The Throne Pt. 01: Her Birthday

Part one of three, followed by The Throne Pt. 2: Their Anniversary and The Throne Pt. 3: His Birthday. The dates line up with the calendar in February 2020.

"Tell me!" I demanded, watching his cock bob in frustration as I looked up at him from between his legs. He whimpered as I applied another long lick from balls to tip. I had him on the edge, right where I wanted him. He would either answer my question or have a ruined orgasm before long.

"I don't... want... to spoil... the surprise," he was barely able to say.

"Give me a hint," I pleaded. My method of persuasion seemed to be working as he squirmed.

"You can use it when you're feeling lazy," he blurted out, grinning, knowing it told me nothing. He was teasing me, too.

His groan warned me I had reached his limit as I kissed the glans, siphoning up the precum dripping from it. In truth, I was glad he hadn't spilled the beans. Tormenting him like this was its own reward.

One more long lick and his woeful moan told me he was going to spill something else. Although I had intended to ruin him, when I saw the first spurt, I couldn't resist sucking the head between my lips, using my hand to assist the rest of his load into my mouth.

My birthday is February first; his is the twenty-ninth. We got married on February fifteenth; it was an impetuous decision after spending Valentine's Day in Las Vegas. This year was special. We were both turning forty, it was our twentieth anniversary, and it was a leap year, so his birthday was on the calendar.

It meant we needed to do something extra-special for presents for each other. Jim was working on something in the garage. He had papered over the windows and made a sign for the locked door that said "Pam" in a red circle with a slash through it.

On the day of my birthday, he sent me to the spa for some pampering. When I got home, he had laid out a new, sexy, and expensive outfit. The dress would show off my generous cleavage and long legs, enhanced by the high-heel shoes and smoky, garterless stockings. Estimating the cost of the new necklace, earrings, and purse that completed the ensemble, I began to think the garage had been a misdirection.

Ready to go, I saw myself sideways in the mirror and almost wondered who that was. On a typical day, I look okay, like a model in a clothing store advertisement--attractive, but not so hot that the average customer won't identify with her. Today, with my hair up and makeup, showing cleavage, back, and a lot of leg in my designer dress, I looked salacious, but in a classy way, like an actress on a red carpet.

Jim would be on the same scale, although men have a narrower range. He put in the effort to look his best, and the adoring way he looked at me moved him up a couple notches in my eyes.

We went to dinner at Le Rendez-vous, a fancy French restaurant with private booths. As the maitre d' led us to our table, he probably wondered who was seducing whom. Jim and I take turns!

"To forty more years, all of them with me," my husband raised his glass of wine.

"The way you take care of me, I'm sure I'll last at least that long," I responded, clinking our glasses.

The sommelier had brought the wine and left us to await the first course. Setting his glass down, Jim "accidentally" knocked the cork off the table and crawled under to retrieve it. He ran his fingers up my leg, sending a shiver through me. When both hands reached under the dress, I realized he had another objective.

"The waiter will be back soon," I protested as he hooked his fingers in the front of the thong panties and pulled. I thought he might tear the thin strips of fabric so I lifted my ass slightly and allowed the strings to pass under me. In a flash, he had the tiny undergarment down and off my legs.

I felt hot from the surprise and risk. He grinned as he retook his seat, sniffing my panties with the same ceremony he had used on the cork minutes earlier.

"A very good year," he laughed, stashing them in the breast pocket of his suitcoat just as the waiter reappeared. We had played such games over the years, although not in such an exclusive restaurant.

"Behave yourself!" I admonished after the waiter set down the plates and left. "I don't want to be kicked out before we finish this epic meal." Sitting side-by-side allowed us to trade kisses, caresses, and bites of dessert, but we didn't go further than that. His pants managed to contain the bulge that I cultivated there; my dress was dark and absorbent enough that my excitement wouldn't be seen when we walked out.

Arriving home, he drove the car into the garage, but I saw nothing to suggest what, if anything, his project had been. Inside the house, Jim had me step out of my high heels and blindfolded me before leading me into our playroom--a spare bedroom we used for video games and various activities, including sex play that needed more than a bed. My crotch tingled with anticipation.

He unzipped my dress and peeled it down over my hips, steadying me as I stepped out of it. Kneeling, he drew the stockings down to my ankles and pulled them off as I raised each foot. Last to go was my bra, leaving me standing naked. The rustling told me he was undressing as well.

"You are my queen," he whispered in my ear as he took my arm. "I made you a throne." He led me backward a few steps until my legs contacted a chair. Sitting down, I felt the soft leather against my bare thighs, butt, and back. There was something odd about it, but I didn't realize what it was until he removed the blindfold.

The lights were dimmed for romance. At first glance, it looked and felt like an easy chair, but it had been modified: there was a slight draft between my legs, due to the opening there.

I had seen queening chairs in videos. Some were just a supported toilet seat, functional but inelegant. Some were padded or had provision for the comfort or restraint of the properly positioned face below. This outdid them all. I could imagine sitting here whether or not it was being used as intended.

"I love it!" I exclaimed, running my hand over the arm, noting the workmanship. "I love you." I reached for him and he bent to oblige me with a deep kiss. He was naked and his pole stood straight out with his excitement.

"How--?" I started to ask, but he interrupted.

"Let me show you," he giggled eagerly, getting on his knees and crawling behind the chair. In a moment, his eyes looked up from between my legs, his mouth perfectly positioned. He wasted no time but started kissing and licking me.

My husband had developed quite a repertoire of cunnilingus. For more than two decades, he had been tending to my genitals and spent more time studying them than I ever would. He knew every flap, fold, bump, indentation, and nerve ending, and taught me that the most reliable path to achieve an orgasm wasn't always the best way.

Over the years, we had done most things sexually, so I had sat on his face many times. This was different. I felt relaxed, not struggling to stay in position as I got more turned on, not worrying about hurting his neck by resting too hard on him. My thighs tensed and released as my pleasure built rather than having to support my weight.

Jim explored me and demonstrated the benefit of his creation. I was sure he had imagined this moment over and over as he planned and built my present, so I felt good because of what I was doing for him as well as what he was doing to me.

The novelty of the chair, the arousal from the evening, and the enthusiastic stimulation of my pussy had me rushing to the peak before I knew it. Part of me wanted to hold back and make it last, but before that part could do anything, I was overwhelmed. Leaning forward, I ground my clit against his tongue as my body writhed with pleasure.

It was as relaxing as receiving a tongue-lashing while on my back, but with more control of the position and pressure. With a deep sigh, I went limp in a post-orgasmic stupor. The chair indeed allowed me to be lazy, so I floated as he gently lapped my labia, slurping up the juices I had produced.

He slid from under the chair; I reached for him but he crawled in front of me. On his back like a car mechanic, he slid between my legs and soon had his head in the same but different position. Showing the advantages of this approach, his lips found my throbbing clit while his nose teased my opening.

It did not take much effort for his mouth to talk my cooch into trying for another climax. I sat up, spreading my legs a little to press myself more firmly against his face.

Unfortunately, I couldn't see his eyes in this position, but the dancing pole that rose from his groin assured me of his enjoyment. His murmurs of delectation exceeded any he had expressed for the food or wine earlier that evening.

"Is this a present for me or for you?" I laughed, hearing his hum of satisfaction that could have been a "yum". Covering his teeth with his lips, he nipped at my flesh, sending little shock waves through me.

After a bit, he eased off, pausing to catch his breath and letting me catch mine. The first orgasm had been fast and sharp. I was happy to take it slow and let it build this time. My hands, not otherwise occupied, roamed my body, massaging thighs, belly, and breasts.

The chair made it better for both of us. I could easily adjust and hold my position without getting tired. He had enough freedom of movement to explore every part of me. Like a roller coaster in reverse, he drove me up higher and higher hills, each swell of delight followed by a longer build.

"Keep going," I urged when I sensed he was slowing to start another cycle, afraid I wouldn't last another round. Dutifully he continued and accelerated as I squirmed against the now warm and damp leather. My burning flesh mashed against his soaked face.

"Suck my clit!" I squealed, approving what he had already started to do. His lips held my tender nub firmly and his rhythmic suckling made me explode. My cunt spasmed to that same beat as the ecstasy ricocheted through my body.

The sounds I made weren't words but loudly told him how good he made me feel. He knew how to play my body like a grand piano, mixing dancing high notes and thunderous low chords and reaching a perfect finale. When my muscles stopped jerking, I slumped in the chair, euphoria throbbing through me.

"Happy Birthday Pam," he whispered, breaking my reverie. He had extracted himself and leaned over me, kissing me. My taste on his lips made me feel a little guilty, but before I could think how to share the pleasure, he lifted me out of the chair and carried me to our bed.

Languid, I felt his erection press against my ass as he spooned me. As long as he did the work, I would have been happy for him to use me as he wished for his gratification, but today he was satisfied just to lie with me. I fell asleep in his warm, soft, strong embrace.

Morning light glowed in our bedroom when I opened my eyes. Jim was mostly on his back, arms and legs randomly arranged. I noticed two things: the obvious one was that his penis was erect; more subtle was the twitchy movement of his closed eyes.

My husband had suggested that I play with him while he was asleep and I had done it occasionally with mixed results. In REM sleep as he was, he would certainly be dreaming. Wrapping my fingers around his shaft might, in theory, be incorporated into whatever dream he was having. When he would later wake, sometimes he wouldn't remember having a dream; sometimes it was just a typical dream; sometimes it was sexual. It had been fantastic only a few times, but I didn't want to waste the opportunity.

Gently pumping his penis with my left hand, I applied my right fingers to his testicles, moving as little as possible to avoid waking him. Studying his forty-year-old body splayed on the bed, I realized we had spent more than half our lives together.

I so love this man, I thought to myself, my eyes getting moist. Recalling the night before as well as how much time and effort he had spent on his gift and the delightful results, I felt a warmth between my legs that presaged other moisture.

I resisted the temptation to wake him immediately and jump on top of him. Instead, I took time to contemplate various ways I might put that swollen organ to use. It would be so easy to lean over and devour it or climb aboard, giving him my ass or my tits to play with. He was welcome in either entrance from behind; I liked to watch his face in the closet door mirror when we did it that way.

Somehow, my right hand abandoned its duty and found its way to my pussy. My daydream had produced growing dampness and electricity that I hoped Jim's dream would match or exceed.

Distracted, I probably missed the first signs, but with a deep breath, he stirred, stretching arms and legs as he blinked his eyes open. I blushed, looking sheepish with my hands on both our genitals. It took a moment for him to awaken, but his eyes went from mine to his crotch as he took in the scene.

"It worked!" he exclaimed. "Somehow there were these aliens, but we didn't know they were aliens, they just looked like naked beautiful women, and one looked like you. And they wanted my sperm, so they were holding me down and the one that looked like you was milking me. And then the real you came in and they all reverted to their alien form and you grabbed my cock and started sucking me frantically to keep them from getting my semen. And then... I guess I woke up." He shook his head as he tried to capture the fragments of the dream before they evaporated.

"That's quite a nightmare," I laughed, giving his cock a firmer grip. He shivered as conscious excitement displaced unconscious. "I'm so glad. I hoped to give you something to thank you for last night." Leaning to kiss him, I turned his face with my right hand on his cheek. When we broke, he recognized the scent on my damp fingers and turned to suck them.

"Hair of the dog," he giggled.

"Well..., I... uh...," I stammered, "seeing and holding your hardon was making me itch... so I just had to scratch!"

"Well don't let me interrupt," he chuckled, stretching out and putting his hands behind his head.

Rolling to lie on my elbows between his legs, I lowered my mouth to lick him from jewels to crown. Taking my time, I pumped his shaft as I took his head between my lips, swirling my tongue and drawing a low moan from him. Going deeper, I added more saliva, but withdrew, using my fingers to spread the wetness.

While squeezing his rod, I took turns sucking and licking his nuts. My other hand stroked his taint; he tensed when he thought I might go lower, but that wasn't part of my plan.

Returning to suck the tip while I gave him long firm strokes made him whine in mock protest, "No, don't take my jizz! It's for human women, not you aliens!"

I burst out laughing but then had a devious thought. "Hey," I accused, reaching up to rake my fingers over his ribs and belly. "I bet you made the whole thing up just to get me to give you a blow job!"

"No! Honest!" he guffawed, half out of breath from the tickling. "Besides," he countered when I relented, "you like giving me blow jobs!"

"You're right," I conceded, returning to my task, "I do love to suck you."

My skills soon restored him to where he was before the interruption. It was not long before his hips flexed as he tried to increase my speed. But I was not ready for it to be over. Pretending to respond to his hints, I squeezed him tight, flicking his frenulum with my tongue.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned.

I immediately stopped, gripping only the base with my thumb and forefinger. He gasped and jerked when he realized what I intended, whimpering as the edge died away.

"Sorry, my love," I cooed. "I don't want to stop playing with my toy. You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh, I guess not," he pouted. Although he generally enjoyed being edged, at the moment, the frustration of a denied release--especially without warning--was real.

"Okay, you know the rules!" I crowed. Having established the game, he knew to try not to cum until I wanted him to and to warn me if I was going too far. For me, there were no rules. I could do whatever I liked to turn him on and drive him crazy.

Jim had softened a bit so I swallowed him whole, sucking him hard with my lips tight on his shaft. He swelled back to hardness against my tongue as I bobbed up and down. Going as far as I could, I took him into my throat. Although I kept still, after a few seconds he rapidly tapped my head--he was probably speechless--to say it was too much. I lifted off, leaving his glistening bulb flailing as it sought to regain that warm, wet, snug contact.

After giving him a minute to calm down, my next move was to use both hands to wring his shaft, rotating in opposite directions. Despite his attempts, I prevented any up and down movement, building him up more slowly. Altering my grip from tight to light and back, I gave him a variety of sensations, none of which were quite enough to launch him. His ragged breathing told me he was reaching his limit so I released his cock and grabbed his balls.

He moaned so loud, I watched to be sure his dancing dick wasn't going to erupt. When it stopped, only a blob of pre-cum had emerged, which I kissed away, worrying his aperture with my tongue.

Holding his pole firmly, I licked my palm slick, then mashed it against his meaty glans, polishing it with a move that I knew would be too much. He cried out, but I didn't relent for ten more seconds, leaving him quivering, unsure whether the intense sensation had been pain or pleasure.

Cradling his overstimulated organ against my palm, I gently eased the stress. Resuming my usual hand and mouth techniques soon had him sighing happily.

I was sighing happily as well and I decided to try something new. Thoroughly turned on, I could feel my pussy dripping onto my thigh. Quickly straddling my husband, I looked down at him and insisted, "Don't move. And don't cum!"

With a groan from him and a squish from my cunt, I sat back, engulfing him in one move. Delving into my folds, I found more than enough of my fluids to wet my fingers and help them glide over my flesh.

Totally improvising, I strummed my clit, trying not to move otherwise. The lust in Jim's eyes made me think this was too much. Although not my preference, if he couldn't handle it, I would ride him and tell him to cum. But what I wanted was rapidly approaching.

"Feel me," was all I could gasp as I exploded. I struggled not to grind against him, wanting him just to experience my contractions on his throbbing piston. The circumstances made it a more intense orgasm than I expected.

"I do, I do," Jim chimed, "but...." There was desperation in that last syllable.

Sooner and less carefully than I wanted to, I rolled off my husband, seizing his baubles and trying to convince his pulsing prick not to erupt.

"No more teasing today, honey, I promise," I soothed when the danger had passed. "Let's settle down, then build up to a big load. I know you love to shoot inside me, but it's my birthday. I want to see what those aliens were after! I'm gonna spray it onto your chest and belly and then eat it all up. Is that okay?"

With his brain fried by my erratic, erotic enticement, he would have grunted his assent to anything.

I tasted familiar juices when I swallowed his cock. My tongue skated along the underside and the ring of my lips suckled him purposefully. One hand caressed his engorged globes while the other gripped his slimy shaft.

His hips thrust upward, urging me faster. I sped up to reassure him, but probably not at the pace he wanted. Squirming and moaning showed his urgency. Two decades of experience being this close taught me the signals too subtle for even him--in the throes of passion--to notice.