Sated Saturday Secrets

The rain hammered against the windows, a frantic rhythm mirroring the building tension in the room. Three months. Three months since we’d had a truly uninterrupted Saturday, a day devoid of chores, obligations, or the constant hum of the outside world. Just Hubby, hammering away at the deck, and me, lost in the familiar comfort of laundry and gardening. But today, something had shifted. A persistent, insistent whisper of desire, a craving that had been simmering beneath the surface, demanding to be unleashed. “Gee, I’d like to get pounded pretty good tonight,” the thought echoed through my mind, unbidden and insistent. It wasn’t a new sensation, but the lack of recent attention had made it feel particularly acute.

I changed into a barely-there thong, the cool cotton a small comfort against my skin, and rubbed a vanilla frosting-scented enhancer onto my clitoris. The scent, oddly reminiscent of pancake syrup, was a bizarre but not entirely unpleasant surprise. It was a deliberate act, a signal to myself, a confirmation of my intention. All afternoon, I luxuriated in the anticipation, meticulously planning my strategy for securing the attention I desperately needed. The oversized t-shirt I wore, concealing the fact that I’d shed my shorts, felt like a shield, a subtle invitation to observe my dedication to domestic tasks. Hubby, focused on his projects, was oblivious to the simmering heat beneath my skin. The sight of me folding laundry, a simple, unadorned pleasure, seemed to bring him a certain satisfaction, a silent acknowledgment of my willingness to play the role of the submissive wife.

As the aroma of dinner filled the air, Hubby finished his shower, the steam momentarily obscuring his face. He then settled into the living room, turning on the spring football league playoffs, completely engrossed in the action. The oversized t-shirt provided ample cover for the fact that I’d taken my bra off, further emphasizing my vulnerability and desire. I straddled his lap, a deliberate display of invitation, and delivered a passionate kiss, followed by a direct, almost demanding, “I want you.” His hands instinctively rose, tracing the curve of my spine, before eventually finding their way to my backside. “Mmmm,” he murmured, a low, appreciative rumble, as he noticed the thong. It wasn't a complaint, just a simple observation, a confirmation of my intent. I held my hands firmly on his shoulders, resisting the urge to grasp his cock through his shorts, determined to maintain control, to be the one in charge of the pace and intensity of the encounter.

After a few minutes, I sat up, pulling my shirt over my head, offering him full, uninhibited access to my breasts. My nipples, already hard with anticipation, flared visibly as he began sucking and playing with them. The pleasure was immediate, intense, and utterly addictive. I moaned, pushing my tits into his face, demanding that he consume them, savor every inch. It wasn’t just about physical sensation; it was about the power dynamic, the control I exerted, the delicious surrender I experienced in his pleasure. But this was just the beginning. My desires ran deeper, more complex, and I knew exactly what I needed.

I bent down, kissing him with a desperate urgency, then issued a command: “We need to go upstairs, you have a lot to do.” Guiding him towards the bedroom, I felt a surge of excitement, anticipating the next phase of our encounter. The fact that my thong was soaked was a small, playful reminder of our previous intimacy, a silent invitation to delve even deeper.

In the bedroom, he shed his clothes with a swift efficiency, his eyes lingering on my exposed body. He stroked my cock for a brief moment, a prelude to the main event, before positioning it between my legs. It was a calculated move, designed to heighten my arousal, to amplify the anticipation. I lay on the bed, spreading my legs wide, inviting him to take charge, to initiate the intimate act.

He leaned down, kissing me deeply, then began to go down on me, his movements slow and deliberate, focusing entirely on my pleasure. It was a sensation that built gradually, escalating in intensity until it became almost unbearable. I had planned this carefully, meticulously mapping out every moment, every sensation, ensuring that my every whim was catered to. I had to get into it, fully immerse myself in the experience, but there was a strategy behind my submission, a subtle control that allowed me to maintain a sense of power.

As he continued his descent, I shifted my weight, anticipating the inevitable climax. My muscles tensed, bracing myself for the inevitable wave of pleasure, while simultaneously maintaining a firm grip on his head, pulling his face into my own. “Suck my clit!” I demanded, the command laced with urgency and desire. It was a well-known trigger for me, a guaranteed path to ecstasy. The pleasure arrived swiftly, powerfully, a surge of sensation that left me breathless and trembling. After a few moments, I allowed him to lick me for another minute or two, savoring the lingering warmth of the orgasm, before issuing another demand: “Go wash your face and I’ll suck on you until you’re hard again. I want some more!”

A mischievous glint sparked in my eyes as I waited for him to fulfill his task. He had a counter-offer, a suggestion that piqued my interest: “I’m hard now. How about I give you some now, and then I’ll do you as long as you like.” The implicit challenge was irresistible. It was a deal I was more than willing to accept. "How do you want me?" I asked, my voice a husky whisper.

“Just like this,” he replied, his gaze intense and focused. “I love to watch those tits bounce while I’m giving it to you.” My tits, already swollen with anticipation, began to quiver involuntarily, responding to his words. I nodded, acknowledging his request, while simultaneously intensifying my grip on his head, pulling him closer.

“Okay but I want you to really give it to me hard!” I commanded, my voice filled with both pleasure and control. I felt a surge of anticipation as he began to comply, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. It wasn’t just about physical sensation; it was about the power dynamic, the control I exerted, the delicious surrender I experienced in his pleasure.

His cock felt fantastic, and he delivered the goods with a raw, unbridled intensity. My tits bounced all over the place, a visual testament to the pleasure he was providing, as I moaned with each thrust, each penetration. The poor guy struggled to maintain his balance as he came inside me, his face flushed with exertion. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated passion, a moment of shared ecstasy that left us both breathless and spent. My pussy was now completely full, and I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, both physical and emotional.

But we weren't done yet. There was still so much pleasure to be had, so many sensations to explore. "Go clean up," I told him, a hint of playful command in my voice, "and I’ll suck on you until you’re hard again. I want some more!” I lay there, basking in the afterglow of our previous encounter, waiting for him to return to the bedroom, eager to resume our shared pleasure. (He'd get laid more if he'd finish the upstairs bathroom project!)

When he finally reappeared, his body glistening with sweat, he lay down on the bed, offering his lap once again. I took his head in my hands, pulling his face into my own, and began to play with his cock, scratching his shaft and balls with my nails, stimulating his arousal. He loved this sensation, this playful dominance, and I found immense pleasure in indulging his desires. He started to firm up, responding to my ministrations, and I intensified my touch, digging my nails deeper into his flesh. He was clearly enjoying himself, and I reveled in his pleasure.

As he continued to harden, I swirled my tongue around his head, teasing and tantalizing him before drawing it back to his mouth and sucking deeply, savoring every inch of his arousal. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, and utterly addictive. It wasn't just about physical sensation; it was about the power dynamic, the control I exerted, the delicious surrender I experienced in his pleasure. He was ready to give me more, and I knew exactly what I wanted.

“You need to get behind me and pound me some more,” I demanded, my voice a low, husky murmur. He eagerly obliged, positioning himself behind me, his body tensed with anticipation. “Put your cock in me NOW!” I commanded, my voice filled with both desire and control. He filled me up, while I used my favorite vibe on my clit. It was a perfect combination, a blend of pleasure and power that left me breathless and trembling. I started having orgasms in seconds, each wave of sensation more intense than the last. His cock was hitting all the right spots, and I frequently told him “Harder” or “Faster!” Sometimes he would just grab my hips and pound it into me! The whole thing was even better than I had imagined.

I was amazed that, despite all he did to my pussy, he didn’t cum yet! But this girl wasn’t going to complain! I must have gotten at least an hour of his cock in my pussy, and so many orgasms I couldn’t count them!

In the middle of him pumping me, I even thought about anal… But it all feltsooogood, and I was so exhausted that it would have to wait for another time.

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