The Quintessential Housewife

I’m on my knees and my hands, grasping at the bed as he takes me hard from behind. My skirt is pressed up around my hips and the top part of my dress is straining with each thrust of his hips as he plunges every last inch of himself into me.

Pretty sure dinner is burning downstairs. Pretty sure I don’t give a damn.

“Oh fuck you’re perfect,” he says, grunting as his hips slam into me again and again and his hands grip my body so hard they might just leave marks on me, “I’m the luckiest fucking man in the world.”

I can’t bring myself to say anything. All that comes out are quick little chirrups as he pumps himself into me and I grip the bedsheets, moaning so lewd that it makes me blush.

Blake notices that, and just like always he lets me know.

“So fucking cute,” he grunts, slipping his hand around me and pulling me up off the bed so my back is arched and my neck is close enough for him to kiss, “Always so fucking cute.”

“Oh god,” I cry out, moaning and vibrating in his arms as his hands paw at my breasts.

The whole sensation is nearly too much for me and with his arms wrapped around me like this I’m entirely at his mercy and I can close my eyes, shuddering with the sensation of being so utterly taken.

Sometimes I’m given to wonder exactly how this happened. How did we wind up here when we started so far away? Blake was anything but kind and anything but boyfriend material but his attentions were so sweet and so sincere and so fucking perfect that I couldn’t help but be worn down over time, the two of us changing so much in the process until we found ourselves entirely wrapped up in each other like this. Until it became the most natural thing in the world for me to breathily moan.

“I want to ride you. I want to feel you beneath me.”

Wants and desires as tumbled up together as he takes his place on the bed and I slip up to straddle him. Teasing the edge of myself at the tip of his cock while my hands work at his chest, pushing aside the fabric of his dress shirt and scratching my fingers into the surface of him until he growls and grabs me and drags me down onto him once more.

And then I’m filled by him and I can’t deny that it feels good. To have him thrust up into me, filling me up so right. To have him hold my hips and try to pump at the same time until I lean low over him and kiss him, quieting the beast that I know he has inside.

“I want to fuck you,” I whisper to him, my lips brushing against his while I speak, “I want you to relax and enjoy it.”

I rise and I fall. I take my time with it and I tease him and each time he comes so close to exploding I slow and soften my approach, drawing and pulling and bringing him around until he’s gasping and panting and ready to beg me.

“I want to cum in you,” he whispers, his voice near agony, “Oh please. I want… I want...”

We had done it before, of course. One doesn’t spend as long married as we’ve spent without experiencing the joy of that level of intimacy. But lately it had stopped, stress and worry and all the rest of it, it made something like that so much more infrequent. Not absent, but removed.

But the moment I know what he’s begging me to do is the moment that I drill down harder. It’s the moment that I pull my hips up and slam them down and I stare down at him as he stares up at me with almost reverent worship.

Things haven’t always been perfect between us. Things haven’t always been good. We have had trouble in our past and we will have it in our future and it is a future that is honestly uncertain for me, our two personalities clashing against each other just as often as they work well together.

But god right now it’s easy to forget it. When he’s inside of me and he’s begging me for his release it’s so easy to forget all the bad times. When he’s **** like this and I nod, letting him grab me and hold me and plunge down to his limit and fill me with the heat of his satisfaction, I can’t help but shudder and moan.

“Maybe this time,” he says breathily, and he doesn’t need to finish his wish and he doesn’t need to wish anymore.

“No need,” I tell him with a smile, already ready to reach into my bedside drawer.

For the gift for him on my birthday.

For the test I have hidden there.

To show him that in nine months our lives will finally be changed forever.

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