Sick Beats and Fever Dreams

The fever broke just in time, a cruel joke played by my body against my desperate longing. It had been a miserable week, a forced quarantine above the main floor, the isolation a bitter pill alongside the relentless throbbing in my member. Being sick, ironically, had brought me a torrent of unwanted arousal. A high sex drive, apparently, doesn’t take a vacation even when you’re fighting off a nasty cold. The thought of my wife, Sarah, seeing me like this, vulnerable and desperate, had been a constant, aching pressure.

The insistent buzz of my alarm ripped me from a fitful sleep, 5:00 AM sharp. My bed felt strangely empty, the familiar weight of her absence a tangible thing. And there it was again, the undeniable, insistent surge of pleasure, a full-blown boner threatening to spill over my sheets. I fumbled for the snooze button, only to be immediately consumed by the urgent need, the primal pull that only sickness and desire can ignite.

An hour later, Sarah’s presence filled the room. She entered, swathed in a pristine white towel, her eyes holding a mixture of concern and a knowing gleam. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a subtle challenge.

“Better,” I croaked, the word tasting like victory and defeat in equal measure. “Way better. You can tell.” I gestured to the hard, insistent bulge beneath my pajama top. She chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Watching you naked in that towel makes this situation infinitely better,” I said, the words thick with unspoken need.

“I’m going to get in the shower and then head to work,” she announced, a glint of anticipation in her eyes. “Do you need anything?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

“I really need you,” I pleaded, the desperation seeping into my voice. “I think if I cum, I’d feel a whole lot better. Please. It’s been four days, and I’m bursting.” The words tumbled out, raw and honest, exposing my deepest desires.

Sarah knew me well. She knew my hunger, my constant yearning for connection, for release. She understood the strange, twisted pleasure that came with illness, the way it heightened the senses, sharpened the edges of desire. “Fine,” she said, her voice laced with a playful challenge. “But there are rules. We won’t be kissing, and you’re not getting near my tits. You might still be contagious.” A dangerous proposition, but one I wouldn’t refuse.

“Then what are we doing?” I asked, my pulse quickening.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You know what I love, don’t you?” she purred, reaching for my boxers. Her touch was deliberate, a slow, sensual exploration that sent jolts of electricity through my body. As she unzipped my pants, she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me closer, her breath warm against my skin.

The world narrowed to the feel of her embrace, the scent of her perfume, the heat radiating from her body. She began to stroke my cock, her fingers tracing the contours of my flesh with exquisite care. Simultaneously, she started massaging my balls with her mouth, her lips lingering on the sensitive skin, drawing out a deep, primal moan from my throat.

The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure and pain. It was a delicious torture, a desperate craving being met with exquisite care. My muscles clenched involuntarily, my breathing becoming ragged and shallow. I could feel the pressure building, the anticipation reaching a fever pitch. It wasn't just the physical pleasure; it was the intimacy, the shared vulnerability, the unspoken understanding between us.

She continued her ministrations, her movements both gentle and forceful. Her touch was demanding, insistent, a silent command that left me no choice but to surrender to her desires. With a decisive movement, she grabbed my meat and began to beat it against her tongue. The sensation was both shocking and electrifying, a brutal yet beautiful assault on my senses. My body writhed in response, my moans escalating into a desperate plea for release.

I was lost in the moment, completely consumed by the raw, unadulterated pleasure. It was as if all the pent-up frustration, the longing, the suppressed desire, was finally being unleashed, pouring out in a torrent of ecstasy. I moaned louder, clinging to her, begging for more. She continued to swallow my dick down her throat, her movements rhythmic and deliberate, each swallow a step closer to the inevitable. The world faded away, leaving only the taste of her on my lips, the feeling of her body against mine.

Her grip tightened, pulling my cock out of her mouth and aiming it directly at her tits. It was an act of pure abandon, a reckless disregard for propriety. And as I watched, a series of violent spurts erupted from my body, each one a testament to the sheer force of my arousal. The room filled with the unmistakable aroma of cum, a fragrant reminder of the pleasure we were experiencing.

Sarah took it all in stride, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. She was a warrior in her own right, unafraid to embrace her own desires, to push boundaries, to revel in the messy, complicated beauty of human connection. She continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last drop of pleasure, while simultaneously stripping me naked, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in her care.

"Why did you do that?" I gasped, struggling for breath. "You don't really like giving head." "These past days have been really sad and boring without you," she replied, her voice husky with emotion. "I missed you a lot and hated how you were sick. I just really want you back healthy."

I pulled her close, burying my face in her hair, inhaling her scent. “I love you so much, baby,” I whispered, the words choked with emotion. “But you didn’t have to do that.” “I know,” she responded, her voice soft against my ear. “But I wanted to.” “I owe you big,” I told her. “Yes, you do,” she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

As the final tremors subsided, I leaned back against her, exhausted but exhilarated. The experience had been a chaotic, messy, and utterly unforgettable act of passion. It was a reminder of the profound connection we shared, the deep well of desire that existed between us. I closed my eyes, savoring the lingering sensations, grateful for her presence, grateful for her love.

I love this woman a lot. She's the sweetest, the most generous, the most passionate person I know. She knows how much I love sex, and she’s not afraid to give it to me. She's my everything, my rock, my solace, my greatest pleasure. I’m extremely happy that we are husband and wife, bound together by a shared love and a mutual understanding of our own primal instincts. The memory of this night, this shared moment of raw, unadulterated passion, would forever be etched in my mind, a testament to the enduring power of love and lust. And as I drifted off to sleep, nestled against her warm body, I knew that even in the face of illness, there was always something to look forward to, something to crave, something to lose myself in. The world outside could wait; for now, all that mattered was the feel of her skin against mine, the taste of her on my lips, and the knowledge that I was exactly where I needed to be.

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