Page 37 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
“Yes,” she says with a coy smile. “And thenIdrinkyourmilkshake.”
And that is the last thing either of us will say until we’re done with the fast-and-furious-fucking part. She lies back and raises her hips, allowing me to pull off her panties. I remove them quickly and carefully because she’s had these for as long as I’ve known her and neither of us are ready to say goodbye to them yet. She slowly bends and spreads her legs as I remove my boxer briefs, climb on top of her, and push inside of her with one determined, astonishing thrust.
She’s so wet, but I swear she’s tighter than I remember. Her sweet pussy walls haven’t been stretched by my cock in nearly a month. We immediately become a pounding symphony of grunts and gasps and groans, and I am already on the verge of exploding inside of her because God damn, this feels better than anything. I squeeze my eyes shut as I drill into her, delighting in the rhythm of her sharp cries of pleasure and pain. When I realize I can hold on for just a little longer, I look down at my wife and see that her arms are raised above her head, clasping at the white duvet. She has freed her hair from the elastic band, and it is spread out in a dark, sexy halo. And her tits. Her glorious tits are jiggling around under that thin, pink fabric. Her full lips are curved into a smile as she twists her neck from side to side, so I know her breasts aren’t too sore for this—and Hallelujah, it’s happening.
I am finally fucking my wife and making her feel good again.
I get onto my knees and pull her legs up to rest on my shoulders. Her eyes flutter open, and then she smirks at me as she slowly brings one of her legs over to join the other on one shoulder. I suck in a breath and groan. It changes the angle for her and chokes my dick in the best possible way, and it nearly unhinges me. She clenches her thigh muscles and arches her back. She is so tight around me, and it is so satisfying to feel her shudder when I dig my fingernails into the supple flesh of her ass and slam into her.
I know my wife and I know her body inside and out. I know all the different ways to make her feel good. She comes hard and fast and loud. Louder than she has in ages, because she doesn’t have to worry about waking anyone up, and also probably because she’s letting me know that I can come now too.
I am home, I am home, I am home.
And while it may feel like I have died and gone to married-people heaven, I am a mere legally hot-as-fuck mortal who needs to blow his load at some point. That point is already now. I ramp up my thrusts and then smash into her with a primal roar, giving all of my hot cum to the woman who brings me back to life over and over again. I give myself over to the release, and everything else disappears for a while. I’m overwhelmed by a deafening silence, aware of some intense universal energy that I only want to be a part of if Maddie is in it with me.
I was so hungry for this kind of connection with her again, but there’s always the moment when I feel so alone in the experience of my orgasm that I want to return to the room and my wife.
I float back down into my body, relieved to still be joined with hers. Her fingers are on my thighs, and she reaches for me. I rest on top of her and bury my face into her neck. I am tired but impatient. We’re both still breathless when I say, “Now what?”
We both laugh and stay exactly where we are for a minute, fighting the urge to drift off to sleep. It’s like we’re high school kids who have to get all the fucking done before the parents come home—exceptwe’rethe parents. We’re the ones who have to go home.
But I’m not allowed to think about that yet.
Maddie gives me a pat on the shoulder—the good kind of pat on the shoulder. The kind that meansyou can let your penis slide out of me now so we can clean up and move on to the next round. We do just that. We clean each other off and rehydrate. She gives me a multivitamin with zinc to revitalize me.
The sheer curtains are drawn, but I can see the treetops of Central Park outside the window. I am acutely aware of the sound of the air conditioner, but I don’t even care. Because something awesome is going to happen, soon. Maddie has put her panties back on and put her hair back up in a ponytail. I watch as my woman guzzles half a liter of electrolyte water like a thirsty girl, absentmindedly dragging her fingertips across her chest.
That’s when I notice that she has removed her rings. This is fantastic news for me and my reawakened cock and balls. Then I see the container of coconut oil on the bedside table. This is even better news for so many parts of us.
She screws the cap back onto the water bottle, holds her hand out to take my water bottle from me, and places both of them on the dresser.
“You ready?” she asks as she opens up her gigantic mom bag that’s the size of a small SUV.
“I’m always ready, Cooper.”
She pulls out two long, black silk scarves. Then she brings out a pair of fabric scissors and drapes the scarves around her neck. “Good,” she says. “Lie down on your back, please, Mr. Cannavale.”
So many phrases are echoing through my mostly empty head.Fuck yes. The scissors concern me. Who are you? I love you so much it hurts. If you ever did this to another man before you met me, then I will have to kill him. But fuck yes!“Yes, ma’am” is what I say.
I climb onto the bed, totally naked and at half-mast. Maddie meets me at the head of the bed, places the scissors on the bedside table, with the sharp end pointing away from us, and arranges the pillows so I can lie at the center of the mattress with two pillows under my head. The headboard is solid wood, probably to deter guests from tying each other to it. But my wife is one of the smartest people I know, so I’m sure she knows what she’s doing here.
I want to know how and why she knows what she’s doing in this kind of situation, but I also don’t want to ruin this bewildering sexy moment by asking questions.
Maddie stands straight beside the bed, grips both sides of the scarves as they hang around her neck, and that pushes her boobs out and up. “Do you consent to me restraining you by comfortably binding your wrists with these scarves and tying them to the bed, Mr. Cannavale? My intention is to then perform an erotic massage and then pleasure your genitals with my mouth until you ejaculate. My intention is to cause you pleasure, not pain. I do not intend to torture you for my own pleasure or yours. When it comes time for you to be unrestrained, I will cut the scarves from your wrists and the furniture if the knots have become too tight to undo with my fingers.”
Fucking hell. Now I’ve got legal wood. “You have my wholehearted verbal consent and admiration, Mrs. Cannavale.”
I am so fucking hard right now I’m already in pain, but I’m not going to argue this point.
She tugs one of the scarves off her neck and ties it around my left wrist, pulling my arm out to the side and then tying the ends of the scarf around the back leg of the bed. Clever girl. As always, I can’t decide what turns me on the most right now—how hot my wife looks, that she is still full of surprises, that she’s been thinking about doing this to me for a week, or that she’s so good at binding me to furniture with a scarf that’s probably Italian silk.
“Does that feel okay?” she asks with genuine concern.
“It does.”
“Yay!” Instead of going around to the other side of the bed, she climbs onto it, straddles me, lowers herself to kiss me on the mouth, flashes her boobs, and then rolls away to the right side of the bed, grabbing my hand before I can use it to touch her.Devil woman.She does the same with the second scarf. She seems so excited to be doing this, which is adorable. I think. “Is this good too?”
“It is. It’s really good, babe.”
