Xyantha Reborn
- Actually Very Tame!
Just a short little piece I tried while to blow off some steam while at a standstill with my other stuff. I'm generally not really good at shorter stuff...
A blind man helps his wife discover the joy of living in her own skin and living her life.
“I beg you to reconsider. She isn’t…attractive.”
There were some words, James reflected, that the blind could comprehend. But others were vague concepts that relied solely on sight. “And what is that to me?” He sighed, rubbing his fingertips over the smooth marble orb at the top of his walking stick.
“You may be blind, but the rest of the world if not. Your children may not be either – at least do them the favour of ensuring their line has beauty as well as money.”
These arguments had been brought forward time and again. The difference between then and now was that this time, James had an object in mind. He was both adamant and tired. Tired of the searching and the rules, and adamant that he had made his choice. There were other things that he considered far more important than enjoyment of looks, which he could not partake of in any event. Rosamunde suited to him in rank – she was stainless in that regard. He had never formally met her before making his decision, but had heart her soft, breathy voice as she passed under his window in town. It had immediately caught his ear, and he had inquired after her.
“But – ”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the younger man turned his face towards the origin of the other voice. “Charles. You are my brother and I love you. However – has anything any of you said ever made a difference in my decisions? I had going to balls and parties. I hate the smell, the noise, the falsity of it all. I don’t want a life of visibility; only to sit at home with a wife of my own choosing. You should know this by now – keep your belle dames. I want an intelligent, calm woman who I can spend my life with. The rest isn’t worth a filip.
“I beg you to – ”
“Silence, dear brother” James commanded. His keen ears had picked up the muted pattering of the approaching ladies. “My decision is final, and you will respect it if you respect me.”
*~*~*
His bride was quivering, her breath’s short and shaking. Custom be damned, he swore, taking a seat on the couch. He would go to the devil before he forced this girl. James hadn’t really considered what this night would be like – his experience with the finer sex had been rather limited, and mostly of the confident, brazen nature.
“What do you want me to do, M’. – ”
“James. Please, call me James.” He responded, following her cautious movement with his head. “I want you to be at ease – but that is hardly likely,” he added with a sigh, listening to the panting exhales of the woman in his bedroom. Their courtship had been short and to the point – but they had their whole lives to get to know each other, he had reasoned. Now, it was apparent that a little bit more familiarity might have helped smooth this moment over.
The woman who was now his wife was standing several paces from him, her breaths coming soft but quick. Her bare toes scratched at the carpet as she fidgeted, and the silk of her robe whispered against itself. There was nothing for it but to try – try and make her at least comfortable. Standing, he carefully measured the distance to the sound of her breathing. “May I touch your face?” he inquired softly.
“Why…? – Y-yes.” She corrected herself.
James carefully extended his hands, inhaling in surprise as her delicate boned, soft hands grasped his and guided them to her face.
Gently and rapidly running his fingers over the bones of her face, he smiled absently. “It is how I see,” he replied softly. Her skin was velvety soft and warm, much to his inner amusement. His brother placed far too much stock in appearance, when what James truly enjoyed was touch. Which was something that he could not often enjoy, given the constraints of society. Something, however, caught his notice, and he ran his fingers down her cheek to her jaw line again. Instead of harsh line of bone, her cheeks contoured into her jaw lightly, and blended softly with her neck. The skin was so soft he allowed himself the pleasure of touching her more slowly, memorizing the contours.
“Do…I please you?” she whispered after a silence that only their breathing broke. She sounded scandalized and titillated at his touch.
“I’m blind,” he reminded her wryly, trailing his fingers down the soft column of her neck and onto her collar bone. “I can’t see you.”
“O-oh,” she mumbled, sounding depressed.
James was unfamiliar with this protocol. He was neither knave nor womanizer, and had no arts to allure her. He had been with several women, all of whom took the lead – how could he excite her? The idea of pressing her into service merely to be the vessel for his seed sickened him, and he drew away. Moving carefully to his bed, he sat on the edge.
After a moment, a shuddering inhale and the slow tread of her feet told him she was approaching the bed, and this was confirmed as the edge dipped under her weight. “I’m ready,” she told him tonelessly.
The hell she was. After a moment, he flopped back onto the bed, arms thrown out in hopelessness. “I’m not very good at this,” he confessed, propping his head on his fist as he rolled over to face her. He turned his face towards her. It didn’t make a difference to him – in fact it was easier to listen with his face turned away – but he found that it made those who could see more comfortable. Reaching across the gap to find her hand, he misjudged, instead placing his hand on her stomach.
Based on her gasp, it was hard to tell who was more surprised. For his part, he was titillated. Instead of the narrow, hard waist he had been expecting, warm and giving flesh met his hand. Abruptly, his friend’s words made sense. She isn’t…feminine. Delicate. No. She was voluptuous and sumptuous, and immediately the glutton in him rose, demanding more of that feminine curve. “May I touch you?” he inquired softly. The sound of rustling fabric answered. After a moment, he added. “If you nodded, I can’t see you…”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “Of course you may touch me - I am your wife.”
He grimaced at the matter of fact way she spoke of it, but still hoped he would be able to please her. Resting his hand firmly on the mound of softness, he slid his palm, feeling the faint blur of her hip bone under that silk fabric. Everywhere he moved, opulent flesh received his touch, and he shifted closer to better reach her back, which she shifted to present to him.
The silk ribbon gave a little hiss as the knot gave way, mimicking the indrawn breath of the girl in front of him. So many women wore cloying perfumes to hide their smell – the only thing coming off of his Rosamunde’s skin was the faintest hint of rosewater. Inhaling deeply, he caught at her own scent, particular to each person. It smelled of sunlight and warmth, and he felt his shoulders relax. Slipping the edge of the fabric off one shoulder, James ran the edge of his fingers across the muted swell of her collar bone, then up the delicate pillar of her neck.
A soft, inadvertent moan met his ear, and relief soared through him, as well as a fresh burst of confidence. Her skin was softer than the silk that covered it – and his attention had only been detained, not diverted. James swallowed as he tugged one of the thin strings of ribbon that held the next tis closed, eager to feel the prize beneath. Her shallow breathing was deepening into pants of want as he slid his hand across her torso. At the bottom of her well padded rib cage, he found more softness, not the framed hollow of her concave stomach as with the others he had felt.
Trailing the backs of his fingers along her stomach, James felt disconnected. Dissatisfied. He wanted to be closer to that flesh. Leaning forward tentatively, he planted a kiss on the surface, which gave to the pressure, caressing his lips in turn. Almost trembling, his eager fingers slid across something unfamiliar. The slightest perceptible ridge with even softer skin at the centre. Four vertical stripes on the left, five on the right – the fifth was almost on her side, which was also soft. Splaying his hands across her stomach, he fit his fingers above each mark, fascinated and delighted.
Feeling the form beneath him tense again, he moved lower. Even laying down as she now was, the rounded curve by her navel dipped as it approached the mound of her sex. The hair there whispered between his fingers as he ran his hands lower. Oh.
Her skin wasn’t as soft as silk, because her creamy thighs were even softer. What was softer than silk? James wondered absently. The idea of them wrapping around him made him harden, and he stroked lightly until she relaxed, thighs falling open.
“Do I please you?” she whispered again, this time in a tone of wonderment.
“Very much,” James responded, amazed at his own reaction. She was murmuring protests, and he covered her lips with his until her arms twined around his neck. “I don’t need to see you to know that you are beautiful – every touch tells me you are. You are all lush curves, silky soft.”
“I’m fat,” Rose whispered, covering her stomach with her arms.
Stroking her forearms lightly, he kissed the palm of the small hand nearest to him. “Feminine. Beautiful.”
“Do you know what else you are?” he panted several minutes later. “Slick. Hot. Tight.”
“Oh,” she gasped, wriggling beneath him.
“And about to undo me,” he groaned, immediately adoring the feeling of her plush little body jiggling under his.
*~*~*
“It would please me,” James told his bride with patient affection, “to please yourself by eating what and when you will.”
Their eating arrangements were non typical. Their small family circle, typically being a tete-a-tete, sitting across a long table from each other was ridiculous. Much to the chagrin of his brother, they sat side by side. Rose seemed to be adapting to his continual need to touch her. And it was becoming a need. Sometimes, like this morning, he woke up and groped to feel her. To confirm that this magical creature was still in his life, not just a willow o’ the wisp.
“You have no idea what you are proposing,” she told him in a tone of strong reproof. “I am already fat; do you have any idea what would happen if I let loose my appetite? I would grow as round as an apple!”
James couldn’t help himself. He smiled. “A nice round apple I could sink my teeth into?” he murmured, nipping lightly at the pad of her thumb. A vexed sound reached his ears, and he grinned. “Come, my beautiful bride. Enjoy another slice of ham. I assure you, I will not find you one jot less attractive.”
At the end of the meal, a long sigh reached his ears, immediately causing him to fret. “What is it now?” he asked anxiously.
“I want some of the candied pear,” she said in a tone of self loathing.
Rolling his eyes, James carefully felt across the table until he found the container. Placing it in his lap, he scooped up a portion with his own spoon.
“James!” Rose cried, sounding scandalized. “Really! Out of the serving dish? And you are going to drop that all over the place!”
Shrugging, he abandoned the utensil and lifted one midair. “I feel rather foolish right now,” he added as the seconds ticket by.
“What am I supposed to do?” Despite the reproof in her tone, a strong undertone of scandalized laughter was leaking through. “Eat it from your fingers?”
James was just about to answer when the feeling of her warm, plump lips closing over his fingers made him grin maniacally. “Yessss,” he hissed, fetching up another piece. “Sensual,” he murmured, shivering, as the action was repeated.
Her chair legs whispered over the floor as she rose. “You, sir, are a sensualist.”
“Indeed,” James responded easily, standing as well. “When I am trapped alone in my body, with only you to connect me to the outside world. You are my world.” He knew such praise always made her laugh, which it did now.
Surprisingly, he felt her tug on his sleeve. Leaning down expectantly, his ear received these words:
“Well, perhaps we should adjourn to our room in order to explore that theory further?”
And she actually bit his earlobe! Jerking upright, he hastily snatched at her hands, swiftly moving to the stairs.
“Calm down!” She chuckled. “You almost took a painting off the wall!”
Damn the painting. Why did he have painting anyway? “Kiss me, then,” he demanded. Her kiss was not the lifeless pressing it had once been. Her hot little tongue flicked against his, sucking on his lower lip until he throbbed. “I meant to quell, not to inflame!” He reproved her as he swept her into his arms, manoeuvering the stairs of his lifetime home with ease.
“I’m too heavy!” was her squealed protest that echoed down the hall, that cut off in a giggle as he kicked the door shut.
*~*~*
“Do I please you?” Rose laughed throatily. She was perched on his stomach, her heavy, round stomach brushing at his chest. Beneath her, the two twin globes of her ass spread her weight across him.
Had he thought her opulent, all those years ago? She was extravagant, now. Sliding his fingers along the bulging curve of her thighs, he squeezed firmly, feeling himself react. Her stomach, once a mild curve of plumpness, had overspread her torso. It caused two mounds of fat to bulge over her hips, melding into the distended abdomen that kept tickling at his chest hair, resting on her thighs and completely covering her womanhood. Eagerly, he worked his fingers below that heavy mound, eliciting a happy gasp from his torturess.
“Well?” She demanded, laughter in her soft voice. “Is it too much?”
“One can never have too much of a good thing,” James returned, feeling the flesh loll onto his chest as she leaned down to rub her nose with his and plant a kiss upon his lips.
Pillows were placed below her knees in order to raise her, and he felt her shift, rising up for a moment. Not for long. Suddenly unable to breathe, James found himself writhing in ecstasy as his once little mouse of a wife smothered him with the jiggling mass of excess below her navel. It was his favourite – well, one of his many favourite – things about her body, and he licked at the flesh as she removed it. “Wench,” he growled, giving a hard pinch to her plentiful rump.
Laughter met his ears again, making him smile in turn, then gasp as she seated herself. Warm, tight, slickness surrounded his manhood, and he let his head fall back in anticipation.
“Do…I…please…you?” Rose demanded in time as she clenched her sex, moving along the length of it.
Perspiration was building between them, causing her slick flesh to wobble and slap into his. Abruptly thrusting up so hard his hips even raised her heavy form, James felt a rictus of a grin overspread his face. “More than you can ever know.”
“Even though I ate the pudding that was supposed to be for dinner?”
Damn. Biting his lip so hard it throbbed, he gently pinched the triangle of flesh below her stomach and above each thigh. “You can have whatever you want. I’m sure I can manage with the leftovers.” He loved that pudding…Ah well. For the greater good.
“See, the thing is…I ate all the pudding,” she said in the tone of a guilty little girl. “I took it to our room to enjoy with you in bed but I was so hungry I ate it all – I even licked out the bowl. Oh – do you like that?” This she asked with false innocence as he gave a hoarse shout, thighs clenching.
Over the years, he had experienced a direct correlation between his wife’s appetite, her flourishing body, and her sex drive. No wonder she was so excited – she was stuffed. And that meant…sliding reverent hands across her stomach, he pinched her nipples lightly. More of his wife. More to love.
"You are beautiful," he whispered softly.
FIN
A blind man helps his wife discover the joy of living in her own skin and living her life.
Blind Game
by Xyantha Reborn
by Xyantha Reborn
“I beg you to reconsider. She isn’t…attractive.”
There were some words, James reflected, that the blind could comprehend. But others were vague concepts that relied solely on sight. “And what is that to me?” He sighed, rubbing his fingertips over the smooth marble orb at the top of his walking stick.
“You may be blind, but the rest of the world if not. Your children may not be either – at least do them the favour of ensuring their line has beauty as well as money.”
These arguments had been brought forward time and again. The difference between then and now was that this time, James had an object in mind. He was both adamant and tired. Tired of the searching and the rules, and adamant that he had made his choice. There were other things that he considered far more important than enjoyment of looks, which he could not partake of in any event. Rosamunde suited to him in rank – she was stainless in that regard. He had never formally met her before making his decision, but had heart her soft, breathy voice as she passed under his window in town. It had immediately caught his ear, and he had inquired after her.
“But – ”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the younger man turned his face towards the origin of the other voice. “Charles. You are my brother and I love you. However – has anything any of you said ever made a difference in my decisions? I had going to balls and parties. I hate the smell, the noise, the falsity of it all. I don’t want a life of visibility; only to sit at home with a wife of my own choosing. You should know this by now – keep your belle dames. I want an intelligent, calm woman who I can spend my life with. The rest isn’t worth a filip.
“I beg you to – ”
“Silence, dear brother” James commanded. His keen ears had picked up the muted pattering of the approaching ladies. “My decision is final, and you will respect it if you respect me.”
*~*~*
His bride was quivering, her breath’s short and shaking. Custom be damned, he swore, taking a seat on the couch. He would go to the devil before he forced this girl. James hadn’t really considered what this night would be like – his experience with the finer sex had been rather limited, and mostly of the confident, brazen nature.
“What do you want me to do, M’. – ”
“James. Please, call me James.” He responded, following her cautious movement with his head. “I want you to be at ease – but that is hardly likely,” he added with a sigh, listening to the panting exhales of the woman in his bedroom. Their courtship had been short and to the point – but they had their whole lives to get to know each other, he had reasoned. Now, it was apparent that a little bit more familiarity might have helped smooth this moment over.
The woman who was now his wife was standing several paces from him, her breaths coming soft but quick. Her bare toes scratched at the carpet as she fidgeted, and the silk of her robe whispered against itself. There was nothing for it but to try – try and make her at least comfortable. Standing, he carefully measured the distance to the sound of her breathing. “May I touch your face?” he inquired softly.
“Why…? – Y-yes.” She corrected herself.
James carefully extended his hands, inhaling in surprise as her delicate boned, soft hands grasped his and guided them to her face.
Gently and rapidly running his fingers over the bones of her face, he smiled absently. “It is how I see,” he replied softly. Her skin was velvety soft and warm, much to his inner amusement. His brother placed far too much stock in appearance, when what James truly enjoyed was touch. Which was something that he could not often enjoy, given the constraints of society. Something, however, caught his notice, and he ran his fingers down her cheek to her jaw line again. Instead of harsh line of bone, her cheeks contoured into her jaw lightly, and blended softly with her neck. The skin was so soft he allowed himself the pleasure of touching her more slowly, memorizing the contours.
“Do…I please you?” she whispered after a silence that only their breathing broke. She sounded scandalized and titillated at his touch.
“I’m blind,” he reminded her wryly, trailing his fingers down the soft column of her neck and onto her collar bone. “I can’t see you.”
“O-oh,” she mumbled, sounding depressed.
James was unfamiliar with this protocol. He was neither knave nor womanizer, and had no arts to allure her. He had been with several women, all of whom took the lead – how could he excite her? The idea of pressing her into service merely to be the vessel for his seed sickened him, and he drew away. Moving carefully to his bed, he sat on the edge.
After a moment, a shuddering inhale and the slow tread of her feet told him she was approaching the bed, and this was confirmed as the edge dipped under her weight. “I’m ready,” she told him tonelessly.
The hell she was. After a moment, he flopped back onto the bed, arms thrown out in hopelessness. “I’m not very good at this,” he confessed, propping his head on his fist as he rolled over to face her. He turned his face towards her. It didn’t make a difference to him – in fact it was easier to listen with his face turned away – but he found that it made those who could see more comfortable. Reaching across the gap to find her hand, he misjudged, instead placing his hand on her stomach.
Based on her gasp, it was hard to tell who was more surprised. For his part, he was titillated. Instead of the narrow, hard waist he had been expecting, warm and giving flesh met his hand. Abruptly, his friend’s words made sense. She isn’t…feminine. Delicate. No. She was voluptuous and sumptuous, and immediately the glutton in him rose, demanding more of that feminine curve. “May I touch you?” he inquired softly. The sound of rustling fabric answered. After a moment, he added. “If you nodded, I can’t see you…”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “Of course you may touch me - I am your wife.”
He grimaced at the matter of fact way she spoke of it, but still hoped he would be able to please her. Resting his hand firmly on the mound of softness, he slid his palm, feeling the faint blur of her hip bone under that silk fabric. Everywhere he moved, opulent flesh received his touch, and he shifted closer to better reach her back, which she shifted to present to him.
The silk ribbon gave a little hiss as the knot gave way, mimicking the indrawn breath of the girl in front of him. So many women wore cloying perfumes to hide their smell – the only thing coming off of his Rosamunde’s skin was the faintest hint of rosewater. Inhaling deeply, he caught at her own scent, particular to each person. It smelled of sunlight and warmth, and he felt his shoulders relax. Slipping the edge of the fabric off one shoulder, James ran the edge of his fingers across the muted swell of her collar bone, then up the delicate pillar of her neck.
A soft, inadvertent moan met his ear, and relief soared through him, as well as a fresh burst of confidence. Her skin was softer than the silk that covered it – and his attention had only been detained, not diverted. James swallowed as he tugged one of the thin strings of ribbon that held the next tis closed, eager to feel the prize beneath. Her shallow breathing was deepening into pants of want as he slid his hand across her torso. At the bottom of her well padded rib cage, he found more softness, not the framed hollow of her concave stomach as with the others he had felt.
Trailing the backs of his fingers along her stomach, James felt disconnected. Dissatisfied. He wanted to be closer to that flesh. Leaning forward tentatively, he planted a kiss on the surface, which gave to the pressure, caressing his lips in turn. Almost trembling, his eager fingers slid across something unfamiliar. The slightest perceptible ridge with even softer skin at the centre. Four vertical stripes on the left, five on the right – the fifth was almost on her side, which was also soft. Splaying his hands across her stomach, he fit his fingers above each mark, fascinated and delighted.
Feeling the form beneath him tense again, he moved lower. Even laying down as she now was, the rounded curve by her navel dipped as it approached the mound of her sex. The hair there whispered between his fingers as he ran his hands lower. Oh.
Her skin wasn’t as soft as silk, because her creamy thighs were even softer. What was softer than silk? James wondered absently. The idea of them wrapping around him made him harden, and he stroked lightly until she relaxed, thighs falling open.
“Do I please you?” she whispered again, this time in a tone of wonderment.
“Very much,” James responded, amazed at his own reaction. She was murmuring protests, and he covered her lips with his until her arms twined around his neck. “I don’t need to see you to know that you are beautiful – every touch tells me you are. You are all lush curves, silky soft.”
“I’m fat,” Rose whispered, covering her stomach with her arms.
Stroking her forearms lightly, he kissed the palm of the small hand nearest to him. “Feminine. Beautiful.”
“Do you know what else you are?” he panted several minutes later. “Slick. Hot. Tight.”
“Oh,” she gasped, wriggling beneath him.
“And about to undo me,” he groaned, immediately adoring the feeling of her plush little body jiggling under his.
*~*~*
“It would please me,” James told his bride with patient affection, “to please yourself by eating what and when you will.”
Their eating arrangements were non typical. Their small family circle, typically being a tete-a-tete, sitting across a long table from each other was ridiculous. Much to the chagrin of his brother, they sat side by side. Rose seemed to be adapting to his continual need to touch her. And it was becoming a need. Sometimes, like this morning, he woke up and groped to feel her. To confirm that this magical creature was still in his life, not just a willow o’ the wisp.
“You have no idea what you are proposing,” she told him in a tone of strong reproof. “I am already fat; do you have any idea what would happen if I let loose my appetite? I would grow as round as an apple!”
James couldn’t help himself. He smiled. “A nice round apple I could sink my teeth into?” he murmured, nipping lightly at the pad of her thumb. A vexed sound reached his ears, and he grinned. “Come, my beautiful bride. Enjoy another slice of ham. I assure you, I will not find you one jot less attractive.”
At the end of the meal, a long sigh reached his ears, immediately causing him to fret. “What is it now?” he asked anxiously.
“I want some of the candied pear,” she said in a tone of self loathing.
Rolling his eyes, James carefully felt across the table until he found the container. Placing it in his lap, he scooped up a portion with his own spoon.
“James!” Rose cried, sounding scandalized. “Really! Out of the serving dish? And you are going to drop that all over the place!”
Shrugging, he abandoned the utensil and lifted one midair. “I feel rather foolish right now,” he added as the seconds ticket by.
“What am I supposed to do?” Despite the reproof in her tone, a strong undertone of scandalized laughter was leaking through. “Eat it from your fingers?”
James was just about to answer when the feeling of her warm, plump lips closing over his fingers made him grin maniacally. “Yessss,” he hissed, fetching up another piece. “Sensual,” he murmured, shivering, as the action was repeated.
Her chair legs whispered over the floor as she rose. “You, sir, are a sensualist.”
“Indeed,” James responded easily, standing as well. “When I am trapped alone in my body, with only you to connect me to the outside world. You are my world.” He knew such praise always made her laugh, which it did now.
Surprisingly, he felt her tug on his sleeve. Leaning down expectantly, his ear received these words:
“Well, perhaps we should adjourn to our room in order to explore that theory further?”
And she actually bit his earlobe! Jerking upright, he hastily snatched at her hands, swiftly moving to the stairs.
“Calm down!” She chuckled. “You almost took a painting off the wall!”
Damn the painting. Why did he have painting anyway? “Kiss me, then,” he demanded. Her kiss was not the lifeless pressing it had once been. Her hot little tongue flicked against his, sucking on his lower lip until he throbbed. “I meant to quell, not to inflame!” He reproved her as he swept her into his arms, manoeuvering the stairs of his lifetime home with ease.
“I’m too heavy!” was her squealed protest that echoed down the hall, that cut off in a giggle as he kicked the door shut.
*~*~*
“Do I please you?” Rose laughed throatily. She was perched on his stomach, her heavy, round stomach brushing at his chest. Beneath her, the two twin globes of her ass spread her weight across him.
Had he thought her opulent, all those years ago? She was extravagant, now. Sliding his fingers along the bulging curve of her thighs, he squeezed firmly, feeling himself react. Her stomach, once a mild curve of plumpness, had overspread her torso. It caused two mounds of fat to bulge over her hips, melding into the distended abdomen that kept tickling at his chest hair, resting on her thighs and completely covering her womanhood. Eagerly, he worked his fingers below that heavy mound, eliciting a happy gasp from his torturess.
“Well?” She demanded, laughter in her soft voice. “Is it too much?”
“One can never have too much of a good thing,” James returned, feeling the flesh loll onto his chest as she leaned down to rub her nose with his and plant a kiss upon his lips.
Pillows were placed below her knees in order to raise her, and he felt her shift, rising up for a moment. Not for long. Suddenly unable to breathe, James found himself writhing in ecstasy as his once little mouse of a wife smothered him with the jiggling mass of excess below her navel. It was his favourite – well, one of his many favourite – things about her body, and he licked at the flesh as she removed it. “Wench,” he growled, giving a hard pinch to her plentiful rump.
Laughter met his ears again, making him smile in turn, then gasp as she seated herself. Warm, tight, slickness surrounded his manhood, and he let his head fall back in anticipation.
“Do…I…please…you?” Rose demanded in time as she clenched her sex, moving along the length of it.
Perspiration was building between them, causing her slick flesh to wobble and slap into his. Abruptly thrusting up so hard his hips even raised her heavy form, James felt a rictus of a grin overspread his face. “More than you can ever know.”
“Even though I ate the pudding that was supposed to be for dinner?”
Damn. Biting his lip so hard it throbbed, he gently pinched the triangle of flesh below her stomach and above each thigh. “You can have whatever you want. I’m sure I can manage with the leftovers.” He loved that pudding…Ah well. For the greater good.
“See, the thing is…I ate all the pudding,” she said in the tone of a guilty little girl. “I took it to our room to enjoy with you in bed but I was so hungry I ate it all – I even licked out the bowl. Oh – do you like that?” This she asked with false innocence as he gave a hoarse shout, thighs clenching.
Over the years, he had experienced a direct correlation between his wife’s appetite, her flourishing body, and her sex drive. No wonder she was so excited – she was stuffed. And that meant…sliding reverent hands across her stomach, he pinched her nipples lightly. More of his wife. More to love.
"You are beautiful," he whispered softly.
FIN
