tagNonConsent/ReluctanceUntil We're Both Satisfied

Until We're Both Satisfied

bythicktimber©

His eyes were closed, a vain token of propriety: if he didn't see what was happening, was he really responsible? Around his finger her mouth closed, warm, wet, sucking. He felt her teeth graze over the hardness of his wedding band, then those hot, soft lips closed about his finger, retreating slowly towards his fingertip with a delicious, unfamiliar suction. What am I doing? There is a reason I've worn this band for fifteen years.

Then her thigh moved insistently against his crotch, pressing and rubbing his swelling flesh through the suddenly tight denim of his jeans. Her teeth were nibbling their way down his arm, little bites of exquisite pressure, until she suddenly paused to rip open his pinpoint oxford shirt with both hands, driven by a hunger that sent the buttons flying in all directions. I'm forty-one; she's eighteen. His nipple was under assault of an impatient, demanding tongue, and suddenly he jerked involuntarily, driving his crotch against the young, firm thigh that was writhing up and down his denim-imprisoned cock.

He kept his eyes shut tight.

She was kissing them, his cheeks, his lips. Her tongue, warm and restless, slipped into his ear as she shifted her body weight and he felt a hand tugging away at the button and zipper of his jeans. He was trembling, uncertain, but when that little hand closed on his cock, squeezing it tight, he felt blood surge into his shaft, imprisoned by her fingers.

The warm flesh of a firm young breast pressed against his face, and groaning in surrender, his tongue reached out to catch a nipple. His lips followed, closing around it, teeth holding the hot bud as his tongue flicked across her hardened nipple. His cock was aching, still crushed in her relentless grip, straining against her fingers. The her voice, a warm exhalation of need, murmured into his ear: "Fuck me, daddy. I need a real cock in this tight cunt." He felt warmth and softness and wetness envelop the head of his cock; he knew as his body yielded all control to this teen that his thick shaft was sliding into the tight, hot depths of an eighteen-year-old girl. He knew that in moments her tight cunt would clench his cock and drive him over the edge, to be filled with the heady rush of his thick, hot cum.

Dinner

"You're home late," she greeted him. She had been drinking; there was a familiar combative look in her eye. Does she know? In her hand, the chef's knife shredded the onion on the cutting board with cool, precise movements.

"Yes. Sorry. I had to interview applicants to take over Sonia's job. We're screwed: they are all kids with no experience." He felt blood rush into his cheeks: "screwed" was the wrong word choice. He was acutely aware that cock felt sticky in his jeans. Julie, his wife, didn't even look at him. Since she had started her new job—a job that paid her considerably more than he had ever earned—she had grown distant. Their kids were away at boarding school, and now their evenings were filled with dead-end, one-way comments until the alcohol they both drank took hold and both stopped trying to maintain the pretense of conversation.

Watching Julie, he noticed the unmistakable hardness of her nipples pressing against the silk of her top each time the knife sliced down to the board. Her nipples were always hard; what surprised him now was the obvious absence of a bra. She must have come home early and been drinking for quite some time, enough to relax her usual attire to slip off her bra. He felt intensely guilty and awkward as he recalled years earlier watching her remove her bra while wearing a shirt—a release of a clasp, a wriggle of elbows and then the weight of her breasts pressing against her shirt. Then, it had been a prelude to his exploring her body. Now the thought burned in his cheeks as he recalled another's whispered words: "Fuck me, daddy." He shivered and opened the fridge, helping himself to a beer with relief.

The chef's knife stopped, and he heard the sizzle of diced onions in olive oil in the pan on the stove.

His body was shaking now, a movement he struggled to control as he swallowed half a beer in a long, desperate gulp. He was on the other side of the kitchen island now, across from her, and her face was hidden behind the hood over the stove. His eyes were drawn again to her breasts, swaying now as she stirred the onions with a wooden spoon. As he watched, he caught glimpses of the bare sides of her breasts as she stirred. Beside her, on the island, he noticed an open bottle of Shiraz, empty except for the last two inches. Something was on her mind. He realized he was sweating despite the chill of the air-conditioned room and moved away, walking into the adjoining den to steady himself.

"You've been keeping long hours all week, Ethan," she said, her voice carefully controlled. He heard the sizzle of meat in the pan, and realized with detachment that she was making her version of Steak Diane. He thought of her breasts again, those nipples pressing hard against the silk, but the thought was overwhelmed by the sudden memory of a young breast, firm and hard, filling his mouth an hour earlier.

He sat down in a recliner and finished his beer in a long second gulp. "Yes." He steadied his voice and tried to purge the thought of a young cunt squeezing his cock tight, a cunt that had left the stickiness behind that now coated his cock. "We've been slammed, so I've had to hold some of the interviews after hours." His voice was alien, tight, and hollow.

Looking up, he saw her in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. She held a nearly empty wine glass in one hand in a relaxed grip at the side of her leg, while her other hand crossed her body and was tucked under her arm. This had the consequence of causing her shirt to gape in front, but she seemed wholly unaware of the hard, dark nipple that came into view. Despite his fear and the guilt burning in his cheeks, he felt his cock swell again. It tugged against his boxers, caught where the mingled juices of sex had dried onto the cotton. She walked deliberately towards him, dropping her arm and raising the wine glass. He felt her eyes register his erection with no apparent interest, then look intently into his own.

Holding his eyes with hers, she knelt in unhurried fashion in front of him, just as she had used to do years ago as a prelude to taking his cock into her mouth. The difference now was the analytical coldness of her eyes, a coldness lessened only a bit by the glow of wine. Still holding his eyes with hers, she lowered her head to within inches of his cock. His own eyes broke away, unable to withstand the intensity of her gaze, and they fell to the beckoning view of her breasts hanging free and full within the wispy silk of her shirt. He closed his eyes, this time out of fear. Every inch of his body was taut, and he was aware that he was holding his breath. In the silence he heard her inhale, slowly and deeply. He could almost feel the warmth of her face as it hovered about his crotch.

His eyes flickered open and found hers staring at his as before, her head mere inches above his cock, and a curious light now gleaming in her eyes. "I thought so," she murmured to no one in particular. The she was gone, back to tend to the steaks that she was searing on the stove.

After-Dinner Drinks

The long, hot shower had done little to relieve either the guilt he felt or the horniness that seemed to burn against or feed off of that guilt. As Ethan washed away the scent of teenage pussy, he relived the image of his wife's breasts in his mind. His cock was half-hard when he stepped out of the shower, and he was surprised to find his wife waiting for him with two wine glasses in her hands. A newly opened bottle of Shiraz sat on the bathroom counter by a single, lit candle. Julie was wearing only a small, black nightgown, a dark cascade of black ruffles that barely covered her still-shapely bottom. He reached for a towel to cover his now growing erection as she handed him the wine.

There was warmth and desire in her eyes, something he had not seen for months. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of this knowledge that made the Shiraz taste oddly sweet, but after the first sip she was pressing her body against his, and his towel slipped to the floor as she kissed his lips passionately. Dazed, he kissed back, following her when she broke away and led him into the bedroom. Their four-poster bed had been witness to long and exhausting nights of passion before, but none in the last few months. But now she led him there and climbed up, tucking her knees under her.

He sat beside her, balancing his wine glass as he sat down and surprised yet again when she reached her hand over to gently grasp his cock. "You need to catch up to me," she said, raising her glass before taking a deep draught of the blood-red wine. He needed no second hint, draining his glass in one swig and delighting in her playful bounce as she sprang from the bed and went back into the bathroom to retrieve the bottle. When she returned, though, the nightgown was gone and he was staring for the first time in months at her still splendid body. Her breasts were full and swollen, a sign of her arousal, but he was surprised to see that she had completely shaved her pussy, leaving her pouty pussy lips exposed.

He was still processing this as she kissed him again from where she stood, deep and passionate, and then refilled his glass. "That was impressive, baby. You'd think you were horny or something." Her voice was low and seductive, an electric murmur. He smiled, feeling blood surge back into his cock. As it jerked in the air, she laughed, the first genuine laugh she had made in months. "Watch this, honey!" he raised the glass to his lips again, draining the second glass in seconds. With a shiver he shrugged off the abrupt power of the wine, and enjoyed her smiling reaction. Her hands were on his cock again, now slowly jerking it.

"You've always loved handjobs, haven't you, baby? Like the one on that Valentine's date, when we snuck into that art-house screening of Last Tango in Paris. . . . I'll never forget the feel of your hot cum hitting my face. I was so shocked. Just stunned that any guy could shoot cum that far since that was the first handjob I had ever given." Her hand was gripping him firmly, not as hard as a recent eighteen-year-old hand, but nevertheless delicious in its sensation. All he could do was moan and close his eyes.

His eyes seemed heavy now, as though a day of unexpected sexual activity had suddenly exhausted them. He tried to open them again, to watch her hand jerk his cock, but the effort seemed too much. He lay down on the bed, his head settling onto a pillow in the middle. Too much wine too fast, he decided, and he tried to form an apology with his lips, but they too seemed suddenly heavy. He lifted his hand from his chest, intending to place the wine glass on the side stand by the bed, but his arm just flopped in that direction and the glass was lost, spilling its contents on the white sheets.

"I'll help you, honey," came Julie's voice as if from a dream. He was vaguely aware of her hand on his wrist, then of something soft closing about the wrist. He tried to lift his arm, but something was holding it secure. Julie was atop him now, and despite his thick thoughts he was aware of the burning warmth of her exposed, wet pussy pressing against his cock. She was rubbing herself against him. Then he felt her kiss and her hands on his other wrist as darkness overwhelmed him.

Just Desserts

He awoke to the soft glow of candles, countless candles everywhere in the room. But what room was it? He lifted his head to see, starting to roll over onto his side to get up, but then he realized something held him in place. Or rather, several things. His wrists strained against some sort of soft cord, and as he jerked his arms in rising panic, he realized that a broad strap was holding his chest to the bed. Like his wrists, his ankles struggled against similar bonds. The sleepiness drained away instantly as adrenaline rushed into his system. Should he call out? His head throbbed awfully, but despite the anguish he realized that not only was he bound hand and foot, he was also completely naked.

He heard a beep nearby and turned his head to find its source. There, sitting in a chair, sat his naked wife Julie, flipping through something on his phone. A cold chill seeped into his bones as he thought of the pictures on his phone, pictures a certain eighteen year-old had taken of herself when he had cum on her pussy and breasts and belly. There she was, naked and smiling, her pussy lips swollen, her cunt soaked, and the curving arcs of his pearly cum sprayed across her firm breasts and pooling in her belly button. He dropped his head back to the pillow, defeated. "Fuck," he muttered, his mind reeling.

 

"She has a nice body, honey," Julie said. Her voice was not angry or agitated, a fact that chilled him more. "You must have enjoyed fucking her. Did you hire her, or did you just use the promise of a job to get into her tight cunt?" She was smiling at him, and then she stood and came over to him, lying down beside him on the bed. She lay her head against one of his outstretched arms, snuggling her naked body against his. Her weight tightened the strap that bound his chest to the bed. "You know, baby, seeing her like this I think I might almost have made a move on her, especially with your cum all over her sweet little pussy. I never really thought about making love to a girl, but why not?"

Her idle hand toyed with his nipples, rubbing them to hardness in a way that made his cock pulse, too. "I think it might even have been hot to watch your thick cock stretch her tight little cunt. Did she cry out when it was all the way in?" He was silent. Then he noticed that she had his phone still, and she swiped the screen to a shot of the eighteen-year-old's pussy in close-up. "Mmmm, baby. How did it feel to slide your cock into this? She is so pretty, too, rather like me when I was younger, don't you think?"

"Julie, I . . . I . . . ". His face was red, burning with humiliation and anger. Julie put her hand over his mouth. "Hush, baby. You don't have to explain. I know her pussy smells amazing, baby, because I smelled her juices and your cum earlier. Did you lick her little tight pussy too, baby?" Despite his predicament, Ethan felt his cock swelling, continuing what her nipple play had started. "Julie," he began again, but this time she as she shushed him she got up and picked a terry cloth robe up from a chair. She pulled the belt free of its loops and returned to him, smiling, climbing over his chest until her pussy was pressed into his chest and her breasts dangling seductively in front of his eyes.

"You don't have to explain anything, baby. In fact, I don't want you to." When she raised the belt, he realized her intention, but he was to sluggish to avoid the inevitable: she looped the belt about his head, tying it off as a gag despite his abrupt struggle to escape it. She leaned forward, letting her breasts brush against his gagged face. "I haven't been very kind to you of late, baby—busy working and all that. And you've been pissed off at me because I was working outside of the home, making more money than you. I get that, baby. And you had to find someone to take Sonia's place, and then a young teen interviewed. I know how the vision of a young tight teenage body must have made your cock swell and your mind go stupid because my own body did that to you when we were in high school, convincing you that kisses and tits and pussy meant more than promises you made to your parents. But baby, you made promises to me after that, promises you broke this afternoon when you fucked this pretty girl."

Beneath her Ethan had frozen, afraid to move. He had never seen Julie like this, and he had no clue what was on her mind. She slid off of him, nestling beside him on the bed as she reached down with one hand to find his cock. His body was tense, his heart pounding, and his thoughts filled with uncertainty and fear, yet still the touch of her hand on his cock was electrifying.

"Poor little cock needed some attention, didn't it?" She was stroking it now, tenderly, almost lovingly. The suddenly the grip tightened, tighter even than the urgent clutch of the girl that afternoon. It was a suddenly cruel grip. Irrationally came a sudden vision of the chef's knife, razor sharp and gleaming, that she had used so effortlessly as she prepared dinner. From head to toe he felt his hair rise as goose bumps prickled his flesh. But Julie was reaching under her pillow, pulling out some warming gel that she flipped open and squeezed onto his cock. Closing her fingers slowly around it, she milked his cock up and down, flooding it with overwhelming sensations of pleasure. He strained again against his bonds, wanting to hold her, but his efforts only drew the ropes tighter. He could do nothing but submit. Torn between desire and fear and recognizing his complete helplessness, Ethan stopped resisting and closed his eyes. Please, God, not the knife.

She had stopped playing with his cock, and he opened his eyes when she gently lifted his head to prop a folded pillow beneath it. Then she straddled his chest again and teased his nipples with fingers warm from the gel she had used on his cock. She was smiling that new, curious smile, and when their eyes met, she moved herself up his chest, slipping her thighs on either side of his head and pulling herself up on the headboard until her shaved pussy was an inch above his face. The fresh, warm scent of her cunt teased his nostrils. She leaned forward, her thighs closing slowly but firmly about his head, and she ground her pussy into his face, over his gagged mouth. "Don't you want to taste my shaved cunt, baby? I shaved it just for you." Her voice was low, breathless. His mouth watered behind the gag, and when part of his tongue managed to touch a part of her pussy lips, the taste overwhelmed his senses.

She moved back, sitting on one leg on his chest, but rising the other to expose her cunt to him as she positioned her foot on the other side of his head. His eyes were glued to her pussy, to the swollen lips, and to the pearl of liquid oozing from between her lips. Her right hand reached forward to tousle his hair, an affectionate gesture from their early days of dating, but the nostalgia was swiftly ended when her fingers closed around his hair and held his head in a firm grip. "You always asked me to get off while you watched, baby, but I was always too shy for that. I don't know why. But when I shaved my cunt bald, I lost some of those inhibitions. So baby, I'm going to cum for you right now."

Her left hand slid down over her clit, her fingers spreading her pussy lips apart. As the hand started to rub its way up and down, he watched, mesmerized, as her ringer finger slipped gently into her pussy as her other fingers splayed apart. She added her middle finger in her pussy, and then she began to fingerfuck her cunt, slowly at first and then with greater speed and abandonment. Her fingers glistening from her pussy juices, and the sight of her pussy lips tugging at them as she withdrew reminded Ethan of his own cock slipping into her warm wetness. His cock twitched as blood surged into it.

Julie did not seem aware of him. Her hand in his hair was just a handhold, an occasionally painful one for him when pleasure wracked her body and made her move suddenly in response to the tingling. Her eyes were closed now, too, and when she pulled her fingers out and began teasing her swollen clit directly, he knew she was close to cumming. Moans were escaping her parted lips, her breasts were full and seductive, jiggling gently as her hand teased her clit. Ethan longed for one of her hardened nipples to be between his teeth. The smell of her pussy was driving him crazy; he wanted to make her cum, but all he could do as watch.

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bythicktimber© 9 comments/ 58845 views/ 15 favorites

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