Secret Servitude: A Dirty Game

The humid Louisiana air hung thick and heavy, clinging to my skin as I slipped out of bed, the scent of jasmine from the garden drifting in through the open French doors. My wife, Seraphina, was still lost in the depths of sleep, her dark hair a tangled mess on the pillow. The sight of her, vulnerable and unaware, ignited a familiar heat within me, a primal urge that had simmered beneath the surface for years. Two months. It had taken me two months to summon the courage to actually do this, to cross the line and face the potential consequences. But the thought of her, the promise of her pleasure, had been too strong to resist.

As I rose onto my knees, pulling the thin cotton sheet up around my waist, I felt a surge of anticipation. The anticipation itself was a form of arousal, a building pressure that intensified as I began to stroke my member, directing it towards her lips. It was a slow, deliberate movement, designed to awaken her without fully rousing her. Each stroke felt like a silent invitation, a plea for her to acknowledge my desire.

Her eyes fluttered open, a slow, deliberate blink that seemed to take an eternity. She stared at me, her gaze both curious and slightly apprehensive. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken longing. Then, a slow smile spread across her face, a knowing, mischievous expression that sent shivers down my spine.

“I’ve been wanting to show you how I masturbate, baby,” she whispered, her voice husky and low. The words hung in the air, a declaration of intent that both thrilled and terrified me.

Reaching down with my right hand, I gently rubbed her already wet pussy, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palm. “Mmmm, daddy!” she moaned, the sound a low, guttural vibration that resonated through my body. The pleasure she derived from my touch was intoxicating, a potent reminder of the connection between us.

Staring at my engorged tip, she invited me in by opening her mouth. Without hesitation, I leaned forward, plunging my shaft into her waiting embrace. Her tongue, slick and eager, immediately began to lick up and down my member, while her hands gripped my balls, pulling me deeper into her pleasure. "Fuck me, daddddyyyy!!" she screamed, her voice laced with desperate need.

“In a minute, baby… keep sucking daddy,” I grunted, my voice strained with exertion. The sensation was overwhelming, a torrent of pleasure that threatened to consume me entirely. My fingers delved deeper into her pussy, feeling the delicate ridges of her labia against my fingertips. She popped me out of her mouth, and a warm, viscous stream of pre-cum splattered across my chest, staining the white cotton of my undershirt.

“Fuck me, daddddyyyy!!!” she pleaded again, her voice rising in pitch with each desperate gasp. Her body arched backwards, her hips thrust forward, as she wriggled against my thrusts. I watched in fascination as her tits bounced, their nipples standing at attention, begging for release.

Spreading her sexy legs, I saw her whiteness dripping, glistening in the dim light of the bedroom. “Daddy will enter you, baby,” I whispered, my voice thick with anticipation. Reaching inside, I felt the slickness of her vaginal wall against my fingers, a promise of even greater pleasure to come. The pressure built, a slow, insistent build-up that escalated into a frenzied rhythm.

Our hips joined, and I began to pound her, stopping only to bury my face in her warm pussy for a while. She loved to be teased, although she had never admitted to it. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a delicious torture that left me desperate for release.

Plunging into her body, I hammered her, watching her tits bounce, their nipples standing at attention. The feeling of her body convulsing beneath me was intensely pleasurable, a symphony of muscle spasms and moans. We could hold it no longer!

“Mmmm, fuck!!!!” I grunted, letting out a snort of air like some crazed wolf in heat. My stream followed, a torrent of warm, golden fluid that filled her pussy, coating her labia in a glistening sheen. Her body twitched as orgasms took over her body, her muscles clenching and releasing in a series of violent spasms.

Holding each other as we came down the mountain together, I whispered, “I love you, baby. More than my life.” Her moans subsided into soft sighs, her body relaxing against mine. The feeling of connection, of shared pleasure, was profound, a testament to the depth of our love. As the last vestiges of arousal faded, we lay there entwined, our bodies still trembling with the afterglow of our release. The scent of jasmine filled the room, mingling with the lingering aroma of sex, a potent reminder of the night we had shared. The humid Louisiana air still hung heavy, but now it felt different, charged with a new energy, a sense of intimacy and connection that transcended the physical. Looking down at her, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even, I knew that this was just the beginning. There were countless nights yet to come, countless opportunities to explore the depths of our desire, to push the boundaries of our pleasure, and to deepen the connection that bound us together. The world outside our bedroom door faded away, leaving us alone in our sanctuary of lust and passion.

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