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Introduction:

Emily's husband has had a rough couple of weeks. She seduces him to relieve his stress.

I know it’s been a tough couple of weeks and that I haven’t done much to help. I rely so much on you for strength and, when you tire or struggle, I don’t always know what to do or have the courage to do even the things that are within my power. Perhaps it is the age difference, but you always seem to know what to do, and you seem to have limitless energy and courage. I do not possess those virtues and, when you faulter, I feel utterly helpless.

You did not hear me from your office but, a little while ago, I cried, my head buried in our comforter at the foot of our bed. Tears relieve my stress and clarity can come to me in such moments. When I had cried myself out, I looked in the mirror and noted my hair pulled back carelessly with a thick black hairband, my worn t-shirt, my faded leggings. When all of your attention is diverted from me to other things, I tend to let myself go. Resolution comes with clarity when I cry myself out and I am resolved to use all of my womanly gifts to restore you.

Though fragile and so heavily reliant upon you, I am a dutiful wife and I love you. I love being with you, love being your comfort and companion, your plaything, and your lover. I know my duty and resolve to do it, so I shower, carefully shaving and lotioning for you. I carefully finish my hair, just the way you like it. I run my fingertips up my legs and my pubic mons, making sure there isn’t the slightest rough patch. You love these panties; their faint white lace pattern reveals just enough, and its matching bra barely covers my nipples. I don’t wear white silk stockings and garters for you often enough but, turning to my left and right in the mirror, I can see why you find me aesthetically pleasing in them.

Your office seems so far away. We share this space, but I haven’t seen you all day. With gentle footfalls, I make my way through the kitchen, dining room, and living room to the oak paneled office where you work every day. It is your place, one designed by you and executed according to your exacting requirements. It is manly, unyielding, covered in wood and leather, your space, your domain. It is a place I only go to clean.

I pause at the door and lean my ear against the panel, listening to see if you are on the phone or on a video call. You are not. I take my time with the handle, turning the antique brass knob to release the well-oiled latch. I slip my lithe body through the small gap that a gentle push creates. Closing the door behind me, I lean heavily against it; settled in my well-intentioned deceit, I paint on my happiest face.

You hear me and look up, taking me in, in a moment, your keen eyes scanning every inch of my body. I look at them intently for your eyes tell me in a moment what you are feeling. Are they hazel or green right now? They change by your mood and the palate around you. Your appreciation is gratifying. I can see that familiar lust in you, in your eyes, the tension in your broad shoulders, the pen paused and forgotten mid-signature. Three years of marriage and you still look at me like that. A brief smile plays on your face as I slink over to you, intentionally turning my hips in the most sensuous way I can.

You turn in your chair, creating a space for me to slip into your lap as I round the desk. G-d, how I love how small being with you makes me feel. I “fit” in the spaces you create and the urge to curl up there now, with my head against your chest, is strong. Your big hands feel so good on the side of my head and running down my legs and your lips bring me to ecstasy, long before you enter me, but I am not here for comfort or satisfaction. No, I am doing the unthinkable in our relationship, seducing you instead of you, me.

I stand before you and offer you my hand. You take it, rising to come with me. I can feel in your fingertips your urge to pull me back to you. I would be powerless to resist if you did so, but you let me lead you. I do not need to look back at you to know that you are watching me with an amused look as you follow me across our ranch house to our bedroom.

When we are through the open door, I turn to you. You reach for me, but I put my hands on your strong forearms, turning you so that you have your back to the bed and pushing you gently until your calves rest against it. I push you to sit; “uh, uh, let me have this” I intone as you reach to pull me down to you. You obey me and put your hands on the bed beside you as I take your beautiful face in my hands, turning it up to mine.

“Close your eyes” I demand, as I kiss you softly on the lips. Your stubble is rough on my smooth hands. It would be rough against my inner thighs too but that is not for now. This moment is about you.

I press, ever so gently, on your lips till they part, tasting the coffee on your tongue. I withdraw, smiling at your upturned face and your closed eyes as I unbutton your shirt slowly. It is an awkward angle and I need to drop down to my knees to disrobe you. You instinctively spread your muscular thighs for me and pull your shirt off as the last button comes loose.

You reach for me again, but I gently take your hands in mine and return them to being flat on our bed as I push you back. You let yourself fall and permit me to unbuckle your belt and then unbutton and unzip your pants. First the left, then the right shoe is removed, then your socks. Last of all, I pull your pants off by the cuff, leaving you there in your blue boxers, wonderfully splayed out, your olive skin standing in magnificent contrast with the stark whiteness of our bed.

You are smiling at me, your knees bent at the edge of the bed, your feet resting on the floor. You lock your hands behind your head, offering yourself to me. From the hole in the front of your boxers, your cock is just peeking out; it is an invitation I shan’t ignore and grasp your boxers, removing them with a tug. You cooperated by lifting your feet, letting me strip you naked.

“Scoot” I demand as I motion for you to move up our bed. You do so hesitantly, unaccustomed as you are to taking commands from anyone, least of all me, your dutiful and loving, but perfectly domesticated, wife. You place your hands again under your head, now resting on a pillow and more comfortably able to watch me minister to you. I kneel between your legs and run my hands up your thighs.

The hair on your legs never ceases to fascinate me with its softer patches where your slacks rub and the courser patches where they do not. I kiss your right thigh, turning your knee out a little so that I can kiss the softer inside. A chance glance in the mirror reminds me of the dark hickeys with which you regularly mark me upon my most private areas. I return the favor now, sucking your skin hard, knowing the bruise will soon be a dark purple, surrounded by a yellow hallo against your warmer skin tone.

You place your right hand on my head, and I can feel the urgency of it, the need as you coax me to travel farther up your body, but I take my time. You are mine and I am yours but, at this moment, I am your agent provocateur.

Having marked you, I continue to kiss up your thigh, pushing both knees out until you are splayed lewdly out in front of me, your firm balls and hardening penis offered up as a sacrifice to our bond, unencumbered by the usual entwining of our bodies.

“Put your hands behind your head and keep them there” I demand. You laugh but comply as I place a palm on each of your outstretched knees and lean in to kiss and suck every inch of your lovely inner thighs. I’ve never been so bold with you before. It is always you demanding that I move and act in ways that excite you. I love your demands, love how you can control me with the slightest glance, the softest phrase, the slightest effort but, at this moment, you are mine. You let me control you.

I stretch my tongue out to lick your taint, noting the point that your testicles join your body. Then, I lick up between your balls. I grab your cock in my left hand, feeling the warm precum coating my fingers as I lift your left testicle and suck on it. Then, I do the right, the whole time playing with your cock, spreading your precum around the head.

The urge to just take you in my mouth is overwhelming but I know my duty and it is to help you forget our troubles. I contain myself. I do not rush. I take my time. I lick and suck on your balls, playfully teasing the base of your cock as I make my way up from the bottom to the top. I feel the veins on my tongue and the rib which I so love inside of me, against the flat of my tongue.

I glance at the clock, resolving to spend no less than three minutes teasing you, secretly willing you to take control and throw me down, reclaiming your dominance, but you do not. I feel the movement of your hips and thighs under me. I can sense your growing impatience, so I take your cock in my hands and take in the familiar taste of your precum and your lovely musk. It is just a soft kiss, right on the tip, followed by taking just the head between my lips.

I sense, rather than seeing, the movement of your strong hands and I break off my worship of your manliness to remind you to keep your hands behind your head. Then I return to sucking just the head of your penis. I push your thighs together now and straddle your knees as I lift your balls and cock from between your legs. Your cock lies wonderfully against your belly as I lick the length of it, mapping with my tongue the veins as you exude a deep groan of longing.

Slowly, patiently, I work my way up the shaft until I reach the head and then pull it towards me so that your manhood is pointed up at the ceiling. I position my mouth at the head and then, with one full motion, take you. It is only in a few positions that I can take you like this. This is one of them and your crinkly hairs are on my chin as I pause, letting you enjoy the experience of being fully inside of my mouth and partially in my throat.

Your gasp is so very satisfying.

I raise myself up until just the tip is in my mouth and repeat the motion, fully taking you again. In a succession of movements, I take you in and release, again and again, feeling your hips rise to meet me and listening to your breaths as you come closer and closer to cumming.

I love that you love taking me. I am yours. My body is yours but today is about you and I can tell that the spell I’ve woven is complete when you suddenly stiffen up, your muscles contracting along the length of your form, crying out “Oh God, Emily! Yes!”

You cum.

I have only the briefest second to pull myself back enough to have only the head of your cock in my mouth. The one luxury I will give myself is the taste of your cum and, as you powerfully ejaculate in me, I savor it. You fill my mouth, emitting almost too much for me to keep there long; but I succeed, retaining your semen for a moment before swallowing it.

How long has it been since you came? Two days? No, three. I haven’t been a good wife but I’m doing my best to make up for it now as I milk the last drops from you and swallow them.

You collapse on the bed with a most wonderfully satisfied look on your face, one that tells me you will sleep. How wonderful! You haven’t BEEN sleeping well and nothing could make me happier now than to know that my service has soothed you. You sleepily start to speak but I crawl up beside you and place my finger against your lips.

“Just sleep, my darling husband.”

You close your lips as I stand and pull the comforter up from the bottom of the bed to cover your herculean body. I pull the heavy curtains closed choking off the afternoon sunlight but there is just enough light for me to see you close your eyes and turn your head away from me as you drift off.

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