Snippet: Giving Thanks

[angela146]

Sometimes, a story starts out as a fantasy - a work of pure fiction. I lie in bed for hours, thinking about it, letting my body tell me what works and what doesn't.

When the story is complete, I sometimes play it out with my husband, making it a reality. But as it unfolds, he adds his own sub-plot, changing my tale to suit his desires.

Then, I write about it and share it with you....

He sat in the living room, on a Saturday evening. It was dark and cold outside and we had nothing planned. As I finished reading the paper, I remembered a phone-call from earlier in the day - one that had reminded me of how special he is, that guy sitting in the living room.

Engrossed in the latest book of a series by his favorite author, he didn't notice as I snuck past him and into the bedroom.

He loves nighties of all kinds, and for this particular occasion, I chose a long, white, linen gown with lace insets in bands every so often from top to bottom. It shows plenty of my bare skin, but still has a look of old-fashioned purity.

Nothing changed in the living-room while I was gone. He didn't notice as I dimmed the lights and lit the fireplace. Finally, I turned off his reading lamp. That got his attention.

Startled, he looked up at me and saw what I was wearing. His book went to the end table without a bookmark.

"Hi," he said, sitting up so I could lean in to kiss him.

I didn't. Instead, I took one of the throw-pillows and put it at his feet.

He sat back and smiled. "What are you up to?"

I knelt on the pillow before him, moved his knees apart, and sat back on my heels. "I had a phone-call from Meg today," I told him. Meg is my younger sister. "She and Pel are talking about getting married."

"That's wonderful!" he said. "They're perfect for each other."

I leaned in, between his legs, and traced my finger along the seam at the edge of his fly. "She hasn't told Mom yet. She wanted to know what I thought of their getting married before he proposes. She's going to tell Mom and Dad after he gives her the ring."

"She's not going to talk to your mother until after she says 'yes'?" he asked.

I nodded. Looking up into his eyes, I saw a blurry face until I blinked away a couple of tears. "She wanted to know how I knew you were the right one for me."

In silence, I unbuckled his belt, opened the button and pulled down the zipper. "Apparently, I'm the resident expert on marriage."

His pants moved aside easily and his boxers had a nice big opening in the front. Still, he had to lift up so I could slide them down just a bit.

When he's completely soft, he's only about an inch long. At the moment, he was maybe twice that, but mostly flaccid. I took it and his other parts, out of his shorts and fluffed the bright red hairs all around them, then sat back on my heels.

The front of my gown has several ties from the neck to the waist. I undid the first two and opened it up to show some cleavage.

His hand reached out to brush the hair from my shoulder and scatter it around to the front where he could see it.

Rising up on my knees to my full kneeling posture, I folded my hands, bowed my head, closed my eyes and said,

Benedic, Domine, nos et dona tua,
quae de largitate tua sumus sumpturi,
et concede, ut illis salubriter nutriti
tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus,
Amen

When I opened my eyes, he was ready. The huge purple head was reaching out, trying to touch me with it's full length.

Leaning in again, I paused just above the tip and looked up at his face. His eyebrows were aching, anticipating. "I asked her if she had ever gotten down on her knees and thanked God for the privilege of sucking his dick. She laughed and almost dropped the phone."

Turning my face back to my own privilege, I kissed the tip, then opened my mouth, spread my hair all around me, closed my eyes, moved my lips over my teeth and took as much of him into my mouth as I could, licking and tasting him all the way in.

He groaned, shifted forward and reached his hand to touch my cheek. I guided it back further, onto my neck and around behind my head.

There was lint in the ridge under the head, but I didn't care. The rest of him felt so wonderful and tasted so uniquely "him" that I made that little sound we all make when we eat a morsel of comfort food, "mmmmmmmmm..."

The humming sound was enough to motivate his hand to pull me in the rest of the way. The head is too big to fit down my throat without gagging me, but I tilted my chin forward and lined up for it. As it crossed the back of my mouth and kept going into my throat, I reached out with my tongue to try and lick his balls.

It took years for me to get used to the feeling of my throat spasming, trying to cough him back out while his hand held me in place, but the feeling he gets from the gentle squeezing of my throat muscles is more than enough reward for a little discomfort.

He thanked God, less eloquently than I had, for his portion of our ritual,

My nose attempted to get air into me, but the windpipe gets closed off when my husband is down my throat. Choking, and unable to breathe, I smiled and licked, knowing that I was trapped - powerless to pull off of him. His hand is much too strong for me to pull away from.

Instead, I slid my arms around his back and pulled myself even further onto him, fighting the reflex and the wave of panic. As lightheadedness started to take hold, I reached out again with my tongue, and this time found the underside of his balls.

"OOOOOOOhhhh Lord!" he said, releasing the pressure on my neck and gently running his hand through my hair.

I tried as best I could to stay there until he was ready to come. My throat muscles, lips and tongue gave him a full workout as I consciousness drifted into a dazed, floaty state, but he pulled himself back. He didn't want to come right away.

Gasping for air, with the head now in the middle of my mouth, my breath created a wind-tunnel for him. The air rushing past gave him another kind of pleasure, which he told me about by fluffing my hair and then massaging my shoulders.

I squeezed the sides of his hips, just to have something more to touch. My hands needed to love him, even though my mouth was the center of attention.

His whole body thrust a couple of times, jerking him in and out, but he didn't spurt. When he recovered his self-control, he took hold of my arms and eased me off of him. Our eyes met, his devouring my body through the frilly white linen.

"Lie back!" he commanded.

When I didn't immediately comply, he lifted me, slid out of his chair and sprawled me onto the floor. Landing on his knees, he moved his hands to my hips and began to slide the gown up.

My body assisted, lifting my torso momentarily and relaxing as soon as my wet area was exposed.

Somehow, his pants slid down to his shins and he left them there.

Not bothering to see if I was ready, he entered me, and we both screamed. This time, his body pressed on-top of me and into me, again preventing me from breathing, not by filling my throat, but by trapping my chest, mashing my breasts.

Only then did his tongue take over where his dick had started. His tongue is much easier to suck on. My mouth can tease it from all sides and even hold it in place if I suck hard enough.

Still, the pressure on my diaphragm led to more of the lightheaded feeling. I was again ready to surrender my consciousness to his pleasure, but I wanted to be alert when he came.

Thankfully, a few strokes later, he had to lift up, so he could thrust deeper. He leaned back, lifted me off of the floor and pushed. As much as I loved it, I decided not to take my pleasure - at least not yet. Instead, I opened my eyes and watched as he approached his full reward.

"Do you want me to swallow it?" I asked as I bucked my hips in time with his fucking.

"Not this time!" he snarled, emphasising his will by grabbing my arms and pulling me harder into him, and him into me.

Despite my desire to just watch, his overgrown shaft and throbbing head nudged me into a few little spasms of my own. His eyes still closed, Bill licked his lips and laughed. "You wench!" he teased, "You still manage to get off, no matter how selfish I am."

With that, he opened his eyes, looked down at my helpless quivering form and pounced on me, staying inside me the whole time. He kept his weight on his arms and slipped his hands under my shoulders to hold me in place as he resumed fucking me.

Taunting me with long fast thrusts, he asked, "So, you think you're the marriage expert in this house?"

I whimpered, hoping he would use me even more, "No, honest, honey," I begged, "it was Meg! She said it." I hoped maybe the whiny-little-girl routine would get me some more abuse.

It worked. He slowed down and tortured me in earnest, fucking the outer parts of me, the parts that get me excited and build my desire, but don't satisfy me.

"You think you can just suck me off and not have to scream my name, not have to beg me to make you come! Not have to completely loose it and squeal like the wench you are?... Oh, God!" He groaned and started coming inside me, fucking ever deeper, and yes, making me scream out of control too.

Somewhere inside me I was giggling. If what he wanted was to make me scream his name and loose myself in a blubbering frenzy, then that's what I would do. Between gasps, I found the breath to scream, "Biiiiiillll, I love hymppppht!"

That was the extent of the intelligible language for a while. The rest, from both of us, was a lot of moaning, blubbering, monosyllables and cries of helpless ecstasy.

I got what I wanted. I wanted him to take my pure, innocent, lillywhite, Latin-praying, chaste, loving wifyness and abuse it in every selfish way possible. He did, and then collapsed on the floor, on his back.

Taking only a moment to catch my breath, I rolled over and crawled to his crotch. Finding his flaccid but still-extended length, I lowered my mouth to it, but he stopped me with, "Uh, Uh!"

"What?" I looked up, craning my neck to try and see his face.

He was too exhausted to look up at me. Instead, he waved a finger toward me and said, "Say it again, in English this time."

I don't know why it's so much more embarrassing to say it in English, but I did as he bid me, albeit from my current sprawled position, directly over the spot where I was planning to put my mouth.

Bless, O Lord, us and your gifts,
which from your bounty we are about to receive,
and grant that, healthily nourished by them,
we may render you due obedience
Amen.

"That's better," he said.

Saying it that way makes me feel exposed, as if there were a room full of people watching me. He knows that, and I like it when he rubs it in.

He put his hand on my cheek and held my hair out of the way. Instead of holding me down, he caressed and guided me to the wet places.

I sucked him dry - eliciting more moans, and then some begging for me to stop.

But I was stronger than he was at that moment. I hadn't come nearly as hard and I had done very little of the physical work in our fucking. He tried to stop me when it became too intense, but I took his hands in mine and held them out of the way, as I licked and sucked the whole area, getting every last drop of salty, sticky, tasty, gooey come.

"Always clean your plate," I told him. "That's what mom used to say." Then I, too, collapsed onto my back.

We yawned, laughed, moaned, hugged, tickled and came down from our mutual cloud.

After a time of looking at the ceiling and listening to the fire, Bill said, "say it again."

I obeyed.

Bless, O Lord, me and your gifts,
which from your bounty I have received,
and grant that, healthily nourished,
I may render due obedience to my darling husband
Amen.

That "due obedience" thing really gets to me.