“Look at the mess you made”

This is a true story of how my husband treated me one lovely Saturday afternoon.

I’m tired, but so horny at the same time. I’ve been thinking about sex all day, fuelled by the amazing sexy pics which my online friends kept posting on Mastodon all day. My body is humming with arousal, even though I’m exhausted from walking around all day in London with my youngest son. 

My son has now retreated to his bedroom and I’ve changed into a short dress, foregoing underwear just to make myself feel even hornier. So that when my husband comes into the room and sits down next to me on the couch, I don’t hesitate, but straddle his lap. I grind my wet cunt against his groin while he groans with appreciation. He pulls down the top of my dress and licks my erect nipples. I love how he laves on me, his hands massaging my soft flesh. 

My soft moans—stifled so our son doesn’t hear me—encourage him to slip his hand between my thighs and slide his fingers through my wet folds. He pushes his thumb inside my wet hole while his fingers strum my clit. 

It doesn’t take long to get me going and I buck my hips against his hand, riding his fingers urgently, eager for a quick orgasm in case our son decides to come downstairs. He smiles as he feels my cunt contract around his finger and sucks my nipples into his mouth. I bite my lips as I cum, digging my fingers into his arms to prevent myself from screaming. 

He’s not done, though. No sooner has my orgasm abated, or he carries me to the other couch and kneels between my legs. I shift my hips forward so my pussy is exposed and easily accessible. He pushes my thighs apart and slides his tongue over my sensitive flesh. I groan as he presses the tip of his tongue against my clit. 

This is now as much for his enjoyment as mine. He loves my pussy and eating me out is one of his favourite things to do. As I’ve already had an orgasm, I’m less desparate for another one, but I’m not worried anyway. My husband knows exactly how to push me over the edge. He slips his tongue inside me, swirling it around the entrance of my cunt which is incredibly sensitive. I try not to take control, but I can’t help myself. It all feels so good and I’m greedy for another orgasm. Grabbing the back of his head, I grind myself against his face, but he has other plans. Sliding his tongue out of my hole, he licks the length of my slit, up and down, up and down, never staying in one place long enough to push me over the edge, but teasing me, pushing me closer and closer to that point where I unravel. He knows, damn him, what drives me crazy and what leaves me frustrated, and he opts for frustrating me. I mewl with impatience, but he puts his hand on my belly to prevent me from grinding. We both know how much harder I come when I have to wait for it, and I love him for giving me this. I can never edge when I masturbate, so I love that he forces me to be patient now. 

Finally he decides it’s time and he focuses on my clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive button again and again, licking me with an intensity that drives me crazy. I’m no longer able to keep quiet and my moans fill the room. When I come, I unravel and slide off the couch, exhausted from pleasure. 

But he’s not done with me. Grinning, he kisses me as his hand snakes between my legs. He pushes two fingers inside me and starts rubbing my G-spot. I savour my juices on his lips and tongue as he fingers me towards another orgasm. I don’t have the strength to buck my hips, so I cling to him as he plunges his fingers in and out of me, determined to make me squirt. 

And then it happens. I feel an overwhelming sense of relief as my cunt gushes all over his hand. The sopping noises his fingers make in my cunt are so erotic, I wish I’d had the foresight to film us. There doesn’t seem to be an end to my orgasm, and I’m drenched from my own juices. When he finally pulls his fingers out of my cunt, I breathe a long sigh. “Fuuuuuck.”

He smiles, pleased with himself. “You made a big mess.”

My head is spinning and I can barely think. He helps me up and shows me the puddle on the floor. “Why don’t you take a picture and show everyone what a mess you made today.”

I grab my phone and fumble to get to the camera. After I take a picture, he grabs a wad of paper towel and cleans me up, then the floor. As he helps me to the couch, he kisses me. “That was fun. Let’s do that again sometime.”

And then, as if nothing has happened, he turns on his phone. “What shall we order in for dinner?”

1 thought on ““Look at the mess you made””

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *