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For once I manage to get away from work early and head home. It is Wednesday and the weekend seems a long way off yet the previous weekend is already a far distant memory.
She will already be home when I get there. No doubt busy, as always. No doubt tired, as always. I think about her as I drive, the way she looks, the way she moves. It has been days since we last found the time and energy to have sex. I realise how much I want her.
Our son is in day care today and she will be planning to get him and go through the late afternoon ritual of feeding him dinner. Then I will give him his bath, read to him and together we’ll put him to bed.
And then finally, much later, after our own dinner and all the other nightly chores, we’ll have time to ourselves. By then, however she will already be too tired, already thinking about tomorrow and all that she has to do. And another night will pass by when we sleep side by side, yet alone.
I want this afternoon to be different. I make a decision, to make this day count, to make it different from all the other Wednesdays. The plan that forms in my mind probably won’t work, but I decide to try, to break the pattern of our lives.
She is a little surprised when she hears me enter. I drop my briefcase and laptop in the same place I always do and walk over to her. She has been checking the credit card statement, working out how much beyond our means we have lived this month. She rises to greet me.
“You’re home early,” she says, happy for the break. It has been a warm day and she is wearing a short light cotton skirt, one I love seeing her in, one that shows off those beautiful tanned thighs. She also has a little white t-shirt that leaves her stomach and belly button exposed.
I pull her close and kiss her. Not a standard I’m-home kiss but a long deep kiss that lingers. I feel myself harden and my need for her grows.
We look at each other for a moment and she is about to speak. No doubt, she will recount the events of her day, the chores still to do, the reminders and responsibilities and the rest of our lives’ trivialities.
Instead, I say, “Shut up.” I say it gently but I can see she is momentarily surprised. I put a finger to her lips and take her hand, leading her to the bedroom.
I can guess what is going through her mind, this disruption to her routine, not unwelcome, but unexpected and therefore unplanned and therefore unusual, unwarranted, unneeded.
In the bedroom I pull her to me again, stifling any argument with another deep kiss, my tongue fighting its way into her mouth, my hands sliding down her back to hold her arse, pulling her against my hardness.
I want her even as I know she is already assembling excuses and diversions in her mind. She pulls away from me a little, not angry, but prepared to stop the course of events here.
Instead I shake my head, pushing the boundaries, determined to overcome the resistance. I guide her back against the wall, feeling her tense in anticipation, hands on my chest, prepared to push me away again.
I grab her wrists and hold them at her sides as I kiss her neck and lips. She returns my kisses with a little more enthusiasm now, perhaps thinking a compromise can be negotiated and a truce line agreed to.
I release my grip on her wrists and slid my hands over her stomach, lifting the shirt up over her breasts. She attempts to pull it back down but I take her wrists again, this time raising them above her head and pinning them to the wall. She fights only halfheartedly as I kiss her again, hard, deep kisses that I know she responds to when she is turned on.
She makes a weak protest, smothered by my kisses. I know in this tactical battle, she has decided to retreat for the moment, waiting until she can make a winning stand, establish her control, and return to a predicatable Wednesday afternoon.
I raise her shirt again and she allows me to remove it. I throw it to the floor and return to kissing her. Her hands have remained above her head, against the wall but I know that soon the resistance will recommence.
Quickly, I fumble behind her back, for once unclasping her bra neatly and efficiently, surprising both of us and bringing a little smile to her face. I push the straps away from her shoulders and she obligingly lowers her arms and allows the bra to fall between our bodies, to the floor.
In my mind, I celebrate this victory, a small one, but a victory nevertheless. I lean and kiss her breasts, savouring the softness of the pale flesh against my lips. I lick her nipples and they harden a little as she hugs me to her.
When I rise to kiss her lips again, I cup her breasts gently in my hands, preparing myself for the next stage of the plan. I have reached the now-or-never stage, the death-or-glory stage and I know that if we fall back into our normal pattern at this point, the best I can hope bursa escort for will be slow, pleasant love-making.
Making love to her is wonderful but that’s not what I want now. I want to fuck her. I want her to know and to feel how much I need her body. I want her to know just how fuckable she really is. For a few minutes at least, I want her to think of herself not as a mother, or a wife, but a very beautiful, very fuckable woman.
“Lean over the bed,” I tell her. She doesn’t move, but nor does she protest. She appraises me for a moment, looking into my eyes, trying to read me. For once, I have her guessing. “Do it,” I say, putting as much steel in my voice as I can. I pause. “Or I’ll have to make you.”
I maintain eye contact with her for a long moment. She knows she could normally stop this at any time, but now, she isn’t sure. Then, to my relief and elation she moves to the bed and leans forward, resting her palms on the covers. She looks back expectantly, her eyes betraying a nervousness that I have seldom seen in our bedroom.
I slide my hands up the backs of her thighs, under her skirt, taking hold of her plain, simple underwear and pulling it down to her knees. She gasps softly at the suddenness of it, still unsure of what to expect from me.
I pull her skirt up over her arse, hands running over the smooth skin. I push her underwear to her ankles, using my still-shod foot. It is a move that clearly surprises her in its roughness because she looks back at me with wide eyes. I part her legs with my knee and she steps out of her bunched up underwear as she widens her stance.
Taking my hands from her, I undo my belt. She doesn’t move, except to settle her hands a little more comfortably on the bed. She turns her head again as she hears my zipper and gasps in shock as she feels the hard heat of my cock against the soft skin of her arse.
“I’m going to fuck you hard from behind,” I say. I know she loves sex from behind but it is my turn to be surprised when she nods and says a simple, “OK.”
I realise that it is not permission she has given me, but acceptance, acquiesance, submission. I take the hard shaft of my cock in my hand and guide the swollen head to the lips of her pussy. I expect a protest that she isn’t ready, or a request to be gentle, instead she is silent.
Slowly I enter her, feeling her wetness, a surprising wetness. There has been no long, slow tender build-up to make her ready, yet she is, undeniably, ready. The knowledge that she wants this now, turns me on more and I slide my cock quickly and deeply inside her.
She groans as I take her hips and push myself as far inside her as I can. She is usually very quiet during our love-making so the sound she makes is another thrill for me.
I begin to pump my cock into her, a slow rhythm, but deep, with a patience I don’t feel. I hear her breathing, in time with my thrusting and now I can smell the richly-textured scent of sex.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” I say, “So hard you can hear it.” I demonstrate what I mean, slamming my cock into her so that my thighs slap against the back of hers and my balls beat a light tempo against her pussy lips.
She moans, far removed from her normal controlled, careful self. Her hair has fallen over her face but I can see her mouth open, gasping in pleasure as she half-turns to me.
Surprising even myself, I grab her hair, raising her head, so that she is looking at her own reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.
“Look at yourself getting fucked,” I tell her. “You like it, don’t you?” Initially I don’t really expect her to answer since she seldom talks during sex. Then I decide that she should answer.
“Well,” I say. “Do you like getting taken from behind like this?” I fuck her hard, my hands pulling her hips to me as my cock slides into the wet heat of her pussy.
“No,” she says, a hint of defiance in her voice. “I think we should stop,” she adds in a less assured tone. She is still looking at herself in the mirror.
I’m going to keep fucking you until you cum,” I say. “Whether you like it or not. Do you understand?” I have never talked to her like this before and I revel in treating her this way.
“Yes. I understand,” she says meekly and it is then that I realise the brief defiance was part of the excitement for her. And perhaps it was also a test for me.
I reach around to rub my fingers against her clitoris and she immediately responds, moaning more loudly, tossing her head and leaning a little lower to make better contact with my fingers.
Her clitoris is hard under my touch and I tease it rapidly as I thrust into her. She pushes back hard against me, curving her back to get the angle of my cock just right. For the first time in our sex lives, I feel I hold all the power.
“Do you like it?” I say.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Then bursa escort bayan say it,” I order. My fingers pause on her clitoris.
“Don’t stop,” she says obediently.
I grab her hair and lift her head, making her to look at me in the mirror.
“You can say it better than that,” I demand, hoping my voice holds just a hint of threat.
“Keep fucking me. I love it hard like this.” She says it hurriedly, but it seems to release a need to verbalize because she continues as my cock pumps into her from behind.
“Oh God. Harder. Just keep doing it hard. You like making me do this, don’t you? Treating me this way?”
“What way?” I demand.
“Like I’m a whore or something.” She grinds her hips, pushing her clitoris hard against my fingers.
“Like a slut,” I say. The thought of saying this to her has long been a fantasy and now that I have said it I feel elated.
“Yes, like that,” she responds between breathless moans.
“Say it. Tell me how I’m treating you.”
She can barely get the words out now, so turned on is she. “You’re treating me like I’m your little slut.” I sense that her orgasm is approaching and deliberately slow my rhythm. I remove my fingers from her clitoris and she groans in protest.
“You’re my little slut from now on, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she says and I reward her with my fingers hard against her clitoris once more and renewed urgency in my thrusting.
“Don’t stop this time,” she says, and it is clear that now she is pleading.
“I want you to tell me when you’re going to cum,” I say. I have surprised myself so far with my own endurance and wonder how much longer I can hold off my own orgasm.
She nods at my instruction, too lost in her own pleasure to talk now. I can feel that she is close, the skin of her back is flushed and her legs can barely support her.
“Almost…almost,” she says, her hips gyrating desperately now. I take my fingers from her clitoris and hold her hips tightly, supporting and controlling her.
I fuck her as hard as I can, as deeply, as fast, as wildly as I can. At least ten thrusts that slap my balls against the lips of her pussy.
Her moans become a single long scream. For a brief moment I hold my cock at the entrance to her pussy, only the head inside her. Her scream stops, her body tense and still, mouth agape, waiting.
Then with one slow, deliberate thrust I enter her and she groans, in orgasm, her pussy tightening hard around the shaft of my cock, her hips rotating urgently, screwing my cock into her. Her arms can no longer support her and she drops to her elbows. Soon after her knees also buckle and she manages to collapse safely on the bed as I follow, my cock still inside her.
She lies there breathing hard for a few moments, recovering, pussy still tight and wet around my cock. Her hair is messy and I think triumphantly that she has that just-fucked look. She turns her head and gives me a lazy smile.
For a moment, I consider ending this magical few minutes even though I haven’t cum. But, I don’t want to give up my new found power yet. I hadn’t expected to get this far and I want to push to new limits.
“Wow,” she says, as I pull out of her. She clearly believes the fun is over. Already she is straightening her skirt and looking around for her other clothes. I realise that I will have to seize the initiative quickly.
I stand and grab a pillow from the bed, throwing it to the floor. She stands beside the bed watching me.
“Kneel,” I say, sitting on the bed. I an still dressed, with my pants around my knees and hard cock pulsing in time with the beat of my heart.
She doesn’t respond.
“I said kneel.”
For a moment I am sure she will refuse, then she seems to resign herself to the situation and kneels between my legs. I know that I have to regain complete control.
“You have a choice,” I say, coldly. “You can be a good little slut and suck my cock. Or I will spank you until you decide that you’ll suck it.”
The look in her eyes suggests a renewed defiance but I quickly extinguish it.
“If I spank you I’ll enjoy it and you’ll still have to suck my cock,” I tell her.
She considers this for a moment, then takes my cock in her hand and begins loosely stroking it.
Tentatively, she licks the shaft tasting her own juices, smelling her own female scent.
“Put it in your mouth,” I order. “Like a good little slut.”
She does so, swirling her tongue around the head and tightening her lips over the shaft.
“Suck it,” I say. I watch her sucking, taking several inches into her mouth. She has always been very good at oral sex if a little reluctant. Now she puts her technique to good use, hand stroking the bottom part of the shaft, mouth around the swollen head.
“That feels so good,” I say and she looks up at me briefly, perhaps aware that she escort bursa has her own power in this situation.
She works on my cock diligently for a few moments and I feel a renewed need to cum. I brush the hair away from her face and decide to push the limits to an extreme.
“Because you are so good at that, I’m going to give you another choice. You can choose whether I cum in your mouth or over your tits.”
This time she is genuinely shocked. She looks up at me, fury flashing in her eyes. She begins to take me from her mouth but I hold her head, as gently as I can, to prevent her. She struggles against me for a moment. I know that I have pushed things too far but I have little to lose now. Besides, it’s fun catching her off guard like this, making her think of me in a new, very different way. Suddenly, there is something about me she doesn’t understand. And it frightens and excites her, at least a little.
“So what is it to be?” I ask, releasing her head.
She takes my cock from her mouth, still angry.
“You bastard. Stop this.” She tries to stand but I put my hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want to,” she says, but it sounds more like a plea than a statement.
“I know you don’t want to. But you’re going to, aren’t you?”
Silence, as she looks up at me.
“Aren’t you,” I repeat, determined now to play this out to the end.
She lowers her head but looks up at me coyly. “Yes,” she says in a soft voice.
“Why?” I demand.
She hesitates, then her hand returns to my still-hard cock and she strokes me. “Because you’re making me.”
“Is that the only reason?” I know that she is close to a revelation now. A revelation not just to me, but to herself.
“Because you’re making me and…” She hesitates again.
“Go on,” I say, stroking her hair.
“I like you making me do it and treating me like a slut,” she says hurriedly. She looks away, embarrassed then looks up at me once more.
“I’m going to cum in your mouth,” I tell her when our eyes meet.
She nods. “I understand.”
“I want you to swallow it.”
She nods again, then licks her lips and takes my cock once more into the soft, wet, warmth of her mouth. There is no anger now, just acceptance.
She sucks me, while one hand holds my balls and the other slips down her own body to her pussy. Her mouth feels so good around my cock, as it always does. But this time is different. This time her lips seal themselves tightly around the shaft and she sucks hard. I sense that for the first time she is really enjoying giving me oral sex. Quickly I feel myself close to losing control, moaning, stroking her soft hair.
She looks up at me and slides my cock out of her mouth. I am about to protest when she shakes her head.
“I’ll do what you want,” she begins, “But keep talking to me. It’s making me wild.”
I smile in spite of myself. I can hear the sound of her own fingers rubbing her wet pussy and I know now what she wants. Perhaps what she has wanted for a long time.
“Suck it, slut. I know you like being forced to suck cock don’t you? You pretend not to like it. You pretend you are a good girl but deep down you’re a bad girl. I’m going to cum so hard in your mouth. And you want me to, don’t you?”
It is exactly what she wants to hear. Her fingers are taking her closer and closer to her own orgasm and her mouth is taking me closer to mine.
“Fuck, I’m so close to cumming.” I say it as a warning to her but it only makes her wilder, moaning, even with my cock deep in her mouth.
I feel the cum rise from my balls and know that I can hold back no longer. I groan as the first hot spurt of semen shoots into her mouth. She pauses briefly then sucks me harder, each new explosion of cum filling her mouth a little more. I groan her name.
She cums as well, fingers deep in her own pussy, her body shuddering. Taking my cock from her mouth she cries out in deep pleasure. I can see my semen in her open mouth and our eyes meet. She smiles her lazy just-fucked smile, then very deliberately, very calmly, she swallows. She giggles, a little self-conscious, then licks her lips and sits exhausted on the floor.
I too am spent and it takes us both several minutes before we move again. Before she stands to get dressed. She leans close and kisses my thigh and then my cock. We say nothing as we dress, wanting to enjoy the moment, without the clutter of the rest of our lives intruding.
Eventually, we both leave the bedroom and slowly resume the normal routine of a weekday afternoon. A little later, we go together to pick up our little boy from day care. He is delighted to see us and I look at him in her arms and smile.
We decide, on the spur of the moment to go to a favorite coffee shop. We order some coffees, get our son a babycino and take turns spooning the froth into his mouth. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m happy. And it surprises me. Happy on a Wednesday. Who would have thought it?
“We should have Wednesdays like this more often,” I suggest.
“Yes,” she agrees, looking up and smiling. “Whatever you say.”
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