A Breath of Fresh Air

Occasionally, I transform from my normal persona- highly organized (if slightly OCD) wife and mother, efficient (if slightly sarcastic) nurse practitioner, mild-mannered (if slightly irreverent) college instructor- into a sex-crazed maniac with insatiable desires... I become unable to focus on anything else, wanting simply to fantasize and remember and write and read SEX, at the sacrifice of almost all other responsibilities. I don't know why, no cycle of the moon or precipitating factors have been identified- but today was one of those frustrating, intense days. I had been desperately excited all day long- constantly wet and longing for you to come home. I showered and shaved carefully, pampered and primped (at least, as much as a mother of two children under three can manage).

When you finally arrived, I couldn't just meet you at the door and beg you to take me, despite craving you. I kissed you passionately, pressing our bodies tightly together, drawing a surprised chuckle from you, but you simply patted me and we carried on with our evening, leaving me uncertain if you were feeling the arousal I could not deny. The realities of family life, usually so enjoyable- bathing the children, bedtime stories- seemed a burden tonight, and the clock couldn't move fast enough. When I finally finished, I discovered you had decided to relax in our family room, rather than retire to our bedroom. Stealthily concealing a condom in my loose cotton pajama pants, I removed my bra, remaining in a thin, simple white tank top, and descended the stairs.

You barely acknowledged my presence when I initially entered, deeply engrossed in the movie you were watching, and I took a few moments to observe you- MY man. An athlete in a former life, you were sidelined by a series of career-ending injuries, but remnants of that time have shaped your physique- your imposing height, powerful arms and muscular thighs still awe me, despite your complaints about the weight you've added since actively competing. Your injuries have shaped you, as well, the scars of multiple surgeries carving into your masterful form. They carve into our life together, affecting you in ways you despise- your ability to play with our children, our activities limited by your tolerance and pain, even our choice of sexual positions. It is this I have in mind as I eye your recliner carefully, considering the options the oversized leather monstrosity might present. Deciding it more than adequate, I quietly approach you.

Sliding into your lap, straddling you gently, I press my face into the crook of your shoulder and inhale deeply, the intoxicating mix of your cologne and your own scent overwhelming me, and I quietly sigh my appreciation. Your hands wander up my back as I kiss you, starting softly and deepening, our tongues tangling as your hands reach my hair. You pull back slightly as I gaze upwards, silently, pleadingly, seeking your full attention... You smile, surveying my expression with bemusement.

"So it's like THAT tonight, huh?" you inquire, your hands sliding up my abdomen to cup my breasts. I lean forward again and press my body closer to your warmth. "I need you," I murmur. "I'm so wet for you, I have been all day."

"And your nipples are hard for me, too," you murmur, your thumbs circling them slowly, my thin cotton tank top clearly revealing the evidence of my desire for you. I rock into you again, unable to hold back as the sensations gradually build. You are torturing me now, twisting the sensitive tips, pinching tightly until I whimper, knowing how much I love this. We often walk a fine line just the other side of kinky, our foreplay rough enough to have an edge of pain that I yearn for, that makes me submit to the desires of my body and your control over me.

I am inadvertently thrusting against the growing bulge in your groin, careful to modulate the pressure on your hips so as not to cause you pain on your previous injuries. I grow more ready, more frantic to feel you inside me, as you roughen our play- kissing me forcefully, hands entwined in my hair, pulling hard enough to make me gasp as you slide your mouth to my nipples, edging up the hem of my tank to catch them lightly between your teeth, eliciting small sounds of pleasure. My hands fly to your shorts, sliding them down as you lift slightly to ease my work, and soon I have claimed you- your thickness and firmness pulsing in my hands. You peel away my pajama bottoms, delving your fingers briefly into my heat, confirming I need no further preparation.

I move above you, and you guide yourself to my entrance. As I sink slowly downward, we sigh in unison. For a few moments, I remain still, simply enjoying the sensation of being filled so completely. While not in possession of extraordinary length, your substantial girth requires adjustment every time you enter me, and I revel in the feeling of being thoroughly and absolutely stretched, bordering on discomfort. Soon, I can no longer resist, and we begin the dance as old as time itself as I rise and fall on you. This, THIS is what I have needed all day- to be in the arms of my lover, pleasure slowly building, being utterly possessed by you. Your hands grasp my hips, tipping me back incrementally to change the angle and allow you the freedom to draw lazy circles on my clit with one dampened finger, and I cry out as mini-spasms begin far inside me.

Recognizing my ever-increasing ecstasy, you return to my nipples, clamping them firmly between finger and thumb, knowing the intense throbbing when you release them will likely send me over the edge. You know me, know my propensity for just enough masochism, just enough sharp pain, just enough chocolate syrup in our vanilla... I always felt I brought you over to this side, once I finally admitted my darkness, because you (unlike me) claim you weren't born kinky. I often wondered what you DID want, and if playing to my desires even truly appeals to you- but you've reassured me that you possess secrets of your own. After 7 years together, and 4 years of marriage, I still don't have them all (despite no lack of trying!). But tonight, you were about to give me a glimpse. Your hands move upward again, tangling in my hair as you kiss me forcefully, and suddenly, your left hand wraps gently around my neck. Your ball-player's hands are enormous, with long, strong fingers, and I swallow back a soft cry of surprise as you slowly, lightly increase the pressure on my trachea. Your eyes are locked on mine as I begin to breathe more shallowly, more rapidly. A flash of realization muddles its way into my brain- breath play? MY husband??

Tightly now, your hand encircles my throat, and I am gasping but calm, your eyes still focused on mine. I can see the progressing glaze of pleasure, feel your urgency as you thrust upwards into me, and know we have entered a new realm. I KNOW that look, and the feelings it encompasses, the overwhelming high that comes from dabbling in dominance and submission. You release your grip, allowing me to pant in fresh, cool air, but never remove your hand from its position of power... I want this, want this for YOU, want to give you the experiences you desire in the same way you so graciously oblige mine. I've never really played this way with anyone, but allowing you such control has my submissive side swooning.

You begin the constricting pressure again, and I watch your right hand restlessly moving on my thigh, guessing at your dilemma. One hand is playing, teasing, a game; two gives you the ability to actually choke me, to truly manipulate something as basic as the air I breathe. Gently, I guide your right hand to my neck as well, as your eyes rise to mine, searching, testing... "It's ok," I murmur, with what breath I have left. "I'm not scared. I trust you."

A shudder passes through you at my words, my submission to this desire, as you begin yet again- this time with both hands firmly wrapped around my slender neck. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, not quite sure how to play this game- full breaths or tiny ones? Do I try to prepare, or let you catch me unaware?? You will learn, for HIM, my brain whispers...

You are powerful beneath me, causing me intense tremors of pleasure as you ascend into me forcefully, now urging me with you by lifting me with the pressure encircling my throat. Gasps and moans escape me, sounding muffled, as my air gradually depletes. Things in my vision begin to waver, a slightly rising panic emerging deep within me, but I hold on, feeling your intense gaze and knowing you will never cause me harm. Just at the point when I begin to become unnerved, twisting in your grasp, you release me, groaning in pleasure as I fall against you, drawing rapid, superficial breaths.

"Jesus," I whisper, when I can manage a proper breath. I am in no pain, just suspended in a surreal universe, hanging in an ecstatic haze. You are gently, methodically stroking my back, seeming less fazed than me, but twitching violently within me in a way that belies your impending orgasm. You pull out of me, as I realize the condom I had the forethought to bring remains in my pajamas, discarded on the floor.

"Condom?" you ask, and I gesture towards the heap of clothing. "Yes, in my pocket, but...well... can we go to the guest room? I want you to fuck me on our old bed," I request hesitantly. Our most extravagant purchase upon moving to this house was a palatial king-sized bed, necessary for your height and for the all-too-frequent inclusion of one or both children in our slumber. However, our previous bed had one decided advantage- it came to nearly the perfect height for you to stand next to it and take me in a modified missionary position, a position we've had to forgo in the traditional sense due to the pain it causes your hips and knees. I have never been able to deny the eroticism of the missionary position for me- being borne down into the mattress, opened completely to you, writhing beneath you as you thrust into me- I love it, but not the discomfort it causes you.

You nod, and quickly we disentangle ourselves and proceed to the closed door off the family room, entering our little-used guest room. I pull back the comforter, not wanting to mess it, and lie back on the sheets. You approach me, erection jutting proudly, and I roll the condom into place. You come down hard, arms grasping my shoulders, your weight trapping me in place, and penetrate me in one deep, forceful stroke. I cry out in mixed pain and ecstasy as you bottom out in me, but it does not deter you in the slightest. Profound, compelling thrusts edge us both ever forward, and I am lost in the sensation of you losing yourself in me. You are seeking your pleasure now, and I am a lucky passenger on this journey, pulled along towards my own precipice... I angle my hips up into you, and you graze my g-spot, intensifying the already monumental bliss, until suddenly, you moan and grasp onto my hips, pounding into me with abandon. I cannot hold back as your spasms overtake you, and I clench around you in endless release, crying out nonsense words of joy.

Moments? Seconds? Minutes? pass as we lay there, hearts thundering. Finally, with a groan, you slide backwards and lift off me, withdrawing from me slowly and peeling off the condom. I feel completely depleted, satisfied, owned... what I had been seeking all day. My hand rises to absently stroke my neck as I contemplate what the hell just happened. You return to the room after disposing of the aftermath of our encounter, and catch me, eyeing me carefully.

"I told you it wasn't just you," you mutter, gauging my reaction to this news. I nod, silently, not wanting to muddy the waters of his confession by either becoming too enthusiastic and encouraging, or saying, "What the hell took you so long?!" I was thrilled, insanely excited by this new activity... Did this mean you were going to use this domination more often? Clearly, it had excited you, as well.

"I can see your wheels turning," you whisper, pulling me towards you in an embrace. "Now, go on upstairs and do your research- I know you need to analyze and write about this whole thing. Just don't let me catch you with your vibrator, reading choking stories!" And with a playful swat to my ass, you proceed back to your leather chair, still warm with the heat of our lovemaking. How well you DO know me, I muse, as I hurry to our bedroom and fire up my laptop, satisfaction flowing through me as I settle in to write...