Red Stockings, Rough Awakening (L)

The scent of pine needles and cinnamon hung heavy in the air, clinging to the plush velvet of the Christmas tree. My eyes fluttered open, disoriented, as I realized I was nestled against Benjamin’s chest, the scent of his arousal a potent mix of heat and musk. A wave of confusion washed over me, quickly followed by a thrill as my gaze landed on his cock, a magnificent, muscular testament to our shared desires. It lay limp and vulnerable against his chest, a silent invitation that sent shivers down my spine.

Just last night, he’d called me his slut, a word that initially stung, yet now ignited a strange sense of empowerment. It wasn’t a term of degradation, but rather an acknowledgment of my insatiable lust, my complete surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. He’d seen my hunger, recognized my devotion, and embraced it, turning a taboo word into an expression of his deepest affection. It was a blessing, really, a way to strip away the pretenses and delve into the raw, primal connection between us.

My hand instinctively moved down, tracing the contours of his shaft as he slept, lost in the world of dreams. It slowly began to awaken, swelling and hardening beneath my fingertips, mirroring the escalating heat that pulsed through my own body. I wrapped my fingers around it, feeling its power, its potential for both pleasure and dominance. As I slid them up and down, a primal moan escaped my lips, a testament to the escalating anticipation.

The first spurt of cum was a surprise, a forceful release that landed with a warm splash on his legs and belly. It felt like a gift, a tangible expression of his desire for me. I gasped, a mixture of shock and delight, and instinctively licked the droplets from my hands, savoring the salty, potent taste. The sensation was intoxicating, a reminder of the exquisite connection we shared.

As the night wore on, our movements grew more frantic, our bodies locked in a desperate embrace. The room filled with the sounds of our shared pleasure, a symphony of moans, sighs, and gasps. I felt myself falling deeper into the depths of ecstasy, my body responding to every touch, every movement, every whispered word. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming, stripping away any remaining inhibitions.

Then, a sharp cry broke through the haze, pulling me back to reality. It was Matthew, our son, wailing in his crib upstairs. Without hesitation, I leaped out of bed, pulling on a robe and rushing to his side. After a quick diaper change, I cradled him in my arms, feeling the familiar surge of love and tenderness wash over me. The scent of baby powder mingled with the lingering aroma of arousal, creating an intoxicating blend that made my heart ache with contentment.

As I rocked him gently, a sudden weight pressed against my hips, followed by the insistent pressure of a hard cock against my ass through the silky fabric of my robe. It was Benjamin, returning from his clandestine mission. A slow smile spread across my face as I looked back at him, a silent acknowledgment of our shared desires.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” I whispered, leaning in close to his ear. “You know I love you.”

He hugged me tightly, his body radiating heat and passion. As I drew back, I noticed his hand reaching for the door handle, a subtle signal that he wanted to maintain the momentum. I feigned reluctance, pulling my robe closed, but my eyes betrayed my desire for more.

“I’ve been up here for a while,” I told him after shutting the nursery door, my voice a husky whisper. “Why do you ask?”

He spun me around, his grip firm, and leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “I had a dream that a slut jacked me off and made me cum everywhere,” he murmured, his voice laced with arousal.

The word hung in the air, a potent reminder of our shared fantasies. It wasn’t meant as an insult, but rather an expression of his unbridled lust, a recognition of my own insatiable appetite. It was a testament to the depth of our connection, the raw, primal force that bound us together.

“Sounds like you had an amazing dream,” I cooed, sliding my soles across the carpet in opposite directions, signaling my readiness.

“It was, but my dream ended before I was able to fuck you,” Benjamin said, his voice laced with frustration. He then began to grind his cock against my pussy, the friction sending shivers down my spine. The anticipation grew with each thrust, building to a fever pitch that threatened to overwhelm me.

As he pushed deeper, I felt the familiar heat spread through my body, a delicious agony that intensified with every movement. My knees weakened, and I braced myself against the wall under his armpits, clinging to the hope that he wouldn't let go.

“Ohhh, my God,” I gasped, as the pleasure reached its peak. My eyes rolled back, and I lost all sense of control, completely surrendering to the moment. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of sensations, a symphony of pleasure and pain. My body throbbed with each thrust, my muscles convulsing in response to his relentless assault.

As the final spurt of cum erupted, a torrent of hot, salty fluid, I felt myself falling limp, completely spent. Benjamin bowed his head against mine, his weight pressing me against the wall, and began to pray, his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Lord, for blessing me with Mary Beth, a true woman of God and servant to her family. Please bless our love and marriage for all eternity.”

I started crying, tears of pure ecstasy streaming down my face. As Benjamin pulled back, we shared a passionate kiss, lost in the aftermath of our shared pleasure. The room was filled with the scent of our mingled cum, a potent reminder of the intensity of our connection.

Just then, the sound of knocking echoed through the house, shattering the intimate atmosphere. The door swung open, revealing our sister-in-law and her children, their faces beaming with holiday cheer. Benjamin quickly excused himself, disappearing into the depths of the house before we could react.

As I watched him go, a mischievous glint sparked in my eyes. This was just the beginning. The night was still young, and the possibilities seemed endless.

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