I heard him cross the room and then I sensed him coming around the bench to stand directly in front of it, and me. My face was level with his waist—with the loose knot of his robe’s belt, with the dark terrycloth that was all that separated me from what I could already see straining against the fabric.
Chris looked down at me. His hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb tracing the dried tear tracks on my cheek. Then, without a word, he pulled the belt loose.
The robe fell open and slid off his shoulders in one fluid motion, pooling at his feet like a dark puddle. And there he was: my husband, naked, his body broad and hard and golden in the lamplight. My eyes traveled down the plane of his chest, the flat stomach, the trail of dark hair that led to?—
His cock. Thick and rigid and flushed dark with blood, jutting toward me at the exact height of my parted lips. It was so close I could feel the heat radiating from it, could smell the clean but musky scent of his skin. A bead of moisture glistened at the tip, catching the light.
“Open your mouth,” Chris said.
My lips parted. He didn’t wait for me to do anything else—his hand slid from my jaw to the back of my head, his fingers threading into my hair, and he guided himself between my lips with a slow, steady push that filled my mouth with the salt-and-skin taste of him. I moaned around his thick shaft, the sound vibrating against his flesh, and his fingers tightened in my hair.
“Get my cock nice and wet, Valerie,” he said, his voice rougher now, the composure fraying at its edges. “Use your tongue. You’re going to want it as slippery as you can get it for where it’s going.”
The reminder of where his cock was going—where it was ultimately going, after my mouth, after everything else my husband chose to do with my body before he consummated this dark ceremony—sent a shudder through my entire body. I obeyed, working my tongue along the underside of his shaft, coating him with saliva, sucking and licking with the desperate eagerness of a wife who understood that every bit of wetness she produced now was mercy she was earning for later.
Chris held my head with one hand and began to rock his hips—slow, shallow thrusts that pushed him deeper into my mouth with each stroke. Not gagging me yet, but filling me completely, the broad head of his cock nudging the back of my throat before withdrawing. I breathed through my nose in quick, practiced pulls, my eyes watering, my lips stretched wide around his girth.
Then I felt his other hand. Chris had reached behind me to where my bottom was raised and exposed on the curved leather. His fingers found the base of the plug. I moaned around his thrusting penis, my hips jerking over the bench.
He pressed it. Gently at first, then with more deliberation, pushing the plug deeper before easing it back, then pushing again. The sensation—the dual fullness of his cock in my mouth and the plug moving inside my bottom—was so overwhelming that a keening sound succeeded the moan, escaping around his shaft, muffled and desperate and utterly wanton.
“That’s it,” Chris murmured, thrusting into my mouth while his fingers worked the plug in counterpoint. “Good girl. Get me nice and ready.”
I moved my tongue desperately, saliva spilling from the corners of my mouth and running down my chin. I could feel the wetness dripping from there onto the leather beneath me, mixing with the tears that had started again—not from pain but from the sheer, staggering intensity of being stimulated at both ends simultaneously. My pussy clenched rhythmically around nothing, aching and empty, the lace panel of my lewd training panties soaked through.
Chris pulled out of my mouth with a wet, obscene sound. A strand of saliva connected my swollen lips to the glistening head of his cock, and it broke as he stepped back. I gasped for air, my chest heaving against the leather, my lips tingling and swollen.
He moved around the bench. I heard his bare feet on the hardwood, felt the air shift as he positioned himself behind me. His hands found my hips—warm and sure—and then I felt the broad, wet head of his cock press against the aching opening of my vagina.
I cried out, my fingers clenching the handles so hard the wood bit into my palms. The stretch of him inside my pussy was a relief so intense it bordered on pain—after the denial, after the teasing, after the long evening of being aroused past the point of sanity, having him fill me there felt like finally being allowed to breathe after holding my breath for hours.
“God, you’re tight,” Chris groaned behind me. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers pressing into the tender, paddled flesh of my bottom, and the sting of it made me gasp. “So fucking tight, Val.Your little pussy was made for my cock, and the plug just makes it feel even sweeter for me.”
He began to move—deep, measured thrusts that rocked me forward on the bench, my breasts sliding against the leather with each stroke. The plug seemed to make everything more intense; I could feel his cock pressing against it through the thin wall between my passages, creating a fullness so overwhelming my vision went white at the edges.
“Don’t come,” Chris said, his voice sounding a little strained with his own effort to control his pleasure, in pursuit of enjoying me as long as he obviously wanted to do. “You don’t have permission yet. Not until I’m in your ass.”
