At long last, the day was over.
He trudged down the dim streets with burdened shoulders. Waiting, fighting, fucking, bowing, listening, eating, it was all just too much for one day. It would be quite bearable if it was without an audience, but such was life.
There was some small solace to be found in the leisurely days ahead, at least until he was called upon next. Perhaps he would have an entire month this time. Then again, perhaps not. There really was no way to guess when he would next need to sate the crowd’s craven bloodlust.
Warm white light bathed the stones beneath his feet as he dragged himself closer and closer to home. His heavy footfalls and their echoes were the only sounds around. Nobody else was out at this hour, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. The formalities and celebrations had kept him until far after dusk fell. Thus, he had few diversions to distract from thoughts of Yvethe.
Would she be upset? Was she still awake? Was there food? Such questions were only lazily entertained. In his heart, he knew that she was not upset, she was certainly still awake, and there would surely be a very large amount of delicious food. She was far too kind for this world.
He turned the corner and embarked on the final leg of his journey. It would be mere minutes until he was in her unconditional embrace. The others had their charms, but they were incomparable before blessed Yvethe.
It stood wedged between identical narrow apartments, all of the same unassuming stone. He could afford a place ten, twenty times as large, but that was not what he wanted. This hidden coziness was all he wanted. The fame, the honor, the glory, the wealth, the affections of girls and women, paupers and princesses alike, all were just stepping stones on the path to domestic bliss.
From time to time and on nights such as this, he wondered how he had gotten so wrapped up in such frustrating webs. These thoughts never lasted beyond the warm return to Yvethe and so his pace quickened. He wanted to hold her, to not think about the unpleasant truths that dominated his public life.
Then, he was there. His long day was over.
He placed a heavy hand on the wooden door. He spent a moment just looking at that hand, envisioning all that it had done during the day. One by one, the spectral remnants of blood, gold, and women withered into nothingness. The ritual complete, he pushed and entered his home.
Sparse candlelight could hardly compare to the vivid paleness outside, but he didn’t need his eyes to make his way inside. More importantly, the bursting warmth within must be protected and so he swiftly slipped inside and closed the door.
He peeled away his layers one by one, first exposing his face from beneath his titanic scarf, then his hands from beneath his inscribed gloves. There was a sharp burning with each motion. Skin so used to the cold was reacquainted with warmth and comfort.
The entryway didn’t extend very far before veering off into the dining room, but he couldn’t hear any movement within, nor could he make out any figures in the relative darkness. All signs pointed to her being asleep, yet he knew that she was waiting.
The pile on the floor grew until he was wearing nothing more than his sweat-stained undergarments. It softly clung to his skin and it wasn’t uncomfortable, but the smell was a bit too much.
He took no more than a step before he noticed the neat stack that was waiting just before the dining room. She had laid out fresh garments. He considered changing on the spot, but thought better of it. With the warm stack of fresh clothes held delicately in two arms, he crossed the final threshold.
Within, the candles were greater in quality and quantity. Flickering orange danced over every surface in the room, from the feast-laden table to the stiff oak chairs and matching cabinets. The smell of warm, buttered potatoes mixed with the candles to fashion an atmosphere that was unmistakably “home.”
At that table, awash in firelight and love, she sat with hands folded in her lap. There was not a speck of food on the plate before her, nor was there a drop of wine in her glass. Though she faced straight ahead with her trademark stoicism, her eyes followed him as he strolled across the small room to his seat.
But he did not sit.
He let the spirit of home seep in and set about a calculated disrobing. The fresh clothes were set down gently on the back of the chair. Buttons slipped one by one, though at a much slower pace than was strictly necessary. The warm, unmoving air kissed his skin with each reveal. At times, he thought he could feel her hot panting breath reach from across the table, but she was far too composed to show it.
Her cheeks did not redden and she did not fidget, but he knew the effect that he had on her. His arms and chest freed, he let the rest fall to the floor. There was enough chair and table between them that she couldn’t get the full view that she desperately wanted, but that was a part of the game as well.
It was her eyes that gave her away. In those penetrating black orbs, one could see a burning lust, assuming they knew where to look. A yearning to bite lip hard enough to draw blood, a willful force that kept wandering, groping hands in check, the clenching of muscles that kept her seated. The desperation to throw herself at him was always plain to see if one knew what to look for.
As the fresh clothes were donned, the immediate desires faded, but only because they were pushed out by a more sustainable love. He felt a little guilty, but he was tired, hungry, and a little cold. He very much wanted to eat before handling her.
The dirty clothes were dropped on the floor, out of sight and to be dealt with later. He sunk down into the chair, simultaneously weathering the unyielding wood and embracing the most comfortable of seats. It was not comfortable by design, but by shared experiences. To many, an entirely too harsh seat, but not to him.
He leaned into the wood and watched from beneath heavy lids. For the first time since he had arrived, she looked elsewhere. Her nimble fingers picked up and gently replaced all manner of dishes, foods, and utensils. A perfectly planned plate slowly came together, replete with everything he could ever ask for. The ingredients were immaterial, the added sentiment critical.
At times like these, he could look at little more than her face. Such soft, pleasant features, unmarred by frowns or smiles. The way she could shift from stone to dripping wax in a flash was nothing short of miraculous. He didn’t really need any more motivation, but the desire to see her melt added fuel to his quiet flame nonetheless.
Reality crept back in and he realized that she was staring back at him. How long had she been waiting and looking?
He sheepishly set to work and ate to his heart’s content. Every bite was delicious, yet a knot slowly started to form. He pushed it down and pushed it down some more, but he could not get rid of it completely. He knew that he should be enjoying the moment for what it was, but he could not ignore his guilty conscience. She waited so long, so patiently, so faithfully, but she only had him in the evening.
As usual, he found a weakness in the knot: a pledge that tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, there would be no tournament and no need to go out. He would spend it all with her, then the next and the next and the next. He resolved that even if a pressing need did come up in the next week, he would ignore it for her sake.
That resolution made the potatoes taste richer, the meat juicier, the wine sweeter. It didn’t make her look any more beautiful, but that was likely impossible.
He glanced at her from time to time, but she was eating very little. She tried very hard not to give the impression of impatience, a kindness that he found it necessary to return. He felt the fullness in his belly and accelerated his pace. The last few bites were wolfed down, leaving exactly half of his meal still on the plate, now a messy fusion of every color.
Her eyes lit up when his fork hit the table. She adjusted her unadorned gown and rose to her feet. He followed suit and took the lead. Out the door to the hallway, past the kitchen, into the bedroom.
There was nothing more than the bed, a dresser, and a shelf of books. Even so, the room was packed and completely unlit, though that was more of a conscious choice than a constraint of space.
He sat on the edge of the bed and she took her place beside him. Neither could see the other’s face, at least not directly. Now, he could definitely hear panting. She could barely contain herself. He placed a hand on her knee and she placed a hand atop his.
As he stood, he struggled not to ponder the nature of her allure. It was intoxicating and so pure, but it seemed wrong to think of others, even if it was just in comparing their shortcomings to her virtues.
He towered over her. Even as she stood to meet him, he was more than a head taller. Looking down, he felt a deep desire to smell her hair.
And so he did.
A slight bend of his neck brought him low enough. He smelled deeply of her unperfumed sweetness, then roughly gathered a handful of her hair and smelled even deeper. Her squeak of surprise was all he needed. His cock was ready for hell itself, but his goal was the gates of his own private heaven.
He gently pushed her back and she fell without a struggling. She laid there on the bed, her hair splayed out into a mess. So like Mauvelle, but so much more real. So much *better*.
He leaned over atop her, planting a hand on either side of her head. He could practically feel her legs twitching. She wanted to wrap them around him and guide him into her. She wanted it right this second and he was not one to deny her.
Though the distance between them was still great, he thrust and searched. The cock gently searched for its home. It first found a thigh, then a bit too high, then a bit too low. All were home, but he needed the door.
The corners of her mouth tugged. She wanted to smile, to moan, to laugh. He wished that she would, but her proclivities belonged to her alone. She always started this way and cast off her shell after the first release. It was incomprehensible, but he loved her anyway.
The homecoming was barely noticeable. Such unimaginable wetness, begging for him to enter, but not holding him down when he finally arrived. She didn’t touch herself, yet she managed this every single time he came home. Did she just sit at the table and fantasize? Did she eat dinner like this? Well, some questions must never be asked. What a lovely, bizarre woman.
He fucked her and she laid there. Her fingers twitched atop nightgown and humble breasts. One didn’t need to look at those begging eyes to see that she was barely restraining herself.
Without any help from her, he matched his pace to her breaths. He watched her hands rise and fall with her heartbeat, more waiting for her to transform than anything else. This was perfectly serviceable, but it paled in comparison to her true self.
Her breaths grew too fast for him to keep up, so he settled for force. Slow, long pushes into her. Two or three were more than she could handle and she shuddered around him. Tight, tighter, tight, tighter, then Yvethe was unleashed.
In the most erotic display of stretching he had ever seen, all the rigidity left her body. Wrists bent, a hand clawed at her face, a finger gently bit, a deep pull on her nightgown to reveal all she had to offer. As her eyes had promised before, her legs wrapped and squeezed his ass, but not before her heels gently rubbed up and down the backs of his thighs. It was all far too intense for his cock and so he pulled out.
There was nothing straight or firm about her lips now. They smirked more with every passing second. He had to close his eyes to even have a chance of fighting down the urge to cum.
He panted, still bent over her, and tried not to think about how his cock felt lazing against the hair above her pussy.
“So, dear, how was your day?” It was a tantalizing croon and he hated her for it. It was beautiful, but he really wanted to save his finite cum for what was to come. Even the question itself was deceptive, for it surely led to one thing and one thing alone.
“Productive.”
“How many?”
“Two. Three if you count the princess watching.”
She didn’t respond to that, but he knew that it wasn’t out of surprise or anything of the sort. She was just giving him a moment to recollect his memories, as she always did. Her insistence was a mild irritant and he latched onto that in the vain hope that it might push down his urge to finish.
“I’m waiting.”
He opened his eyes and found a lie. She was lying with her tits entirely exposed, save for her crossed arms. Her eyes were wide and questioning, her mouth slightly parted. If innocence had a face, it was hers and therein laid the laughable lie.
He couldn’t catch himself and chuckled at the ridiculousness of it. She struggled in vain to hold a hurt expression on her face, but she soon succumbed to the laughter as well.
His arms were getting a little sore and the night was still early, at least by her standards. He rolled off of her and slumped down beside her. Together, they looked up at the ceiling, their backs on the beds, his feet on the floor, hers dangling just a tad too high for her toes to touch.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she had turned her head fully to stare at him and smile. She wiggled and he craned his neck out of curiosity. She had slipped entirely out of her clothes and now laid completely exposed in her normal, beautiful body.
Not one to leave her in a compromising position alone, he set to work discarding the clothes that he had just put on. It was difficult, lying as he was, but with a few giggles and helping hands from Yvethe, they managed.
Neither was very cold, but they lied to one another for the sake of an embrace. No small amount of awkward sliding and pushing brought them up onto the bed proper, with their heads and feet where they should be. On pillows and layers of blankets, the couple embraced, her head atop his chest and her breasts tightly pressed against his ribs.
It was a safe place and the epitome of comfort, but it was barely enough for him to bare his soul. She knew, in all of her understanding glory. What he had done to deserve her, he knew not, but she didn’t care about the necessities of his life. He could ignore most of it, the barbs and snipes of his chosen path, but the women were something else entirely. They were intrusions in the vital depths of his soul.
Some nights, he voiced these concerns alone, rambling for hours on end. Torn between nebulous honor and personal desires, fucking before the match and after, enduring the tenacious curiosity of the princess, all predetermined and out of his control. They needed him and he had to do these things for the greater good of the people. A symbol, unable to break free of his chains, an icon for the downtrodden, a victim of pomp.
Some nights, he argued the exact opposite and it was never quite clear where his arguments started and ended. There was no real ultimate goal, just the venting of a man who felt trapped.
On those days and the days he was silent alike, Yvethe laid at his side and listened. Words or a heartbeat, it made no difference to her. She just smiled and bore it. To think that she might even go so far as to make a fetish of listening to those sordid tales was too much for him to even begin to understand. She had the heart of a saint and that was that.
Tonight, he said nothing. They just laid together for a time. Her faint squirming was the sign of her readiness to continue.
He began haltingly, as he always did. Terse descriptions of his encounter with Cevisa, hitting the important points as much to steel his own mind as to inform his wife.
As any other couple might sit and discuss the mundane realities of a day gone by, he spoke of how his cock was sucked by a girl with hair as black as the darkest night. She poked and prodded for details that he slowly produced.
The more he spoke, the more she moved. Her legs wrapped around one of his own, providing a perfectly clear picture of just how aroused she was. Her knee expertly avoided his cock, which had been, much to his shame, woken up by the memory. He knew from experience that she bore no jealousy for this. More specifically, she would *soon* bear no jealousy, just pride.
His tale ended with a very detailed description of how she laid on the floor after he finished. Again from experience, he knew that withholding anything was only an invitation to a battery of invasive questions.
She was very wet now, as the slick streak down his leg would surely testify. He considered getting up, but thought better of it. Sometimes, she wanted to recreate it as accurately as possible.
His question was answered without a word as she slipped away from him. She pulled herself down his length, her hands lightly gripping and pulling as she went. There was the faintest sensation of fingernails dragging and lifting across his scarred chest.
She came to a stop by his cock. She curled up around it, her hair completely obscuring his view. He sighed in defeat and leaned back. It would be a matter of sensation alone.
A moan escaped unopposed when she brushed a palm over the tip. He waited, tensed, for the next feeling, but nothing came. It was safe to conclude that she was not going to stick to the script this time.
The next touch came on his collarbone. Somehow, she had snaked a hand up without him noticing. Her fingers lightly traced the outline, left, right, left, right, over and over again. She must have been just lying there, staring at it. He couldn’t feel her breath, but that didn’t mean much. She liked to play tricks with such things. Sometimes, she held her breath, sometimes-
She took him in an instant. He could feel a firmness pressing on the tip of his cock, just as he could feel wet lips against his skin and balls. He was completely within her and he couldn’t help but thrust gently. Her startled yelp did not help matters and so he reflexively fell into a rhythm.
He fucked his wife’s mouth gently, but she was hardly a passive receiver this time. Lips parted and kissed as they slid up and down, tongue darted out and circled, fingers formed a ring and held still at the base of his cock, providing orgasmic sensation purely by the virtue of his thrusts.
Slowly, he became aware that she was moving. The heavenly sucking continued without stop, but he could feel her shifting around. He did not open his eyes, trusting everything to her. He even slowed down his pulsing thrusts, giving himself entirely to her.
A leg swept over him, only lightly grazing his chest. She was straddling, her gorgeous pussy pressed against his scarred breast. Before he had a chance to raise a hand to play with the tantalizing prize, she started moving. Lightly at first, she moved like she was fucking. Quivering lips slipped over his skin, sliding back and forth, but never traveling the same path twice. She drew rough shapes upon him, bathing him in her wondrous beauty.
He smiled and couldn’t help but remember the first time that she had tried this. It had been a surprise, but much more shocking was the explanation that she meekly offered afterwards. “I like the way your scars feel,” had been the quote. It wasn’t particularly pleasurable for him and it was still slightly disconcerting, but that was no reason to interfere with her clear pleasure.
If anything, her hunger for cock increased. She had given up using her hands at all. Just as he had described earlier, she now gripped the backs of his thighs and was forcefully impaling herself upon his cock over and over. Wet, choking gags could be heard, but everything was in her hands. If she wanted to take a break, there was nothing stopping her.
Of course, she knew him far too well. Before he knew that he was about to cum, she had read the signs and prepared. She dove deep and did not resurface. Somehow, her tongue still worked, lashing the shaft that was entirely within her. Hot puffs of air pattered below his cock, surely the products of an overcompensating nose.
He might have been able to resist, but he didn’t bother to try. He gripped the back of her head tight as he started to roll his hips forward. He stretched and began to feel cramps as spurt after spurt left him and entered her. She did not react at all, not a single move, not a single noise. More than anything else, he was pleased with the amount. Even though this was last, it felt like more than he had given anyone else today.
It was only when he finished and dropped back onto the bed that she responded. As expected, she gulped loudly, then slowly propped herself up into a sitting position. A glance over her shoulder was enough to crush any resistance that may have existed in his heart, nevermind the desperate licking of her lips in search of a last drop. There was, of course, no resistance to be had, but he entertained the thought nonetheless.
And still she acted like a flirty maiden. She pressed a finger to her lips and pulled down gently, baring the faintest shimmer of glossy teeth. He twitched at the clear message.
She had apparently had her fill and so she leaned back onto him. It took a good deal of gentle adjustments and sliding for her to find a comfortable position that left his vulnerable cock safe from her pussy’s predation, but find it, they did.
She lay atop him at a slight angle, her head nestled against his cheek, her legs splayed and bent at the knee, resting atop his. Their difference in height was just convenient enough to let his cock rest peacefully mere inches from her ever-hungry depths. With her closer hand, she cupped his face and gently rubbed back and forth, delighting in the bristle of his day’s worth of beard. With her other, she clasped his hand in an imbalanced interlocking of fingers.
Together, they gazed up at the dark ceiling and banished all thoughts unrelated to everlasting love.
He didn’t spend his recovery dwelling on anything in particular. His taken hand was squeezed from time to time and he squeezed back. His free hand drew lazy shapes on her side when the mood struck, venturing only rarely into ticklish territory and never overstaying his welcome beyond the birth of a giggle.
He considered going to finish his meal, but decided against it. That could wait until they were done with everything, as was originally intended. He wasn’t sure if anyone else practiced this particular agreement of theirs, to eat half of dinner before making love and the other half after. If they did not, they should. It made things much simpler.
While his mind was on the subject, his free hand ventured down and rested on her belly. She had eaten very little earlier. It was beyond unlikely that she had filled up beforehand, so perhaps she was planning something rather acrobatic. He did not ask, not out of gentlemanly tact, but because her surprises tended to be of the good variety.
In due time, as it always did, the conflicting emotions welled up once again. As far as he was concerned, the Cevisa matter had been handled expertly, with Yvethe thoroughly dispelling all negative thoughts. However, there was still Mauvelle. He had the utmost confidence that his wife could handle that as well, but until then, it was a weight on his heart. Yvethe being Yvethe, she was able to read whatever subtle signs he gave off immediately.
“And the second?”
That woman had no shame, wriggling her hips before he even began to speak. The motion shook free a drop that landed on his cock.
With no hesitation this time, he set about his clinical recount of the event. How the courtesan had laid on the bed, exactly what she was wearing and how she was posed, the lighting, how long he fucked her, how they changed positions, how much he came. He delivered it all without emotion, but that was no act. It had been a pleasant experience, true, but that was more because of Mauvelle’s pragmatic appreciation of the encounter than any real pleasure. In contrast with the young and lustful Cevisa, the older courtesan’s unabashed rejection of love was a breath of fresh air.
As difficult as it was, he kept those remembered sensations firmly in mind even as his hand searched downward for her heaving womanhood. Every slow inch of progress was met with ever-increasing panting and writhing. She said that it was necessary to remember such twisted memories so that she may crush them into dust. She was right, that’s how it went, but getting there was still uncomfortable.
He ran his hand through her hair, gently gliding over her lips without parting them. She moved her hand down and laid it atop his. Neither guided the other, for there was no need. Together, they gently massaged her pussy.
She turned and awkwardly stretched to kiss his cheek, giggling at the prickly surface. With a creaking groan, he acquiesced to the signal. He gently pushed her up into a sitting position and rose with her. The rubbing of her lower body on his was intense, but manageable enough and that was all he needed.
They sat like this for a moment while he considered his choices. She wasn’t guiding him towards anything, so that left the onus on him. Fair enough, considering that she took the initiative earlier. He gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulders and she nodded.
With a forceful shove, he pushed her down face-first into the blankets. She fell limply, his clay to be molded, her ass sticking up in the air and her face hidden from the world. He trusted her and she trusted him.
He sat back and admired, half to build up some suspense for her and half to decide exactly how he wanted to proceed. He bought some time with his hand, reaching out and cupping her pussy. He was always impressed how small that slit seemed compared to his hand, but groping it drove her wild, so he didn’t question it too much.
He kneaded the edges with his forefinger and ring finger, reserving his middle for the inevitable entry. Despite her wordless agreement to remain putty in his hands, she quivered and shook with anticipation, clearly aware of the missing finger.
He smiled a smile she would never see and decided. He picked up a smaller pillow with his free hand and carefully placed it beside her. Buried as she was in the blankets, her face and tits completely out of sight, she likely didn’t notice.
He prodded the pillow, guiding it under her hips. She responded favorably, making room and expecting what anyone would expect. They had done it a hundred, a thousand times before, him propping her up before a comfortable fucking.
But that is not what he did.
She expected a reprieve and very foreseeable mounting, her pussy waiting and begging, but he took the opportunity to fuck her with his finger. He went deep and crooked his finger at a breakneck pace. He wasn’t sure if she would like it and so he watched and waited for any signs of distress.
Her body shook and shuddered in surprise, her hips fell lopsided atop the half-placed pillow, and her moans were loud enough to escape the muffling prison of thick blankets. He slowed, but did not stop. Her hands remained outstretched and limp, but she did not pound her fists. Her fingers flexed over and over, nails digging into the blankets, but she did not give the sign to stop.
He smiled the same smile and repositioned himself. He dropped down to his hands and knees behind her while his free hand pushed the pillow in all the way. She fell into place, but only because he guided her.
His finger withdrew and she slumped down. Heavy panting was heard. She must have freed her face and turned to the side for lack of air. That pleased him.
He gave her no real time to rest before lifting her hips once again, this time far above the pillow. Up and up they went, her entire body forming a triangle. He brought he pleading pussy to his lips and threaded his arms under her legs. There, she rested, her legs hanging over his shoulders, her pussy the main course. He knew that her cute, tiny tits were hanging helplessly in the air and that her face was likely crimson from the embarrassment, blood, and effort, but he could not see. He did take solace that she was probably staring at his cock.
Without further ado, he kissed her. He did not falter as she giggled at the prickling, not did he speed up. He was used to this particular obstacle and they had long since agreed upon an ideal solution.
He kissed and nuzzled, searching for the perfect position. His hands adjusted her legs, looking for the perfect angle. It seemed to change each time, but that didn’t bother him. It was found when her giggling stopped, no more and no less.
Satisfied that they had reached such a state, he set about his real task. He lapped gently, venturing only a short distance at first, then further and further. He tried not to open or close his mouth for fear of tickling her again.
As the position grew more familiar, the hands were no longer needed like so. With one, he squeezed and pulled her cheek, gently parting the way for his tongue. Back and forth he moved, slowly spreading and letting it all return to its natural state. Sometimes, he didn’t move his tongue at all, just letting the opening and closing handle it all.
She moaned louder with every passing second. He decided that he would wait until she lost her composure before moving on to the next step. Whether that was before or after she came was up to her.
To his surprise, she gave in easily. Though she was to be passive and accepting, she reached out and grabbed his cock with a hand. She didn’t tug or even move after that. It was just a sign that she needed to be fucked right this second.
He had no problem with that.
With some gentle wriggling of his own, he extricated himself from her legs and slowly lowered her back down onto the pillow. There was a slight pang of regret as her fingers slid off his cock, but he assured his more primal side that it would only be temporary.
He adjusted her hips and ensured that everything was straight, but she was having none of it. She wiggled her ass from side to side, her own way of expressing childish impatience. She even went as far as to spread her cheeks with her own two hands, as if he needed any further motivation.
“Silly girl.”
Before she could free her face to respond, he shuffled on his knees until he was right behind her. Much to his dismay, the pillow wasn’t big enough to raise her sufficiently and he was in no mood to spend however long stretching his groin to stoop down to her level. He was far too old for that.
He considered switching the pillow. It was that or reposition her on the edge of the bed. He voiced the dilemma aloud.
At that, she rolled over and folded her hands to make a pillow for her head. Her face was indeed stained red, visible even in the darkness. Such was the radiance of her face. Heavy breaths came from an impossibly wide grin and her eyes twinkled with all manner of thoughts, pure and impure alike.
What she did not do was offer an answer. Apparently, she just wanted to relax and watch while he struggled with his conundrum.
He gave up promptly and set about massaging her feet, or rather, foot. The other was out of reach and stretching for it was out of the question. He absently alternating between rubbing with fingers and kneading with knuckles, completely absorbed in some trivial thought. The thought of sex hadn’t left his mind completely, nor had it even begun to leave his stiff cock, but he found himself distracted anyway.
His trace was interrupted by a slow and pleasant sensation on his cock. Somehow, she had snuck her other foot over and was rubbing her bare toes against the ready shaft, barely grazing with each pass. She was still smiling gently, but her eyes told a much more mischievous story: she was not satisfied quite yet.
However, he found himself profoundly lacking in motivation. To bend her over and fuck her hard, as he had intended, he was far too tired for that. Too tired to do it, too tired to set it up, too tired to eat after, just too tired.
She must have read his mind, for she drew herself up to him, her bent knees the only barrier between her chest and his. They sat together in the middle of the vast bed for a time without saying a word. Her body fascinated him on every level and so he stared at nothing in particular.
His reverie was broken by yet another giggle. That woman was incorrigible. Her grin had widened and she was acting shy, always a sign of a devious plan. With a decent attempt at shyness, she covered her mouth with a hand and pointed gingerly behind him.
It sounded like a good idea. He began his laborious and awkward journey backwards, pulling and pushing on the blankets, dragging himself to the wall at the head of the bed. She followed like a stalking cat, her hair dangling down low enough to tickle his cock as he went. She bit her lips as she went, a very effective taunt and the perverse predator knew it.
The mound of pillows marked their destination. He began to turn and clumsily move the pillows out of the way, but she bounded into action long before he could move a single one. She first parted a section for him to lean against the wall, then thought better of it. She arranged a few of the wider pillows in a column and then helped guide him back to hold them in place.
As he leaned back against the layer of love and thoughtfulness that separated him from the cold, hard wall, he felt an irrepressible urge to answer her kindness. Fortunately, the opportunity was immediate and mutually desired.
For the first time in the night, she seemed genuinely sheepish as she situated herself before him. His legs were spread, his cock was ready and waiting, and he was watching her under heavy lids, but she did not leap at the opportunity. Perhaps she felt a burst of self-consciousness, but he did not pry. He just watched as she crawled and then knelt before him. Her eyes and hands searched in the darkness for the best way to reach her desired position, but he was more than ready to help.
It was only as he leaned forward that he saw how low the candlelight had fallen. In the looming darkness, his hands met hers, but they did not lock. His fingers traveled up her arms, to her shoulders, then slid down to her sides. He lifted her easily and guided her forwards until she was past his knees. He set her down just short of his expectant cock. Her knees fell into place on either side of him and he slowly let go of her weight. As expected, her hands lightly grasped his shoulders and her face remained level with his. Inch by inch, she shuffled closer until her pussy pressed against his upright cock, the hair on his chest tickled her tits, and her nose brushed against his.
Gone were the hot and heavy breaths of lust. Gone was the playful trickster that yearned to exercise its powers after being trapped for so many hours in the body of a timid housewife. In their place was Yvethe. Though her details were hidden, her warmth put all would-be contenders to shame.
It was locked in this embrace that he felt most at home. All of her facets were brilliant, but this is the one that he wanted right now, in his state of tired resignation. This is the Yvethe that he wanted to hold, the one he wanted to kiss, the only one he wanted to fuck.
Their noses barely touched, so he changed that.
He petted hers with his, gently stroking, marveling at how much of his body was needed to perform this simple act of intimacy. Nose, neck, chest, all was needed just for the most ephemeral of touches.
Her response was immediate: brief recoil and then redoubled affection. She met his nose with hers and they danced back and forth, one gently rubbing and then the other. There was no fixed pattern to the motions, just general feelings, replete with all of the missteps and bumps that one might expect.
Their hands could be closer, so he changed that.
Once more, he explored her body in the darkness, working from her toes this time. Her legs, neatly folded on either side of him, were easy to follow. Sometimes he skipped with two fingers lightly poking, sometimes he flew, the tips barely kissing her naked skin. The rivulets of sweat and imperfections of age excited him more than he would ever admit aloud.
Around those wondrous hips, then in and up her tight sides, across each rib, counting as he went. For now, he resisted the urge to explore inward with his thumbs. Armpit, elbow, wrist, victory. His hands on top of her hands on top of his shoulders.
He lifted them gently and she resisted slightly. He understood that she wasn’t particularly keen on losing her balance in the precarious blackness, but he knew that he could keep her safe. He pulled her hands down and out to nowhere in particular. They hung in the air, accomplishing nothing beyond the obvious.
As their fingers wove a pattern, his concentration returned to her face. He could see practically nothing now, only a silhouette, but it was the most perfect silhouette he had ever seen.
The soft and slow embrace of their noses transformed into a kiss. He knew not who moved first, but they were soon gently drinking one another in. Her tentative pecks fueled his love and he grew more forceful. More pressure, a little more depth with the tongue, heavier breaths on her cheek.
Their hands parted ways, with his drifted down to her petite waist and hers wandering up to his neck. She wrapped around him, her forearms limply resting on his shoulders, her hands barely clasped between him and the supporting pillows. With his hands, he helped her slowly begun to rock back and forth up against his cock.
In mutual understanding, their lips parted. He helped her as she rose slightly, stopping only when her lips were level with his forehead. Her elbows inadvertently massaged his neck as he reached down to guide the connection.
She slowly dropped back down, trusting him completely to join body and soul. The tip slipped in with a wet exclamation and she giggled, but her descent did not stop. He could barely withhold a gasping moan as he filled her and she enveloped him.
For a time, neither of them moved and he had plenty of time to appreciate exactly how her body pressed against his. He was inside her, but far more overwhelming was the way her tits deformed against his shoulders and the way her cheek rested on his temple. Her breaths grew steadier, but they only grew more intoxicating as they battered that part of his hair over and over again.
In her pleasure and desire to be closer to him, her back had arched at a practiced angle. Her belly pressed just above his and her ribs squeezed against his chest, slowly shifting in her search for the perfect spot. He inhaled her essence and waited.
She found it, slowed to a halt, and lightly kissed his temple. They began.
He flexed his ass gently and pushed against the blankets, just to get started. The gentle slipping in and out covered a distance of mere hairs, but it wracked her body in waves of excitement. Bit by bit, their bodies slowly separated. Each tiny thrust pulled their sticky flesh apart with the unbecoming sounds that they treasured so dearly. Each was a private secret that only they shared.
Without moving her legs, she began to rise and fall gently. Still wrapping her arms around his neck, she pushed down with her forearms. It was only enough for another inch or two of movement down there, but it was plenty.
The light brush of her tits against his shoulders, the way her breaths grew closer and farther away to the beat of the fucking, the way her ass slapped down against his legs with every fall, it was all too much. He didn’t think he could fall any deeper in love with her, but this regularly proved him wrong and it was a defeat that he was happy to endure.
Soon enough, she was straight upright, her hands clasping tighter and tighter behind his neck. She stooped in to steal a kiss from time to time, but she missed as often as not. She giggled girlishly either way, only to pant even harder from the breath deficit. She kissed his forehead at the zenith of pumps, his lips at the nadir, and everywhere else in between.
He faintly felt the urge to cum and so he let her know. He reached down and wrapped one hand behind her waist. With the other, he supported himself on the bed. She read his intent and slowed down completely. Were there light, he knew he would see her biting her lip.
He leaned forward slightly and she fell back, but their bonds of hands kept her from hitting the bed. She hung like this, halfway between upright and lying down, her arms around his neck, his arm around her waist, his cock inside her.
The fucking began in earnest. All in the hips and ass, he pushed all the way in and pulled just a hair short of all the way out. Years of mistakes had prepared him for tonight. The angle was perfect, the rhythm even better.
Her moans grew and grew, but he did not relent. He felt the urge to cum rising closer and closer, but he made no effort to stem the tide. He drilled faster and faster, surpassing even his own heartbeat. The faster he went, the shallower the fucking. He took as much pleasure in the loud slap of her ass against his thighs as in the penetration itself.
He felt her begin to unconsciously clench around him, immediately forcing his own release. However, he pulled and held, continuing the fucking, but flexing as hard as he could. He held it and held it and held it.
He waited for her to finish and regain some awareness. He waited so she could enjoy it more thoroughly. He waited as long as he could, then he pulled her as close as possible. Her chin narrowly avoided hitting his forehead, slipping to the side at the last second. He shuddered with each breath as they breathed past one another.
It spurted out into her. She cried out and her fingernails dug into his back. He had expected her to be sensitive, but he was still worried that it was too much.
His cock pulsed for what felt like an eternity. He could barely feel the wetness, but he knew it must be running out and drowning everything.
Both hands moved to grope her once more and he only realized his mistake once it was too late. With nothing left to support their precarious position, the two fell in a tumble of spattered flesh.
Any fears that she had been hurt were instantly alleviated by her choking laughter. He joined in immediately with a rumbling chuckle.
They laid like this for a long time, with hardly a boundary between what was his and hers. Fingers danced around and played games of patterns, toes curled and searched for parts of the blanket that were mostly unsoiled, lips indiscriminately kissed whatever flesh was before them.
Alas, all things must come to an end and so he extricated himself from the tangled web that they wove. This was only partly driven by her accident squeezing of his very sensitive cock, but he felt no need to berate her. He jerkily rolled away in an awkward escape, hoping that he didn’t hurt her as he went.
He was torn between a prodigious appetite and the natural post-fucking fatigue, but the hunger won out easily, especially bolstered as it was by his desire to feed his wife.
He did not bother to dress at all as he lurched off the side of the bed and stumbled through the darkened corridor. His quest for food was interrupted only once, for a brief stop in the washroom to clean his hands and pick up a towel which he then promptly draped over his shoulder.
One hand on the wall guided his feet to the dining room. His fingers grazed along the cold stone until they didn’t and he was there.
He knew that both of them had left their plates prepared for this exact eventuality. By memory, he crept forward with an outstretched hand until he reached the table. He found her plate within seconds, then his own just as quickly. With one in each hand and the towel in no obvious danger of falling off, he retraced his steps back to their room, taking great care not to bump into the sconces with his precious cargo.
Deep in concentration, the minute passed quickly and he was soon setting down the plates at the foot of the bed, as far away from their fun as he could manage without putting them at risk of falling off the edge. A faint creaking announced that she was still awake, though he had expected no less. He tossed the towel in her general direction and she murmured a word of thanks.
He muttered a curse in return, then immediately apologized and explained his dilemma to her. He had forgotten which plate was which. A faint chuckle rung out over vigorous rubbing as she cleaned herself.
The rubbing stopped and he perked his ears up. Despite that, he nearly jumped and dropped the plates when her delicate and surprisingly dry fingers clasped around his wrist. She had managed to work her way across the bed without him noticing. Fortunately, he kept the two plates steady, though she immediately relieved him of the one in the hand she had touched.
There was a faint scuffle, then the sound of her feet pattering against the floor, then the creak of the bed. She was sitting on the edge next to him. He followed suit and turned himself around to take a seat on the edge.
They sat side by side, his left arm lightly rubbing against her right. She slid a little closer and set her hand upon his. She rested her head against his shoulder at a slight angle and gave a satisfied murmur.
He waited in subdued bliss for her to begin. Sooner than he had expected, there was faint movement against his shoulder. She was silently chewing.
He smiled at the darkness and set the plate down to free up his hand. He searched with uncharacteristic delicacy for a relatively solid chunk. Though he found a promising chunk of meat, it betrayed him en route to his mouth and a loud plop resounded on his leg.
He hoped that she would not tease and search for it with her mouth. He feared that he would be unable to resist if she went that route.
As if she read his thoughts, she withdrew her hand atop his and lightly felt for the errant drop of food, taking great care to avoid his incredibly sensitive cock.
A furious blush crossed his face in the darkness as he realized what manner of fluids her finger was trailing through. His and hers, sweat, spit, and cum, she didn’t seem to mind at all. She found the food soon enough and, much to his chagrin, raised it up for him to eat. He playfully gagged as it approached his mouth and made an exaggerated effort to turn away from her in a huff.
She laughed, withdrew her hand, and took a very loud bite of something. He gagged honestly this time, but that only made her laugh harder. She struggled to explain that she had thrown away that bit and that she had eaten fresh food from her other hand, but she was laughing far too hard at her silly joke.
Soon, he too was infected with a chuckle as he worked his way through the plate. The solid and easy bits ran out quickly, but that was alright. He scooped up some with the crook of his finger and fed it to her. Her fingers were too small to get sufficient bites out of that method. In exchange, she fed him the larger chunks from her plate by hand. He wondered how she had so many more easily manageable pieces, then he remembered that she had eaten much less earlier.
Their exchange continued and both slowly filled up. The time between bites grew and was replaced by light conversation and rubbing. A gentle massage of her thigh, scratching a hard-to-reach itch on his back, a giggling game of her trying to reach some rogue food on his face while being guided by his directions.
This gradually devolved into the pair lying back on the bed, their plates sufficiently far away as to not be disturbed, but close enough to grab a bite with a little effort. She pushed him over onto his belly and mounted him, administering the most wonderful massage of his life. Afterwards, she rolled him over once more and cuddled up alongside him as he slowly fed her more bites. With his other hand, he played with her hair and softly kneaded her scalp.
In this embrace, they drifted off into a light sleep. Both knew that they would soon wake up to properly clean and handle everything, then go back to bed correctly, but this was suitable for now.
He fell asleep beside his wife and she fell asleep beside her husband.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8daucv/a_hard_knights_night_mfmarriedlove