The bed opposite my wooden chair was folded, pressed, and wrinkle free. I had made it this morning, after my husband finally managed to get up. Now I sit across from my handiwork to watch his instead. My legs crossed with both arms resting on the support of the chair I relaxed my back against it. A swirl of red wine to match my small black dress might have one mistake me for the lady of the evening. No expense should be reserved when you witness art, that's what I say, especially when the art can glance back.
I set a few candles on both bedside tables to accent and draw attention away from the audience. Usually my husband likes to prepare the scene but today I requested the honor. Something about small pleasures I found unusually indulgent today. The wooden frame of our bed was a strong dark acacia. It squeaked only at the roughest and vibrant forms of use, hiding much of our deviance from unwanted guests. The cover was thin and smooth, with a patterned baby blue texture. Cool and smoother underneath, was my favorite silk sheet. Precious few performers were worthy of this stage, but todays supporting actress is exceptional.
My eyebrows curled up in anticipation, while simultaneously the doorknob turned announcing their presence. Enter the protagonist, my husband, a tall averagely built man with short black hair and almond skin. Quite feminine in his own right, he had a strong distaste for body hair and so most of his own was removed. At least consistently for performances. His sizable member was, in my opinion, hard to criticize. It wasn't winning any awards for dimension, but it wasn't exactly average either. The peak of what might say is perfection for the average women, but when you've been with as many women as him, you learn tastes vary.
Following closely behind was our feature. She was truly a treat. A bronzed beauty with blond straight hair and a blue streak that demanded attention. I often wondered just how much attention she craved with that blue accent, especially considering how quickly she agreed to our particular past time. In comparison to my husband, she was quite athletic. No muscle was left without work. As she swayed in front of me I saw the callipygian form I had previously only been allowed to imagine. She was truly quite exceptional.
I took a sip of my wine as my husband lifted her off her feet and lied her down gently on our bed, displaying her for me. As her body touched the cover it contoured to match her. Every crease formed began the story of her beginning pleasure. The flame of passion ignited. Goosebumps scurried from my toes to my knee, and continued their voyage north. My husband placed his knee on the bed and straddle her pressing his hands on either side for support. Lowering himself there bodies connected pressing her form further into the bed. Each crease of hers more predominant interlaced with his.
Guilt momentarily overtook me as I imagined the love these two might have shared. Yet, both are content to burn hotly tonight and only tonight. It's unfortunate that their candle couldn't last a bit longer, but she was interested in only one performance. A kind of generosity and greed dances inside me every time I enjoy my husband's play. How wonderful it is to see these two bodies meld and share ecstasy. How delightful it is that they never get to experience it again. The guilt subsides with reflection on the maturity of our actresses in accepting our proposal, but how perfect it would to be begged for more.
Fixating again on the melded flesh before me, my husband slowly began his descent in my absence. Knees firmly positioned beneath her his lips crossed the plains of her belly to rest on the plateau of her chalice. His arms rolled underneath her firm succulent legs as his hands grasped that wonderful derrière. Lifting her up he began to drink. Chills ran through my spine at each moan. She caressed her body pinching her own nipple, a plea for pain and pleasure. My husband did not stop, he would drink his and her fill. The excitement of her inevitable explosion was a sport to him. Something he enjoyed most. With each passing moan she grew more submissive, requesting she be taken. His resilience only fueled her spiral into accepting his will. Without fail she began to wail. Short huffs one after another, and, ah – ah, squeal. I smiled in internal applause as I noticed for the first time how slippery my chair had become.
My husband continued to push her as her head shook violently. The shear intensity of her orgasm left her quite exhausted. Her body lowered and my husband's raised as he aligned himself against her engorged entrance. A quick rhythm of a piccolo echoed through the halls as the protagonist entered into the castle. The door closed and the piccolo etched a high pitched cacophony to finish it's solo. Now began the drums. The timpani entered first, as each pressure wave spread across the tight surface the piccolo followed in cadence. My husband's moan cut through the air into my ear and I felt myself standing on the edge of a crevice. I focused on his body, watching it pound hers. I let out a soft moan as the movement transitioned. Clenching the arm of my chair and the stem of my wine glass. They both moaned asynchronously against the cadence of their flesh. I bit my lip still barely holding it together, feeling myself continue to leak my desire.
Grabbing her hair at the root and firmly pulling her head back he doubled his tempo. The timpani exited and immediately entered the snare as the crass hits against the surface crackled. Her moans turned into acceptance, "Yes". "Yes, yes." His moans turned into wails and groans. I slide up against the edge of my chair, uncrossing my legs to expose my missing panties. My legs spread wide impulsively. Hers wrapped around him, inviting him to stay, refusing him to leave. With a final transition into a sporadic solo he ejaculated every ounce of intensity they had shared deep inside her. Her eyes opened wide as a low grown completed both of their scores in the duet.
Their performance was over. As he removed himself from her his cock remained stiff and ready. He looked at me, acknowledging the audience for applause. He pulled her by her hair to the base of the bed, she moaned surprised there was more. Placing his cock against her face she happily obliged. I pushed my tongue out in an openly slutty display. Wishing I could taste his and her juice for myself.
He looked deep into my eyes while she serviced him. My pussy ached for completion as I began to moan heavily at his command. He wasn't satisfied yet, but wouldn't let me touch him. I opened my mouth wider as I felt my entire body get more and more sensitive. My nipples hardened, by juices pooled on the floor. I shook and shivered, staring into his eyes. Fixated. He opened his mouth. I mimicked our performer. "Yes!, yes!, yes!" Forming the first syllable as slowly as he could I cried out in impatience waiting for his permission. Weeping. Finally, he echoed in my brain as my body exploded and every nerve danced with excitement. Finally! "Cum."
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/3pfmt1/tonights_feature_mff_cuckquean
The instrument analogies really confused me for a second there