My wife has always been much more of a heavy breather than a screamer or a moaner. While I quite enjoy the moans and especially the screams of a woman in the throes of ecstasy, the heavy breathing is also quite sexy in itself. The very few times my wife has screamed in pleasure all followed lengthy periods of heavy breathing during which I would arouse her to the brink of orgasm, then deny her the sexual release.
Fortunately, those were times when I had first secured her limbs to the bedposts, or else she definitely would have choked me to death for denying her again and again and again.
When I returned from early from work to get a jump on the weekend, it was clear that my wife had not heard me pull the car into the driveway or enter our small house, because she was nowhere in sight, yet her car was in the driveway. As I approached the bedroom, however, I was very pleasantly surprised to hear her heavy breathing – just faint from my vantage point, but definitely enough to begin a telltale lengthening process within my slacks.
As quietly as possible, I moved down the carpeted hallway. My wife's heavy breaths sounded full of need, as if her quest for release was just about to reach a long-anticipated climax. Finding the bedroom door open wide, I looked in to find her on her back laying across the bed, her head hanging over the side, her face a bit red from the blood pooling in her head, the ends of her rust-colored hair brushing the carpet. I knew from both her comments and the reaction of her own body just how much she enjoyed having sex with her head unsupported like this, as the blood pooling in her head gave her a more "heady" sensation to the experience.
Her eyes were closed, but her mouth more than compensated. The breathy sounds escaping past those plump, red-painted lips were hard and short, almost staccato notes sounding in near-perfect rhythm with the bucking of her naked body against the actions of her hands. Yet somehow, the earphones had not fallen from her head.
I followed the cord of the earphones to the small MP3 player prone beside her on the bed. Clearly, my wife could not hear me, so I stepped into the bedroom, not wanting to disturb her wonderful lewd display of carnal femininity yet curious as to what had brought her to such a frenzy. Bending over the bed without touching it so that I would not alert her to my presence this early in the afternoon, I recognized the track title as one of our favorite sound files downloaded from a sex sounds Web site: a track of a woman being (supposedly) double-penetrated and perpetually screaming for the entire eight-plus minutes of the file as another woman's barely-heard voice provided encouragement for her to keep screaming and for the two men to keep fucking her.
She plunged a thick dildo repeatedly into her dripping body as her other hand worked her clitoris furiously. As a multiorgasmic woman, my wife could conceivably rise the tidal waves of primal pleasure for some five minutes, which meant a great visual treat for me. I stepped back from the bed and leaned against a wall, gently caressing my erection through my slacks while I enjoyed the vision of self-lust.
Yet, while the sight before me was indeed grand, it was the heavy breathing which truly attracted my attention. Her breathing – and the rapid rise and fall of her firm breasts – was becoming more and more erratic, her exhalations sharper and slightly louder, yet she was still not quite at the point where her conscious mind would let go of her self-control and allow her beautiful siren voice to sing unabashedly (and unknowingly) to me.
Then, it finally happened: Her body stiff yet quivering visibly, the initial orgasm drowned her senses. All breathing ceased, and her heart probably stopped beating as well. Her eyes snapped open and she happened to be looking directly at my hand upon my crotch, but from the far-away, glassy look in those large hazel orbs, she clearly was unable to see anything through the haze of her all-consuming carnal release.
That image of my sultry wife instantly seared itself onto my brain, a vision to never be forgotten. The prominent nipples appeared to be as hard as the small rings piercing them. Her skin seemed to shine, and not just from the sweat which had formed upon her. The end of the long fluorescent green dildo appeared explicitly obscene in her hand. Her rusty hair seemed to form a curtain hiding the inappropriate treasures we stored underneath the bed.
Just as suddenly as she had stiffened, the beauty on the bed was once again became a study in motion, pistoning the dildo inside her and furiously torturing her clitoris. Her heavy breathing – and certainly her heartbeat – again resumed, this time still louder than before. Her eyes closed again, my wife's head bobbed up and down and shook from side to side, causing the rust-colored curtain to shimmy. The movements of her breasts were almost mesmerizing, enhanced by the small ring of silver attached to each proud attention-demanding nipple.
I watched with rapt interest, devouring the lewd scene before me, inhaling the scent of excited femininity, and savoring the sound of her heavy breathing. Through the slacks, I stroked myself more urgently, such was the effect of the libidinous display before me.
The beautiful hazel orbs opened again, looking directly at my hand-covered crotch. The haze of sexuality had apparently lifted just enough for her to realize that she was no longer alone, and an exhalation that had begun as a soft grunt whiplashed into a startled scream, but then even that snapped into an orgasmic cry as she inflicted another climax upon her writhing body.
Since she knew that I was with her, I debated whether I should join her – perhaps take over control of the dildo, or pay loving attention to her chest, or even just kneel beside the bed and stroke her reddened cheeks as I swallowed her screams. I chose the latter, inhaling her hot excited cries as wave after wave of primal pleasure surged through every cell of her being.
When her hands at last fell limp upon the bed and the florescent green dildo slowly slid out of her thoroughly-lubricated sex, I sat back on my heels. Knowing she was in no condition to move to a better position, I held her head so it was horizontal with the rest of her body, allowing for a more proper flow of blood. Slowly, the color drained from her face as I kissed her sweat-covered cheeks and forehead, my eyes riveted upon the unsubtle rise and fall of her chest, my ears trained upon her renewed heavy breathing.
My wife never asked why I had come home early or how much of her frenzied display I had seen. She did blush profusely as she dressed, and kept looking at me with an embarrassed expression throughout the evening. The only mention of the lewd scene occurred that night in bed as I held her snugly to me:
"Did you enjoy the show?"
I never answered verbally, but even in the darkness, I believe she heard my smile.