Scarlet Recovery: A Valentine's Night

The scent of antiseptic still clung to the air, a grim reminder of the morning's events. Three weeks. Three agonizing weeks since Melody had undergone surgery, followed by an infection that had kept us from even a tentative touch. The gynecologist’s words echoed in my mind: “No sexual intercourse, no orgasms for two weeks.” Two weeks had passed, then another, and now, this morning, I found her in the bedroom, a strange, almost defiant vulnerability radiating from her as she moved with a languid grace that felt both shocking and exquisitely pleasurable. She was completely nude, her voluptuous breasts rising and falling as she stroked them with deliberate, almost provocative pleasure. A slow, sensual twerk accompanied the motion, a blatant invitation that sent a jolt of heat through me.

“You mean you want some of this?” she asked, her voice a husky whisper that seemed to vibrate against my skin. It wasn’t a question, more a statement, a challenge delivered with a playful glint in her eye. My own arousal spiked, a desperate need to answer that unspoken plea. Without hesitation, I stripped off my pajamas, ripping them off with a primal urgency. Then, driven by an almost uncontrollable desire, I moved closer, snapping a quick series of photos and recording a video, capturing this moment of raw, uninhibited sensuality. The act felt both illicit and liberating, a desperate attempt to reclaim a stolen pleasure.

As I approached her, we took turns engaging in oral titillation. Her tits, soft and yielding, begged for attention, and my own body responded with a primal need, my cock throbbing with anticipation. The sheer pleasure of this exchange, the shared vulnerability, was overwhelming. It was a desperate attempt to fill the void left by our restricted intimacy, a frantic race against the clock to ignite a passion that felt dangerously close to extinction.

“We better shower first,” she murmured, her voice laced with a hint of urgency. The thought of her body, now so exposed and vulnerable, sent a fresh wave of heat through me. The shower, however, became a further descent into unrestrained desire. She lathered herself up, her movements growing increasingly frantic as she stroked and pinched her hard nips, reveling in the sensation. The scent of soap mingled with the scent of her skin, creating a heady, intoxicating aroma. Half-obscured by the shower curtain, her hungry bedroom eye, filled with a feverish anticipation, made my pulse quicken. It was clear she was ready, desperate for release, and I was more than happy to oblige.

The quick, almost violent, cleansing that followed only intensified my longing. As we stepped out of the shower and onto the bed, she held my gaze, her body radiating an almost palpable heat. “I want you to come all over my breasts! These breasts here!” she commanded, her voice a low, insistent growl. Her words, laced with a touch of challenge, fueled my desire even further.

Without hesitation, I knelt by her head, her body a perfect curve beneath me. She gave me a generous, enthusiastic BJ, clearly relishing in the power dynamic, the control she exerted over my pleasure. It was a frenzied, almost chaotic affair, a desperate attempt to satiate her intense need. As she moved back to lie beside me, I carefully lubed her clitoris with coconut oil, anticipating the fiery pleasure that was to come. Then, I handed her my iVibe vibrator, a less powerful option, but one that felt perfectly suited to the moment.

As she applied the vibrator gently to her clitoris, she arched her back, crying out in anticipation. Her body shuddered with the promise of release, a visible manifestation of her pent-up desire. The speed of her orgasm was shocking, a stark contrast to the slow, deliberate pace we’d been maintaining. But even in its intensity, it felt strangely fulfilling, a testament to her desperate longing.

Despite her immediate desire for penetration, she was still sore from her recent surgery. I knew she needed something more, something beyond the purely physical. So, I rolled her onto her back and gently positioned myself above her, ready to fulfill her request. As she slid down, embracing my cock, I felt a surge of both tenderness and excitement. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and vulnerability.

This time, the blow job was a slow, deliberate dance, a sensual exploration of every inch of my body. She rotated through several techniques she had perfected over our 30-year marriage, each movement more intimate and stimulating than the last. Deep-throating my entire cock, she navigated its depths with surprising skill, her touch both firm and gentle. The intimacy was palpable, a shared experience of pleasure and vulnerability that transcended the purely physical.

As we took turns pumping my rod, she returned to my nipple with her talented mouth, continuing her masterful display of dominance. Then, she slid down again, her lips tracing the length of my shaft, both top and underside. She paused, savoring the moment, before returning to my glans, her touch lingering there with an almost possessive intensity. My orgasm arrived with a force that shook my entire body, a release of pent-up tension and desire. Cum shot into her beautiful face, a messy, vibrant testament to the pleasure we had shared.

“Ya got me!” she exclaimed, wiping her face with a soft microfiber cloth. The coincidental facial was always a welcome surprise, a small act of tenderness amidst the storm of passion. We caressed and cuddled for a while, savoring the lingering warmth of our shared pleasure.

As we rose to face the day, I couldn’t help but reflect on the events of the morning. We hadn't fulfilled her explicit request to penetrate her pussy or cum on her breasts, but honestly, I wasn’t complaining. Neither was she. Today, she was “wired for sound,” a clear indication that her longing for intimacy had only intensified over the past three weeks.

Looking at her, now radiating an almost youthful vitality, I realized that seeing her in this state, so utterly consumed by desire, was a gift in itself. It was a reminder of the enduring power of love, a testament to the deep connection we shared. I felt a surge of gratitude for this beautiful, intelligent, and undeniably sexy woman, my wife. Her words, spoken with genuine affection, echoed in my mind: “I think I’m just as grateful for you.” Today, I am truly blessed to have her by my side.

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