Thirty Years, Still Her Taste

The lingering scent of foreign spices clung to my clothes, a phantom reminder of the week I’d spent traversing sun-drenched landscapes and bustling marketplaces. But the scent of her, of home, was infinitely more intoxicating. As I stepped through the doorway, weary but exhilarated, my gaze immediately locked onto her. She lay draped across the bed, a cascade of dark hair spilling across the pillow, her face serene in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Thirty years of shared memories, whispered secrets, and countless stolen moments coalesced into this singular, perfect image. The taste of her, a constant thread woven through the tapestry of our lives, was a sensation I craved more than any distant vista.

Tonight, fatigue weighed heavily upon her, a familiar guest in our well-worn routine. The demands of our adult children, scattered across the country and immersed in their own pursuits, had created a temporary respite from the chaos of daily life. The house felt strangely quiet, an opportunity I hadn’t realized I’d been yearning for. A slow smile spread across my face as I observed her vulnerability, a silent acknowledgment of my intentions.

"You look exhausted, my love," I murmured, approaching her slowly, deliberately. "Let me take care of you." Her eyes fluttered open, a spark of recognition flickering within their depths. She offered a weak smile, a silent invitation to proceed.

As I knelt beside her, my hands gently traced the delicate curve of her cheek, my touch sending shivers down her spine. The simple act of connection, of asserting my presence, was already a potent aphrodisiac. "Let's begin with your feet," I suggested, my voice a low rumble against her ear. She sighed contentedly, allowing my fingers to work their magic, kneading away the tension in her muscles. The rhythmic pressure, combined with the lingering scent of my cologne, began to melt away her weariness.

“Tell me about your day,” I prompted, my fingers continuing their soothing massage. She recounted snippets of her experiences, her voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of the quiet house. As she spoke, my focus shifted, my gaze drifting to the expanse of her naked body beneath the covers. The sight of her vulnerability, her trust, fueled my desire with a primal intensity.

After what felt like an eternity, she shifted slightly, her weight pressing against my hand. "I'm not feeling particularly aroused, darling," she confessed, her voice laced with a hint of disappointment. “Just a little tired.” My heart sank momentarily, but I quickly recovered, determined to make this evening extraordinary.

“Nonsense," I replied, my voice filled with conviction. “Tonight, we’ll recapture the magic of our early days. Let’s take our time, savor every moment.” I adjusted my position, my body slowly descending to straddle her, my hand instinctively reaching for her thigh, grazing her skin with the tip of my erect member. The mere proximity sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

As I began to knead into her shoulders, I noticed a subtle shift in her breathing, a softening of her features. The scent of her skin, mingled with the lingering aroma of my cologne, was intoxicating. The warmth of her body, the gentle rhythm of her heart, filled me with an overwhelming sense of contentment.

"You’re such a generous lover," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’ve heard that you're always willing to take whatever you can get." I chuckled softly, never one to boast, but never shy about expressing my admiration. "It's my pleasure, my dear," I replied, my gaze never leaving her face.

With a decisive movement, she rolled over, exposing her naked back to my touch. The sight of her, vulnerable and beautiful, ignited a fire within me. I began running my fingers across her skin, tracing the delicate contours of her spine, her hips, her lower back. Her muscles tensed beneath my fingertips, a silent signal of her arousal.

"I'm going to touch you," I murmured, my voice a low rumble against her ear. "Then kiss you. Then lick you." She closed her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, thick with desire.

As I moved my hands to each breast, sucking deeply and savoring the sensation, her nipples hardened, her breath quickening. The subtle tremors that ran through her body were a testament to her escalating excitement. Her legs locked around my hand, a clear sign of her complete surrender.

At that moment, I knew she was ready. I separated my fingers, preparing to descend. Her legs parted, welcoming my advance. I went in, a slow, deliberate act of intimacy. Her moans of pleasure filled the room, a symphony of ecstasy that sent shivers down my spine.

Her hands gripped my penis, pulling me closer, holding me captive in her embrace. I bent, carefully opening her legs, and continued my assault, my movements driven by an insatiable hunger. I licked her clit with abandon, each lick a testament to my devotion. The taste of her, oh, the taste of her, was a revelation, a perfect blend of sweetness and spice.

As I continued my frenzied pace, she moaned with increasing intensity, her body writhing in pleasure. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her every muscle tensed with anticipation. The world narrowed to this single, perfect moment, this exquisite dance of pleasure and desire.

Slowly, deliberately, I shifted my position, mounting the bed and straddling her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at me with a mixture of longing and anticipation. I leaned down, kissing her lips with a passion that bordered on desperation. The taste of her, once again, was overwhelming, intoxicating.

She pushed me away gently, beckoning me closer. “Come here,” she whispered, her voice a breathless plea. I rose to meet her, kissing her again, and again, each kiss a deeper, more intense expression of my love.

As she recline, propped up, legs spread before me, I watched her with an almost painful intensity. Her breasts heaved with each breath, her hips thrust into me with increasing fervor. The sight of her naked body, her vulnerable beauty, filled me with an overwhelming sense of desire.

I lowered my head, licking her clit with abandon, my tongue tracing every curve, every crevice. Her moans of pleasure grew louder, more insistent, as she succumbed to the intoxicating pleasure of my touch. She grabbed my face, pulling me closer, her hands gripping my hair, her nails digging into my scalp.

The rhythm of our movements became faster, more frantic, as we lost ourselves in the heat of the moment. Her legs flexed, her hips thrust into me with increasing force, her body a willing participant in our shared ecstasy.

As we reached the peak of our passion, her body convulsed with pleasure, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her every muscle tensed with anticipation. The world around us faded away, leaving only this single, perfect moment, this exquisite dance of pleasure and desire.

Finally, as we both began to slow down, I held her close, savoring the lingering sensation of her pleasure. Her eyes opened, and she gazed at me with an expression of pure adoration. She gently opened her legs, inviting me to finish what we had started.

I obliged, descending once more, and continued my assault, my movements driven by an insatiable hunger. She clung to me, her body trembling with pleasure, her moans of ecstasy filling the room. The taste of her, the feeling of her, the sheer joy of our shared experience, was beyond words.

As the final moments of our encounter drew to a close, I held her close, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Her eyes closed, her body relaxed, her breathing returning to normal. The lingering scent of her skin, the memory of her touch, would stay with me long after she had fallen asleep.

Looking around the room, now bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I realized that this was more than just a sexual encounter. It was a celebration of our enduring love, a reaffirmation of the bond that had held us together for three decades. And as I held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against mine, I knew that the taste of her, the essence of her, would always remain the sweetest sensation in my life.

Did you like this story? Thirty Years, Still Her Taste look, but like these, here Mother sex stories.