to cum inside of you until you can’t take it anymore. But, right now, I want you to rough up my cock. Pump it. Squeeze it. Grab my balls, too.”

She laughed, “Okay, I get it.” She was all in, playing rough with me the way I like it. She massaged my balls while stroking and yanking my cock. Then she squeezed my nuts until I screamed.

One lubed hand moved to my nipples, which I have discovered to be one of my direct-line-to-my-cock zones. At first gently, then with some force, she dug her nails in or gave me a sharp slap.

I moved up to my knees, elevating my hips so that the head of my engorged cock could graze her slit and clit. Oh, was she wet! Like the dinner before, perfect.

After some time in this position, she put her hands against my chest and pushed up, as if to move me off. I extended my arms and did a push-up, bent at the waist. I stared down at her; her blond hair spread about the pillow, and her breasts glistened with my spit where I had been sucking and circling them, too.

“I want this to be all about you tonight,” she said softly. “I want you to think of nothing but yourself, doing what you want, how you want, not focused on bringing me over the top.” She looked into my face, gauging my response.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I’m the take-charge guy, the ‘I’m in control’ guy, most everywhere and certainly in my bedroom. But, I’m also the guy who always wants to be sure my wife has an orgasm or two or four before he gets down to his business.

“What? You want me to do my own thing without pleasuring you, too? Pleasuring you is my thing. You know that.” The thought stopped me in my tracks. This was new territory. “Is something the matter? If you’re not feeling well or want to call it a day, I’m good with that. We can sleep tonight and go for it tomorrow. Don’t go through the motions for me. You know I never want to be only ‘serviced.’ I need you to want me, to crave me, not just indulge me.”

“No, no,” she reassured me. “I do want you, I do crave you, and what I want is to watch you, to feel you, and to make you crazy. I’ve noticed myself lately getting so turned on by the way you experience sex with me. This time, I want to not think about myself but only you. Go wild, and let me experience the animal that you are.” There were tenderness and authenticity in her voice that melted me.

I rolled off and lay down on my back next to her. “Are you sure you want to have sex this way tonight?”

“Absolutely,” she answered, “I told you this morning YOU were going to get sex tonight. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. It’s an adventure for me, too.”

“Do you have any requests, as I ‘let myself go,’ tonight? Is there something you’d like me to do for you? That special move? That thing you love, whatever it is?” I smiled but posed the questions seriously.

“Yes. What I want is for you to get so turned on that you can’t think straight. Then explode with your cum inside of me and scream in pleasure like you’re in the jungle. That’s what I want. Do not wait for me to cum, do not pay attention to my reactions, just do it. Fuck me.”

Whoa. I am no stranger to using the F word in my bedroom, but my wife never uses it. She had told me before that she liked it when I “talk dirty” in bed and get verbal, especially because my speech in every other context is never profane. And she has always smiled and shivered when I am audible at orgasm, grunting or letting loose with a primal cry of ecstasy. But, “let me experience the animal that you are?” Wow. I knew she was pushing her envelope. I comprehended the gift she was giving me. And, honestly, it excited me.

I reached into the drawer of my nightstand that every man has, stocked with lubes, toys, and dreams. I grabbed my favorite “cooling” JO lubricant and squeezed a mess onto my throbbing cock, which stood at attention with veins bulging. Lying back, I said to my wife, “All right, let’s do this. Get your hand on my dick and start to make this happen. I want your other hand on my tits, pinching. You know how it works.”

“Wait,” she asked, “don’t you want to cum inside of me?”

“Oh, yes,” I grinned. “I am going to cum inside of you until you can’t take it anymore. But, right now, I want you to rough up my cock. Pump it. Squeeze it. Grab my balls, too.”

She laughed, “Okay, I get it.” She was all in, playing rough with me the way I like it. She massaged my balls while stroking and yanking my cock. Then she squeezed my nuts until I screamed.

One lubed hand moved to my nipples, which I have discovered to be one of my direct-line-to-my-cock zones. At first gently, then with some force, she dug her nails in or gave me a sharp slap.

I moved up to my knees, elevating my hips so that the head of my engorged cock could graze her slit and clit. Oh, was she wet! Like the dinner before, perfect.

After some time in this position, she put her hands against my chest and pushed up, as if to move me off. I extended my arms and did a push-up, bent at the waist. I stared down at her; her blond hair spread about the pillow, and her breasts glistened with my spit where I had been sucking and circling them, too.

“I want this to be all about you tonight,” she said softly. “I want you to think of nothing but yourself, doing what you want, how you want, not focused on bringing me over the top.” She looked into my face, gauging my response.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I’m the take-charge guy, the ‘I’m in control’ guy, most everywhere and certainly in my bedroom. But, I’m also the guy who always wants to be sure my wife has an orgasm or two or four before he gets down to his business.

“What? You want me to do my own thing without pleasuring you, too? Pleasuring you is my thing. You know that.” The thought stopped me in my tracks. This was new territory. “Is something the matter? If you’re not feeling well or want to call it a day, I’m good with that. We can sleep tonight and go for it tomorrow. Don’t go through the motions for me. You know I never want to be only ‘serviced.’ I need you to want me, to crave me, not just indulge me.”

“No, no,” she reassured me. “I do want you, I do crave you, and what I want is to watch you, to feel you, and to make you crazy. I’ve noticed myself lately getting so turned on by the way you experience sex with me. This time, I want to not think about myself but only you. Go wild, and let me experience the animal that you are.” There were tenderness and authenticity in her voice that melted me.

I rolled off and lay down on my back next to her. “Are you sure you want to have sex this way tonight?”

“Absolutely,” she answered, “I told you this morning YOU were going to get sex tonight. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. It’s an adventure for me, too.”

“Do you have any requests, as I ‘let myself go,’ tonight? Is there something you’d like me to do for you? That special move? That thing you love, whatever it is?” I smiled but posed the questions seriously.

“Yes. What I want is for you to get so turned on that you can’t think straight. Then explode with your cum inside of me and scream in pleasure like you’re in the jungle. That’s what I want. Do not wait for me to cum, do not pay attention to my reactions, just do it. Fuck me.”

Whoa. I am no stranger to using the F word in my bedroom, but my wife never uses it. She had told me before that she liked it when I “talk dirty” in bed and get verbal, especially because my speech in every other context is never profane. And she has always smiled and shivered when I am audible at orgasm, grunting or letting loose with a primal cry of ecstasy. But, “let me experience the animal that you are?” Wow. I knew she was pushing her envelope. I comprehended the gift she was giving me. And, honestly, it excited me.

I reached into the drawer of my nightstand that every man has, stocked with lubes, toys, and dreams. I grabbed my favorite “cooling” JO lubricant and squeezed a mess onto my throbbing cock, which stood at attention with veins bulging. Lying back, I said to my wife, “All right, let’s do this. Get your hand on my dick and start to make this happen. I want your other hand on my tits, pinching. You know how it works.”

“Wait,” she asked, “don’t you want to cum inside of me

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