Seed's Promise: A Husband's Release

The days are long, and the work is hard, so when my husband, “B,” gets home hours after dark, I start the shower to let him release the grime and worries of the day. The shower isn’t the only thing that’s wet, but tonight I put my own desperation aside to make sure he’s recuperating for the hard day of seeding tomorrow.

B emerges from the shower wrapped in a towel and retreats to the dark of the living room for a snack and some mindless scrolling to unwind. Eyeing the open kitchen blinds that broadcast our suite to the dark neighborhood beyond, I don my robe to hide my alert nipples and hungry center.

“Lean forward, hun, and I’ll work some of the tension out of your shoulders,” I say, climbing behind him on the couch, nestling his back against my chest as I massage his strong neck and shoulders. I snuggle tight against him; the heat from my naked crotch must be so obvious. As he muses on the day’s work, I manipulate his muscles. Relief follows relief as tensions lessen and tightness relaxes.

As my right hand kneads his neck, my left deftly unties my robe and flicks the front open. My nipples tickle across his back, hard in the cool air. I try not to moan, focusing on his pleasure instead.

With a glance toward the illuminated kitchen (and windows), I perch on the arm of the couch. I’m mere inches from being in view of any awake neighbor, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take. B leans back into me as I massage his scalp, his neck, his shoulders, his collarbone. Again, my left hand goes rogue and flicks the robe from both shoulders. I’m now nude, with my love between my open legs and my passions burning.

I lean to massage his arms, and his face grazes my breast as I bend. I know he knows what I’m doing, but neither of us will acknowledge it. When I lean for the other arm, he quickly nips at my flesh. Still behind him, my heat radiates as I continue to slowly massage and caress him until I think I’m going to burst.

Taking care to avoid the kitchen light, I move to the floor. I crawl to B’s feet and sit on my ankles with open knees. As I massage his feet, I am perfectly exposed and perfectly submissive. My hands work expertly to bring relief, but we both are distracted by the sway of my breasts and the jolt as they tickle across his skin when I lean. I work his ankles, then rub slow and hard passes up the outsides of his calves. My desire is on fire, but tonight is about him. I slide his towel up and diligently rub his knees.

His denim blue eyes glisten. “Do you want me to rally?”

I shush him and continue my massage as his head lolls back. This time, he moves the towel, and his manhood is finally available. Unrushed despite my personal urgency, I continue to rub and caress his legs, then dedicate a hand to trail delicately up his thigh and across his balls and lightly trace the veins on his member. His moans fill the shadowed room, but I force myself to go slow.

As my fingers tickle over his growing length, I kiss, lick and nip from his ankles to his thighs. Now both hands are in his lap, and my warm mouth is eager to join them.

Abandoning the usual routine, my tongue avoids his rod and teases around instead. My hands pulse along his girth while my mouth visits his thighs. I gently tug, circling my hands up and down his length as I nibble his navel. Finally, my tongue explores his balls, and he sits up with a jolt. Refusing to be distracted, I push him back to the couch and move to kneel between his legs.

His rigid dick is at attention, and I marvel at how he manages to conceal that beast during the day. As I pull my hair back to give him a sturdy handhold, I nuzzle his crotch and feel his hard pole knock against my nose, chin, and cheeks. He moves to sit up again. “Patience,” I coo, drawing his hips forward to the edge of the couch. But neither of us can take the teasing any longer.

I flatten my tongue and run it from his balls up the underside of his shaft. He quivers as I hold his rod and lap around the top, then point my tongue to trace every detail of his head and foreskin. I’m panting, desperate to envelop him but adamant about extending his pleasure. Unable to hold back any longer, I clutch his hips and sink my mouth as far onto him as I can. My lips seal around him, and I slowly pull back. I can’t tell whose moans are whose. I release him with a pop, then swirl my tongue around the end before descending again. His hands are on my face, tenderly caressing as I bob.

Insatiable, I bring my face higher on his lap and nestle his hand into my hair. Plunging my mouth onto him, I open my jaw and sink until my nose brushes against his treasure trail. My eyes water, but at the sounds of his appreciation, I hold myself down there and swirl my tongue until my lungs are burning and I need to come up for air. Then I withdraw, replace my mouth with my hands, and urgently jack his shaft with one hand while fondling the top with the other.

“Shit, hun, what was that?” He humps into my hands but looks at me with concern as I catch my breath.

“That’s me choosing to spoil you.” And with a wink, I descend again. Always a gentleman, he attempts to hold still to avoid choking me, but I ravenously engulf him. I pull on his hips to time thrusts with my bobs, plunging him as deep into my tight throat as I can, rhythmically choking him back and swallowing against his shaft until I think I’m going to burst. I retreat to lick and lap, then returning to inhale him.

My hand finds his balls and gently tugs and tickles. As I feel him tense, I brace to swallow his cum for the first time in our marriage—he’s never wanted to “desecrate” me, but I’m hungry for the intimacy of such a submissive act. But my excitement is cut short as he catches my chin and pulls me off.

“Your pussy, now.”

Who would deny such a request? I climb my hunky husband and bury my face in his neck as I sink onto his shaft in one motion. My shriek is muffled, but his exhaled “fuck” could have woken the neighborhood. As we ride the waves of pleasure together, his stamina astounds me. The couch thumps against the wall. The pictures rattling go unheard over his grunts and my chorus of “fuck me, fill me, oh yes, oh yes, fuck, more, give it to me!”

His eyes flash, and with a roar, my pleas for his nectar are met. I squeak and gasp as he pulses and continues to thrust, feeling his warmth flow into me. Suddenly his mouth is on mine as we ride the waves of pleasure together. As I feel him wane, his mouth goes to my ear, my neck, my chest. Still embedded deep within me, he hungrily attacks my breasts, lapping at my areoles, sucking on my pert nipples, and biting my fleshy globes. In no time, I’m gushing to mingle my fluids with his.

We clean up in a haze of bliss, absently wondering if we adequately concealed ourselves from the windows during our vigorous connection. B rolls to spoon me as we climb beneath the sheets, and I draw his hands up to cup my breasts. I flinch, and my finger traces the growing welt left by his hungry attention that brought me over the peak.

All in all, a successful night: the best blow job of our marriage (so far) for him, a deep fuck for both of us, and a souvenir for me.

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