Rollercoaster

"I've got a proposal for you," she whispered, a hint of hunger tinting her tone. "I'll do for you what you do for me." She was standing behind me in the kitchen. I thought she was just coming in for a hug which she likes to do sometimes from behind. But with her lips so close I could feel her breath, this wasn't one of them. "Game?" The question was almost a taunt.

"Of course," I replied, adding quickly, "don't I always ... don't we always?" It took me a moment to realize my answer might not be so obvious. I wasn't quite sure what this was or what she was asking.

I liked to think myself a generous lover. I enjoyed pleasuring my wife. Truth be told, I took pride in it although that wasn't something I was likely to admit. So her proposal felt a bit awkward, unnecessary even. But with that tone in her voice I couldn't be expected to think clearly.

"Hmmmmmm, yes" she purred, her throaty voice spiked with lust "but this time, I call the shots."

That seemed a bit odd. We've been married so long that I just took for granted a lack of 'shots' to be called. My big head started to reengage a bit. "You have somethi..." "Shhhhh" she interrupted, holding it a bit longer than necessary. She used that time to bring her hands around to me - one to my chest, the other to my stomach and headed south. "Just yes..." Her hand reached my cock, cradling my balls from below and rubbing lightly up and down my shaft. The other took my nipple between two fingers and started rolling it back and forth. "...or no." This time the question insisted an answer. "Yes" I replied, my own voice softening with the hunger that was building. "Yes I will."

With the answer secured she began. One hand continued playing across my balls and cock while the other deftly worked the shirt buttons. Her lips never left my side, she didn't move from behind me. She started to nibble and lick my neck. I knew she liked that but I didn't quite realize how much I did too. I was responding, growing quickly hard as the physical sensations and the unshaped thoughts of what my wife might want enveloped me. She brought her lips back to my ear, brushing against them, letting her warm breath play against my skin. "Meet me in the bedroom" she whispered. "I'll be right there." But she didn't move, her hands still working me. "I want you stripped. I want you naked in bed." With that, her hands left me. I started to turn but she was already leaving, heading towards the laundry room. All I saw as she turned was a grin on her lips and a wicked glint in her eye. I hadn't seen those in a long time.

When she came to the bedroom I was already in bed, naked as told and laying on my side. Having been alone for a few minutes, I wasn't as hard as when she left me in the kitchen. But when she entered, still sporting that same sparkle and grin, my body betrayed my desire for her and quickly returned to fully erect.

She wore a robe and I doubted much else. It was the plush terry-cloth robe that felt like a cloud against her skin. The loft of the plush terry cloth seemed to highlight her hair and face. I momentarily forgot she that she was likely naked beneath. "Oh you're beautiful," I sighed contentedly. It broke the silence and perhaps bridged the physical gap between us with words. "There isn't an artist who could capture your beauty in this moment." It was probably corny, I felt a bit sheepish about the 'in this moment' bit. Yes I believed it was true. The combination of her physical beauty and that slightly wicked grin and devilish twinkle, it just couldn't be captured. Her lips turned upwards, breaking into a smile. "Thank you" she replied. But as she walked towards me, the smile was replaced. Hunger, desire, something else, I couldn't place what. It was a look that hinted of determination, control, confidence. I might not know the source but I knew what it meant. There was a destination in store. This was not just another romp in the bed.

"Lie back" she told me as she approached. "Flat on your back." Who was I to argue? I rolled onto my back. She crawled into bed, lifting her robe slightly, and straddled me. Her legs were folded under her, her mound positioned directly on my cock. Immediately I felt her wetness. No foreplay and she was already wet - unusual to say the least. I didn't ask and she didn't explain. Wordlessly she started to work her hips, rocking back and forth against me, rubbing herself against my shaft. She breathed out audibly, long and slow as if releasing some hidden stress. Still she said nothing. I just lay there. I loved the feel of her, the weight of her on top of me, the combination of warmth and wetness that enveloped my cock. The friction created with those lovely rocking hips started a tingle in my balls just hinted at the possibility of climax. She stayed like that for a few minutes, maybe longer, wordlessly rocking back and forth. I let my fingers play fingers across her skin, moving from breast to stomach and across her sides. I consciously tried to vary how my fingers might feel to her, dancing randomly across her torso. Fingernails traced delicate, invisible patterns across her skin. Fingers pressed, teased her nipples. My palms massaged and cupped her breasts, or sometimes rested on her hips a little to feel the rhythm of her motion.

Her rhythm was slow and deliberate, not nearly fast enough to approach an orgasm. She clearly wasn't working for that. Her eyes were closed, her lips pursed. She had brought her hands up on my chest and transferred some of her weight to her arms. It seemed as if she might have forgotten about me, lost in her own sensations. That might sound selfish. It wasn't. I wanted nothing more than to see her like that, lost in a world of her own sexual pleasure.

"Ready?" she asked, lust oozing across her lips so thick it seemed physically manifest. It was rhetorical of course and she didn't wait for an answer. She continued in that same lustful voice. "Put your arms at your side," and she opened her eyes, smiling down at me. A playful tone mixed with the lust as she added, "Your arms and legs must remain in the ride at all times." It was the line from Six Flags repeated ad nauseum before every roller coaster ride. I smiled but dutifully brought arms back to my sides.

She lifted her weight off me and moved forward, bringing herself up to rest just above my stomach. In this positioned I could no longer move much. My arms were pinned at my side and my torso trapped beneath her. I didn't think about it but it was true just the same.

"I've been thinking about this all day," she said, the words almost sliding off her lips. She reached back, taking my cock in her hand. "And you might have noticed" she continued, her hand working my cock up and down, "anticipating it." I closed my eyes, taking in the feel of her hand on me. Her juices had already lubricated me and her hand slide effortlessly along my cock. I love a hand job - the pressure and relative roughness that evoke such strong sensations. It is far more present, urgent then a blow job or intercourse. I'm not disparaging either of those mind you, I just appreciate a hand job for what it is. Different.

She continued to work me, watching my face as I soaked in the sensations. I relaxed a bit now that my own longing was being attended to.

"Ohhhh" she murmured "don't move. You're perfect." But suddenly her hand released my cock. I opened my eyes searching for the reason. "Shhhhh," she cooed, "close your eyes," in a soothing but erotic voice. I mindlessly did as she said.

I felt her slide further up, her body now resting uncomfortably on my rib cage. Her weight was working against me, constricting my breathing. It focused my mind on something that I didn't find particularly sexual at all and I snapped back to attention. Before I had said a word, she knew was coming. The same lusty yet soothing voice whispered, "Don't panic." Yet she stayed there a second. Just long enough that I stopped anticipating what was next. Instead I started to worry how long I could stay like this. Then she lifted her weight off me completely. "Focus" she said, almost ethereally. She shifted her weight forward onto her knees, bringing herself closer to my nose. "Can you smell my desire? Do you like it, knowing I was wet before we even started? Can you tell how hot I am, how much I am longing for you?" Her voice seemed distant, disconnected from her body. Her words came out more as a narrative than a conversation. I was shocked laying there with my wife flaunting her sexuality wantonly. Narrating her desire as a porn star might in a movie. This was my wife; that was her voice. But those weren't her words and these weren't her actions -- they couldn't be - she wasn't like this. Certainly she had never presented herself to me, inviting me to smell her arousal. Who was this woman on top of me?

"I want you so badly right now," she continued. Words like that ignite any man's desire (a little ego stroke does wonders.) I heard the sheets rustle and felt her move further up. I thought I knew what she was doing, but I still couldn't believe she would. Suddenly I wanted her more than ever. Whatever happened next, it didn't matter. I wanted her then and there. I wanted to show her the effect this was having on me.

She stopped moving. "I want to feel your lips on me, everywhere on me. I want to feel your tongue on my clit." Again the sentences so out of character, the words so foreign to our conversation that I had trouble imagining them coming from my wife. "I want you to lick, kiss, suck," each word so thick that it seemed to be a sentence unto itself, "everything you can." "Right." The words punctuated the moment she came to rest on me - most of her weight taken by her legs folded up astride my head but her vagina stretched open, inviting, forcing me to taste her. She was directly over my mouth. "Now." She drew the last word out so that it sounded like air escaping from a tire. It was as if its utterance released some long-held tension.

Oh god I wanted her. The combination of her words, decisive actions, openly expressed desire... I wasn't sure I wouldn't cum then and there. But there was something else, something about feeling submissive, or maybe used, something slightly more dirty or perverse, that augmented my lust, fueled my desire. I wanted to roll her over right then - fuck her, make love to her, penetrate her. Each unique desire was simultaneously true. Even stronger though was a new-found lust. I wanted to stay right there. I wanted to be used, to feel as if I existed for nothing but pleasuring her. Fuck me; this was a feeling I wouldn't soon forget. I urgently needed to tell her, needed her to feel the effect she had on me.

Thus I began channeling my lust into actions. I started to lick her, working my tongue across her clit lightly, trying to temper my lust,with a bit of restraint. I opened my eyes to a wonderful view. The delicate creme of her stomach stretched like a great plain to her magnificent breasts, their nipples pert with arousal. Those breasts served to frame what I could see of her face, mostly her pursed lips releasing halting breaths. Suddenly I felt all powerful, able to create this desire from my wife that no one else could. "Lift up a bit" I asked. She complied, not releasing me but giving me leeway to work. I explored her with my tongue, working down her slit then back up to flit across her clit. I let my tongue play everywhere, across the delicate folds of her outer lips and straying out to her sensitive inner thighs. Then I returned to delicate creases of her neither regions, working to caress their softness. Started to press harder, trying to penetrate to the inner areas, trying to replace my cock with my tongue. I continued working my way down then back up, both caressing and probing, with lingering attention on her clit. I also found that my arms were free but firmly trapped behind her. And so I played with her ass, alternating again the sensations from light to firm using every part of my hand to try and increase her pleasure.

Finally as I toyed with her clitoris she lowered herself back down, settling her weight to create a prison from which I would seek no escape. She bent forward, grabbing the headboard with both hands. Her eyes were shut and her breath ragged. The slight bend forward positioned her clit better where she wanted. So I simply did what I thought she wanted. I worked my tongue back and forth quickly, firmly, creating a rhythm and trying to sustain the tempo while I watched her face. "Oh god, yes" she encouraged, knowing I liked affirmation. "Don't stop." With that, I knew she had found what she needed and so I continued, working hard not to vary a thing. I watched from below as her need grew, the tension building from deep within and trying to work itself out. Her breath quickened, coming now in quiet, halting bursts. Then she started to grind herself a bit, dictating the pace to me and increasingly her weight on me. She was working my tongue, mouth, and face, speaking wordlessly to me of uninhibited desire. If asked, I wouldn't describe it as pleasant, yes I wanted nothing more than for her to work harder.

The headboard started to knock against the wall as my wife used it for leverage. "Don't stop" she insisted again, prodding me to keep focused on the task at hand. "Ohhhhh," she moaned softly as she worked up to her climax. "Ohhhhh," again, but this time stuttered a bit as if unable to get it all out. And then she shuddered, her whole body seeming to spasm but just barely perceptible. She clinched me tighter between her legs as her muscles went taught. Time seemed to stop as I watched her frozen in pleasure, locked in an imploding orgasm. And finally she exhaled, letting her head drop a bit while her muscles unfolded from the clenched tension of her orgasm. She still had both hands on the headboard to steady herself. She looked down at me, breathless. A smile came her lips. What do you say at a moment like that? I smiled back, probably beaming a bit.

She lifted up a little, hovering slightly above me, and brought one leg across me. There is still something about that image that is damn sexy. She slid down and stretched out alongside me, laying her head on my chest. "Give me a minute" she said, pausing, still clearly unwinding. "It's your turn next." I felt like I'd climaxed already as if my passion was ebbing while watching her unfold from her orgasm. I looked down at her and expecting to see her relaxing. But I saw instead the twinkle rekindling in her eye and the slightest grin back at the corner of her lips. That's all it took and I was right back to full attention. "It's your turn next..." The words danced through my brain, enticing me into miniature fantasies of my own. In retrospect, it was probably only a second. But in that second, I was back to full erection. I became aware of the aching, the longing that had welled up in my balls. This wasn't high-school blue balls, the painful longing for release after an hour-long make-out session. It couldn't be, surely; we hadn't been playing long enough. But maybe it was? I needed to come badly, almost painfully. Anticipation had created an animalistic longing I hadn't felt in a long time. I wanted, needed to know to do whatever was next. My mind fueled the fire with erotic imagery too heady, too fleeting to transcribe. My body didn't need more heat though. I needed release.

"Ready?" She whispered, her head not moving. And in an instant I replayed the images of what had just transpired. That one word succinctly marking the beginning of our play. It would probably always transport me back to these memories.

"Yes I am." I articulated each word thickly, thinking myself clever for reusing the line I'd uttered before.

And just like that, we started anew as if we were first-time lovers just discovering each other. What I took for exhaustion from my wife was replaced with the energy of a teenager. We were at it again and I was ripe with anticipation, need, and hunger.