Seven Years Burning Desire

The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves hung heavy in the air as I pulled into the driveway, the setting sun painting the sky in bruised purples and fiery oranges. Seven years. Seven years since we’d said “I do,” seven years of building a life together amidst the sprawling fields and whispering pines of rural Mississippi. Seven years, and the primal pull towards her, my wife, Sarah, remained as potent as the day we first met. The seven-year itch wasn't some mythical beast; it was a relentless, insistent hunger that only she could satisfy.

She was waiting for me on the porch, a small wicker basket resting on her lap, filled with the comforting smells of slow-cooked chicken, crispy potato chips, and creamy potato salad. Her dress was simple, a pair of low-rise, high-waisted Levi’s jeans and a loose-fitting, off-the-shoulder belly shirt, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. The straps of the shirt had slipped off her shoulders, revealing the delicate swell of her breasts, and her nipples, swollen and dark, peeked out from beneath the thin cotton, a silent invitation. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, a small act of rebellion that somehow amplified her allure. The sight of her, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, sent a shiver down my spine, a familiar wave of desire washing over me.

I quickly shed my work clothes, a worn flannel shirt and jeans that felt suddenly restrictive, and swapped them for a simple black tank top and my usual size 34 jeans, hoping to return the gesture, to mirror her casual elegance. As I moved to join her, I caught her eye, a playful glint in her hazel gaze that promised an evening of unrestrained pleasure.

We made our way to the highest point of our property, a rocky outcrop overlooking the vast expanse of the Mississippi River. The wind whipped through my hair as we spread out our blanket, the scent of freshly cut grass mingling with the savory aroma of the picnic dinner. The air grew cooler as the sun dipped below the horizon, but the warmth of her body against mine, the shared intimacy of this secluded spot, kept us comfortably warm.

As we finished our meal, she reached into the basket and pulled out a sleek, black vibrator and a small jar of silicone gel. The mere sight of the device sent a jolt of heat through my body, my member instantly hard, eager for her touch. She held it up, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, and began to stroke my shaft, her touch feather-light at first, then building in intensity. The gel, slick and cool against my skin, enhanced her ministrations, making her movements all the more stimulating. Her hands moved with a practiced grace, teasing and tantalizing, expertly working their way up my penis.

Her kisses, insistent and passionate, followed her touch. She nibbled on my neck, her wet lips leaving a trail of salty pleasure, before devouring my mouth in a deep, insistent kiss. The world narrowed down to the feel of her breath on my skin, the taste of her mouth, the insistent rhythm of her heartbeat. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, feeling the heat radiate from her body.

With a final, lingering kiss, I reached for her shirt, my fingers fumbling with the buttons as I struggled to unfasten it. The fabric slid aside, revealing her breasts, each one perfectly formed, each nipple taut and sensitive. I took the opportunity to suck on her nipples, drawing out long, moaning sighs of pleasure. She arched into my arms, her body trembling with anticipation.

As I continued to explore her body, she shifted her weight, bringing her hips closer to mine. I unbuttoned my jeans, the denim falling away to reveal my erect penis, fully responsive to her touch. She lowered herself onto me, her weight pressing against my legs, her body molding perfectly to my form.

Her hands moved down my thighs, teasing and stimulating, before reaching my genitals. She coated my member with the silicone gel, her touch sending shivers through my body. Then, she began to rub my penis, her fingers circling my shaft, applying firm pressure. The vibrations from the vibrator enhanced the sensation, building a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm me.

She continued her ministrations, her touch becoming more insistent, more demanding. I moaned with pleasure, lost in the moment, completely consumed by her desires. My muscles clenched, my breathing labored, as I reached the precipice of climax.

Suddenly, she pulled away, her eyes wide with anticipation. She grabbed my hand and guided me to the side of the cliff overlooking the river. The wind whipped around us, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. She leaned back against my chest, her body relaxed, her breathing steady.

Then, she began to kiss me again, her tongue exploring every inch of my body. Her touch was gentle, loving, and filled with a deep, unspoken desire. As we continued to kiss, I felt my body begin to tremble, my muscles tensing, my breathing becoming shallow. I knew that I was on the verge of climax, but I didn't want to break the spell, to end the exquisite pleasure we were experiencing.

Finally, with a final, desperate push, I exploded in a torrent of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of sensations that left me gasping for air. I clung to her, lost in the aftermath, savoring every moment of the intense release.

When the waves of pleasure subsided, we lay there for a long time, holding one another, simply enjoying the warmth of our bodies and the comfort of our shared intimacy. She gently stroked my hair, her touch soothing and reassuring.

As the last vestiges of the night faded into darkness, we packed up our picnic basket and walked back to the house, our clothes discarded on the ground, leaving only the lingering scent of sweat and desire in our wake. The seven-year itch? It wasn’t an itch at all. It was a burning, insistent fire, a constant reminder of the profound connection we shared, a connection that deepened with each passing year. And tonight, it had burned brighter than ever before.

Sex stories

Seven Years Burning Desire

Did you like this story? Seven Years Burning Desire look, but like these, here Sex stories.