Sticky Heat, Burning Touch (L)

It was a stifling Thursday in July, the kind of heat that clung to you like a second skin, heavy and suffocating. The air hung thick and still, refusing to stir, promising only more of the same oppressive humidity. Rain, which had been forecast for days, stubbornly held back, leaving the world shimmering under a relentless, merciless sun. There was no relief in sight, no escape from the sweltering discomfort. And tonight, I desperately needed an escape, a release from the mounting tension that had been building for days.

I'd been aching, a deep, insistent throb in my core, for nearly three days now. Our last encounter had been on Saturday, a fleeting, desperate affair that left me feeling hollow and wanting. Five days felt like an eternity in this kind of heat, a cruel reminder of my solitude. The relentless summer schedule – the kids’ endless activities, the demanding work hours, the unexpected guest appearances, church obligations, spontaneous day trips – had conspired to steal every moment of intimacy, leaving me stranded in a sea of unmet desires. I needed it, a primal, urgent need that demanded immediate satisfaction. "She" was screaming, throbbing with an intensity that bordered on agony, desperate for the release only my husband could provide. "She" needed it, and she needed it now.

I'd been sleeping naked all summer, succumbing to the heat and the loneliness, often waking with a burning hunger for connection. The cool sheets and the gentle breeze from the fan offered a meager comfort, but it wasn’t enough. Each morning, I’d find myself alone in our bed, my husband already gone to work, leaving me to grapple with the gnawing emptiness of my longing. Evening was the only time we managed to steal a few moments, stolen hours dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure. But tonight, I couldn’t wait for the inevitable. I wouldn’t allow myself to be caught in the slow, agonizing wait. Boldly, I took control, asserting my desires with an uncharacteristic decisiveness. Earlier in the day, my husband had texted me, a boastful message dripping with smugness: "Not sure what you're wearing today, but whatever it is, I'm sure you look great in it!" My reply was swift and direct: "Aww, thanks! I'm wearing the blue cotton v-neck dress that shows my breasts just enough!" His response, a virtual kiss, confirmed my suspicions. "Truly lovely!" Then, a pointed message: "BTW, I'm orgasming tonight...it's up to you whether or not you want to make me orgasm or whether my butterfly friend does it!" The message was clear, unambiguous, a challenge laid down. He knew exactly what I craved, what I desperately needed to quell the insistent ache within me.

The rest of the day crawled by, each second an agonizing reminder of my solitude. I retreated to the deck, seeking solace in the cool shade of the trees while the children splashed in the pool below. I lost myself in the pages of an erotic magazine, fueling my anticipation and intensifying my desires, pushing myself further into the throes of anticipation. When my husband finally returned from work, I greeted him with a silent invitation, a subtle signal that I was ready to indulge in the pleasure I so desperately needed. He grabbed me, pulling me close and kissing me with a possessive fervor. Then, without hesitation, he began to explore my body, his hands tracing the contours of my form, sending shivers down my spine. A blatant prelude, a tantalizing tease before the main event. I pulled away just as things began to heat up, holding back my pleasure, maintaining control, savoring the anticipation.

We settled down to supper, cleaned up the mess left by the kids’ enthusiastic pool party, and then ushered them into the living room to watch television. The peace and quiet that followed felt both precious and fragile. As we ascended the stairs to our bedroom, my husband stopped by the bathroom to freshen up, while I moved towards our sanctuary, shedding my dress and tossing it into the laundry basket. Lying naked on the bed, clad only in my lacy pink bra and panties, I felt vulnerable yet powerful, exposed yet in control. My husband entered the room, stripping down to his boxers and collapsing onto the bed beside me. We embraced, a silent acknowledgment of the night ahead, before he began to explore my body with a slow, deliberate touch. He started with my left tit, kissing the skin without the coverage of my bra, working his way back the delicate fabric, teasing my nipple with his eager lips. Closing my eyes, I surrendered to the mounting anticipation, relishing the electric sensation as his tongue met my sensitive nipple. A shock wave surged through my body, igniting my clitoris and sending a jolt of pure pleasure through my veins. He sucked with an intensity that bordered on aggressive, drawing out my juices, causing me to moan in response. Reaching up with his left hand, he gripped under the fabric of my bra and twisted my right nipple while simultaneously sucking on my left. My head rolled back, my body arching in response to the escalating pleasure. "She" was demanding, desperate, craving the release that only he could provide.

It felt like an eternity before he pulled away, sitting me up and almost ripping off my bra in the process. The freedom of my tits was exhilarating, a sweet release from the constraints of my clothing. I lay back down, pulling him onto me, seeking his warmth and comfort. "You mean business!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with excitement. "I love to feel the weight on my man on top of me!" He dove back into my breasts, sucking, licking, twisting, and pinching, sending waves of electrifying sensation throughout my body. The pressure built, becoming almost unbearable, and I squirmed out of my panties, tossing them onto the dresser. "She" was a tempest of need, a raging inferno of desire, begging for release.

The rest of the journey was a blur of sensation, a crescendo of pleasure building with each passing moment. The heat intensified, the pressure mounted, and my body responded with an almost uncontrollable urge. He grabbed my head, pulling me closer, forcing me to lean into his embrace. I moaned, lost in the intoxicating pleasure, my body writhing and twisting in response to his touch. He raised his leg, allowing me to gain better access to his perineum, and as he thrust deeper into my waiting snatch, I experienced a surge of ecstasy so intense that it threatened to consume me entirely. My head pounded, my muscles clenched, and my body quivered with the sheer force of the pleasure. As my husband was thrusting deep within me, I gripped the wall behind our bed, clinging on for dear life, desperate to maintain control. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

Suddenly, without warning, he pulled out, sitting me up and driving two fingers into my clitoris. The pain was exquisite, a sharp, piercing sensation that sent shivers down my spine. I let out a strangled cry, unable to contain the pleasure that was building within me. In a surprising turn of events, I reached down and began to rub my clit, a desperate attempt to satisfy my aching desire. In past encounters, I have struggled to achieve climax through self-stimulation, but tonight, something felt different, something primal and instinctive. I felt an uncontrollable urge to submit, to relinquish control and surrender to the pleasure that he offered.

As he continued to penetrate me, I grabbed his head, pulling him closer, forcing him to impale my clit with his tongue. Wrapping my legs around his shoulders, I clung to him with all my might, desperate to hold on to the feeling of ecstasy. The pleasure intensified, reaching a fever pitch, before finally subsiding into a blissful, contented silence. I collapsed on the bed, completely satiated, my need finally quenched. The desire that only can be fulfilled by the union of two people acting in the God-given gift of sex.

He asked, "How do you want me?" I eagerly replied, "On your knees on the edge of the bed!" He heeded my request, sliding onto his knees and positioning himself at the foot of the bed. As he began to ride me, my husband continued to play with my tits, his fingers teasing and exploring the sensitive skin beneath my bra. The pleasure escalated, building towards another climax, and as he reached his peak, he pulled himself out, leaving me breathless and wanting more. Then, without hesitation, he dove back in, plunging me into another wave of intense pleasure. I felt myself vibrating with anticipation, eager to experience the full force of his arousal. Once again, my body moved in response to the escalating sensations, my hips arching, my legs flying, my back arching in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The pleasure was relentless, unyielding, leaving me breathless and completely consumed by desire.

As my husband continued to ride me, I pushed him away and asked, "Is this all you have?" He replied, "Not in this position." And, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he moved to the center of the bed, spreading his legs for another round of intense pleasure. I eagerly awaited his return, my body trembling with anticipation. He slid in, pinching my tits and then launching himself back into me, sending another wave of pleasure surging through my veins. The sensations were intense, overwhelming, leaving me breathless and unable to resist. In a final, desperate attempt to maintain control, I grabbed his head, pulling him closer, forcing him to impale my clit with his tongue. The pleasure continued to escalate, building towards another climax, before finally subsiding into a blissful, contented silence. I collapsed on the bed, completely satiated, my need finally quenched. The desire that only can be fulfilled by the union of two people acting in the God-given gift of sex.

Did you like this story? Sticky Heat, Burning Touch (L) look, but like these, here Mom sex stories.