Secrets of Her First Pleasure

The scent of coconut oil hung heavy in the air, a tropical promise mingling with the familiar musk of my wife, Joy. Ten years of marriage, a decade of shared intimacy, and yet, tonight felt utterly novel. I’d been feeling particularly restless, a simmering heat building within me as we lay tangled in the sheets, both naked save for her delicate lace panties. She’d taken the initiative, scooping a generous portion of the fragrant oil onto my cock, her touch sending shivers down my spine. The familiar weight of my erection intensified under her ministrations, a slow, deliberate massage that amplified the desire building within me. We’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm of reminiscing, trading stories of past encounters and secret fantasies, a ritual we’d established long ago.

“I don’t know why I’ve never asked,” I murmured, my voice thick with anticipation, “but when did you start masturbating?”

Her response caught me off guard. “I never told you that?” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of defensiveness. A thousand questions flooded my mind, the sheer strangeness of this revelation only heightening my excitement. I shook my head, still lost in the pleasure of her touch. “We’ve been married ten years. How did it never come up before now?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, unable to tear my eyes away from the way her fingers danced across my shaft. She swirled her palm around my frenulum, a slow, sensual rhythm that sent fresh waves of heat through me. I instinctively reached out, tracing the delicate curve of her breasts with my hand, savoring the feel of her soft skin against my fingertips. “Well, we were there, making out on the couch after school one afternoon, before my parents got home. You were the older college boy, so hot and sexy. It was all very exciting and new, since I’d never had a boyfriend before.” The memory of that day, a whirlwind of nervous energy and burgeoning attraction, resurfaced in my mind. We’d been making out on my couch, lying on our sides, our legs intertwined, my thigh pressed against her crotch, her legs wrapped around my leg. The kisses were intense, desperate, fueled by the raw, unbridled emotions of youth. It was a time of innocent abandon, a first taste of pleasure that I’d long forgotten.

“Really? You never masturbated before we started dating? You were like 18!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my surprise.

“I know, but I was always the good girl,” she replied, a wistful smile playing on her lips. The contrast between her youthful innocence and the passionate experience she was about to share was striking. "Clearly," I said, unable to resist the urge to tease her further, "And clearly not a dude. We start way young. I was like 12 or 13 when I started masturbating.” We both burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room as we acknowledged our shared penchant for exploring our own bodies. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire, “Keep going.”

Her movements intensified, her touch growing more insistent, more demanding. The tingling sensation in my clitoris escalated into a throbbing ache, a sign that the pleasure was building, reaching a fever pitch. As she continued her rhythmic strokes, my muscles tensed involuntarily, anticipating the imminent release. I could feel my erection pressing against her stomach, a constant reminder of the immense power she held over me. The excitement was almost unbearable, a potent cocktail of lust and anticipation. “Well,” she said smoothly, enjoying teasing me, knowing I was close, “we kept kissing, I got closer and closer, closer and closer, until I realized it was too late to stop if I wanted to.” The heat intensified, building to a crescendo as her movements grew faster, more frantic.

“And suddenly my pussy squeezed and this feeling just exploded from my clit and my muscles contracted all over,” she continued, her voice a breathless whisper. “I kept rubbing against your thigh and cumming and cumming and I have no idea how you didn’t notice because it was really big.” The words hung in the air, laced with a hint of both embarrassment and triumph. I moaned, my body convulsing with the pleasure, unable to resist the overwhelming sensation. My penis twitched involuntarily, a primal response to the escalating intensity. A torrent of cum erupted from me, a massive wave of pleasure that cascaded down my stomach, soaking the sheets and leaving a trail of glistening droplets on her hand. It was a deluge of sensation, a release of pent-up desire that left me breathless and weak. My hand instinctively reached out, gripping her waist, pulling her closer as I continued to release, losing myself in the moment. The air grew thick with the scent of arousal, the rhythm of our bodies intertwined in a symphony of pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” she purred, her voice husky with pleasure, “Cum for me. Mmmmm.” As I finally released, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, followed by an intense sense of satisfaction. I let her go, allowing her to take the lead, enjoying the lingering warmth of her touch. We exchanged a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection we shared. “I love you,” we both whispered simultaneously, the words a testament to the enduring power of our love. The scent of coconut oil lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the night we rediscovered each other, of the secrets we’d shared and the pleasure we’d found in each other's arms. It was a night I would never forget, a testament to the enduring power of desire and the beauty of shared intimacy. The memory of her first orgasm, a moment of vulnerability and raw emotion, had forged an even deeper bond between us, solidifying our love and solidifying our commitment to one another.

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Secrets of Her First Pleasure

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