He rolled off me, sweat glistening on his brow, chest heaving in his dissipating ecstasy.
I couldn’t help the scowl on my face, I couldn’t help the look of disgust I gave him. It was involuntary, but not uncalled for. Yet another occasion for him to use me as a vessel for his own pleasure, leaving me painfully wanting.
“Hand me a towel,” I said.
“They’re just at the foot of the bed, there,” he said, not moving a muscle.
With him oozing from me, he wouldn’t even spare the courtesy to help me clean up.
“Then you should have no trouble reaching it,” I snapped back at him.
His eyebrow raised and he lifted his head. How dare I cruelly tear him away from his bliss.
He sat up far too slowly.
“I don’t want to rewash the bedding, so get it quickly,” I ordered.
He shook his head whilst he gave a performative sigh, before leaning over onto the bottom of the bed to reach the towel. He didn’t need to throw it at my face, but I suppose in his mind, he didn’t need to satisfy me either. My teeth were grinding tightly together as I wiped between my legs.
The final straw was when he eliminated the scant light I needed to clean up by rolling over, wishing me a good night and turning off his bedside lamp.
I wanted to be angry, but I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring. I sat there in the dark, unable to properly clean up his mess from my body, with my supposedly-loving husband purring like a kitten in a world of post-coital bliss, a world to which he denied me entry.
“Everyone has bad sex,” was a line I’d once read in a book about dealing with marital sex. “It only becomes a problem when it becomes a pattern.”
This was the pattern-event. The fifth time in under a month where he’d just rolled over and fallen asleep without a care for my enjoyment nor comfort. Last time, I had told myself that this was just a blip in our otherwise active sex life, but this was the pattern event. This time, to me, was proof that I was officially in a new story within our marriage; that this new type of sex was here to stay.
The tears fell down my cheeks and I let out an involuntary whimper. He stirred, and I tried so hard to stifle the emotion but I just couldn’t. The more I tried, the more noise I made, culminating in his bleary eyes opening to see what was happening.
He mistook my weeping for gasps of pleasure and he smirked, “oh, want to go again do you?”
“Again,” I spat. “I didn’t go the first time! But you’d know that if you gave a shit about me.”
His light flicked on.
“Hey,” he said slowly as he eased into his softer, more comforting voice. “What’s going on?”
“It’s been a month,” I managed to spill out between tears. “You’ve made absolutely no fucking effort to satisfy me. You just heave atop me, come, and then go to sleep. You don’t even help me clean up.”
The words just came out, and I was powerless to stop the tirade. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
“It makes me feel so used. I don’t know why you don’t just masturbate if that’s all you wanted. Why use me if you don’t want me involved?”
—
The sun shone brightly through the car windscreen, blinding me. I pulled the sun visor down, but the low, setting winter sun was at the perfect angle to miss it.
He drove through the winding roads of the mountainside, beauty and green all around. Though I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to take it in, my outburst earlier in the week had scarred my impression of everything. Somehow, the majesty of the mountain views felt plain and empty; the beautiful rock formations dotting the sides of the hills looked boring; even the cool inviting lakes looked dark and cold.
My psyche was damaged. Altered. I considered the future of my life in a way I’d never done before. All plans were paused until after this weekend.
He’d held me until sleep took me that night, he’d offered no explanation for his behaviour, which is just as well, because I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. The next day he had left early for work and returned home late; that was Thursday. It was the same Friday.
I began to think about divorce.
Saturday morning, he woke me up with breakfast in bed, and an envelope. Inside the envelope was a confirmation for a reservation at the Pique Summit Lodges all weekend. I noticed the order time on the reservation was 4:30am on Thursday morning. Whilst I’d tossed and turned through sleep, he’d stayed awake, booking the two night stay.
In an accompanying letter he had explained that he worked extra hours on Thursday and Friday so that he could earn Monday off, giving us one more day in the lodge.
Pique Summit Lodges were beautiful, luxury, sought-after winter lodges. They were spaced out so far from one another within the trees at the summit of the mountain that you couldn’t even see the light from any other lodge in the dead of night. It was one of the most private places in the world. Even the entrance and reception to the complex was nearly two hours away from the nearest town. I’d always wanted to go.
The holiday wasn’t fulya escort enough to fix our marriage. It all hinged on what happened during the holiday. We were make or break this weekend.
The drive had been quiet, and he let the quiet settle into the car without protest. It wasn’t like him, he was the type to fill the silence, but I hoped that he knew the gravity of our situation and was trying to come up with a way to fix it.
We arrived at the reception lodge, and I stayed in the car whilst he checked us in. Five short minutes later he handed me a key; it was unremarkable, with a green elongated diamond keyring attached with the number 7 upon it in gold lettering.
From the reception, it took us nearly twenty minutes to arrive at lodge 7. It was a beautiful wooden cabin with a rear that jutted out over a sheer cliff-face. The cliff-side was floor to ceiling glass, but it was positioned such to deny any visual into the cabin from outside. Even with my darkened mood, I could appreciate the beauty of the view across the valley, almost entirely untouched by human hands.
He handed me a glass of champagne, and we stood side by side looking out at the view, quietly sipping.
He broke the silence. “I want you to know how much I love you.”
My eyes turned to the ground.
“I’ve got a lot to make up for, becoming complacent, not treating you like the queen you are, prioritising my own needs.” I met his eyes as he spoke. “But that all ends tonight. I’m going to show you what I should have been showing you all along.”
I let out an exhale, as if I’d been holding some part of my breath since our Wednesday night disagreement. I tried to shake off the ill feelings I had for him, to give him a chance to win me back over. I told myself we’re not over yet, and because we’re not over, I need to let him try and fix it.
I kissed him.
He backed away from me.
“Not yet,” he whispered before turning and walking over to the wood fireplace.
He bent and stacked some logs, stuffed them with an old newspaper that had been left on the stone hearth, and began to work at it with matches until he was confident it could continue unaided.
I sat there in front of the huge window sipping my champagne, watching him whizz about the cabin. I watched with curiosity as he pulled all the duvets, blankets and pillows from the bedroom and linen closet, pulled the cushions from the sofa and armchair before he spread them out on the floor in front of the the roaring fire. He pushed the furniture to the back walls, creating a large, soft, inviting space in the centre of the room.
He left the cabin, and returned moments later with a small black canvas bag. He placed the bag to the side of the blankets in arms reach.
Then he disappeared to the kitchen to start cooking.
I was impressed with his effort. I started to feel like he was taking this seriously, and if he was trying his best to fix this marriage, then I should at least let him do his thing. I took another deep breath, and brought to mind all the good times we’d had over the years. I was desperate to alter my knee-jerk reaction about him so that I could go into this weekend with an open mind, and more importantly, to do so without a scowl on my face.
He brought me another champagne, but this time, he wore an apron over his clothes. The thing about my husband, is that he’s not very domesticated. He does his part around the house but he doesn’t ever do his part as well as I’d have done it. Seeing him do all this, wearing the apron; I should be laughing at him, but I couldn’t help but bite my bottom lip as he entered. It was a side of him I’d never seen.
I finished the first champagne as he approached with a fresh glass to swap them out.
“None for you?” I asked.
“I need a clear head, but you need to relax,” he said flatly.
He served a beautiful but simple meal of tomato pasta, with fresh ingredients, garnished with basil. He wasn’t a cook, so he was operating at the peak of his capability, but it was gorgeous nonetheless.
He allowed himself a single glass of champagne after the meal whilst pouring another for me. I could feel a gentle, but pleasant buzz from the alcohol, and with my inhibitions lowered, so too was my guard.
He took my hand and I rose as he did, he then led me to the still burning fire.
The sun had just dipped beyond the horizon giving the sky a dark teal hue. The light given off by the fire within the cabin was cosy, and inviting.
He walked me to the soft area he’d set up, blankets, pillows, cushions and even towels were spread on the floor. He sat me on the chair to the side and dropped to his knees. He carefully undid my shoes and slipped them off, then sensually slid my socks down revealing my painted toes. He kissed my feet whilst massaging them, I could feel the pleasant wetness of his lips between the careful pressure from his thumbs as he rubbed. I couldn’t remember him ever doing this, it almost felt as though for tonight alone, I had a different husband, one who was attentive, giving antep escort and generous with his time and his attention to my body.
He raised himself upwards slightly and kissed my lips. It wasn’t the overwhelming kisses of the past, it was the kiss of a new love, his lips just brushing gently across mine. I was so taken with the sensuality of the moment that I barely noticed him unzipping my dress.
I reached back and undid my bra, whilst lifting myself off the chair. He pulled my dress down to the ground, and I gingerly stepped out of it.
I noticed the cold on my body, my exposed nipples tightening, and goosebumps dotting my skin. I motioned towards the fire and at that, he wordlessly stood and lifted me with an arm under my legs and around my back. Then he walked towards the warmth and lay me down upon the soft bedding.
As I made myself comfortable, he began to kiss my neck, exactly where I love to be kissed, just behind my ear. It’d been some time since I’d felt this, and I closed my eyes as I let the sensations of his kiss flow over my body.
He stood, and undressed right down to his boxers. Then he gestured to them, “these are staying on. This is all about you.”
I sat up and grabbed at them anyway, feeling his hardness beneath the soft fabric.
“Take them off,” I demanded.
“I don’t think I should,” he argued.
“Show it to me,” I said whilst pouting and fluttering my eyelashes at him.
He relented and his hard cock sprang forth as the boxers passed over them.
“Now you,” he said, motioning to my panties.
I lay back, “you do it.”
He smiled, then placed a knee either side of my body and continued kissing my neck. This time, the warmth of his body comforted me, adding a new dimension of sensuality to this act. He then slowly made his way down my body, kissing my chest, paying close attention to my nipples, letting them slowly soften within his mouth, then leaving them as he moved further south, exposing their wetness to the air, tightening them back up once more. He kissed at my scar just above my naval, an age-old piercing, then he moved my panties down with his chin as he kissed slowly across where the waistband normally sat. I was always so sensitive there, but tonight my body welcomed his touch.
He carefully bit the waistband of my panties and moved down, revealing the top of my mound, teasing me as his mouth and warmth passed my pussy by, denying it a touch. His hands caressed my sides as he moved his head down and around my pubic region, touching and then not quite touching my wetness. As his hands moved towards his head, he grabbed at the sides of my panties pulling them down. I lifted my legs to the sky as my panties slid across my skin, revealing my glistening lips to him. As they left my feet, I parted my legs either side of his body, and his head dropped to bury itself between them.
Warmth rushed to my cheeks and slowly drifted all across my body as his tongue ran gently over and around my clit. I grasped his hair and pulled his head in close, making sure my wetness was spread all across him. I wanted him closer, with a slightly more determined pressure on my skin, I wanted to see my wetness spread across his mouth, and I wanted to hear his soft gasps for breath as he he got his fill of my juices.
I saw him wince as I pulled his hair a little too hard, but without a complaint, he kept his mouth perfectly occupied on my pussy. I could feel his soft tongue tracing the form of my inner lips and dancing around my clit in a way he never had before.
Who was this man? My loving husband had never had this talent, in all the years I’d known him, the most I’d ever gotten from him was a half hearted lick. Whoever had possessed his body, knew exactly how to make me squirm.
I could feel the warmth rising in my body, moving across my shoulders, causing me to arch my back. My midriff and breasts pressed themselves to the sky as my head continued to bury itself into the cushion. I was getting close to finishing and he could sense it.
He placed my clit within his mouth and closed his lips around it. With his tongue he began to move around it in a circular motion, drawing forth so much more wetness from within me. I could feel my juices running down and soaking the blankets and running between the creases of my groin and rear.
Right then, I felt shivers begin to attack me; I flexed my feet, pointed my toes, and then my legs began to shake. All over my body, I quivered. My eyes tightened shut, and I screamed as a lasting warmth began to settle onto me as if a warm blanket had been thrown over my naked body.
As the ecstasy began to wane, I lifted my head to look at him. He rose from my nethers and stood up over me. There was a thin spider’s silk line of precum leaking from his long hard cock. I smiled. He began to wipe his face with a towel as he rummaged through the black canvas bag he’d brought.
Out of it, he held four restraints. They were soft leather cuffs with a rope attached to each. He began to fasten one to my ankle, then to gaziemir escort the other, then to my wrists. I lay back, still recoiling from the orgasm; I didn’t protest, though for me, restraints was now uncharted territory.
He positioned me silently so my left side faced the hearth, then maneuvered the heavy oak furniture near my head and my feet, then tied me in place with the ropes.
As he pulled the rope tight, my arm shot outwards, then the other, then my feet, pulling me into a starfish shape, with my body fully on display.
He must have sensed my unease, so he quietly whispered, “don’t worry, this is all for you; you’ll enjoy it.”
He returned to the bag and produced a blindfold and a long thin pole with an soft black feather plumage at its tip.
He put the blindfold over my eyes, and cut me off fully from my sense of sight.
I lay there, fully exposed, restrained, blindfolded, totally punder his control. I tested the strength of the restraints but from the angle I lay at, there was nothing I could do to give any slack. So I began to rely upon my other senses to guess what was about to happen to me.
The warmth from the fire heated one side of me whilst the other remained cool. My nipples stood up, tight and pointed, I felt a coolness on the air which disproportionately affected my inner thighs and core which was still slick from the orgasm. I heard him moving around me, kneeling beside me in front of the fire.
Then his lips came down upon my left nipple, taking it fully into his warm, wet mouth. As he played with my post-orgasm sensitivity, he also gently brushed the feather across my other pert breast, encircling both areolas in tandem, one with a feather and one with a tongue. I let out a gasp.
He began to trace the shape of my naked body with the feather, dancing over all of my most sensitive parts, tickling and teasing me exactly where I needed to be touched. I let him do whatever he wanted to my body; I was fully his.
He switched sides, taking my other breast into his mouth and teasing my other side with the feather.
He made gentle but deep noises at my squirm, it sounded very much like he was enjoying this too.
I fell into a deep relaxation state, letting my mind fully appreciate the sensations of my body. As the last quivers of my orgasm began to leave me, I began appreciating all the small touches around my body. I loved the way he caressed around my hips, I loved the feeling of the feather dancing up my inner thigh to tease my pussy, the warmth and softness of my nipples within his mouth.
I entered the most divine trance, focusing only on my bodily sensations. The roar and crackle of the fire began to fade, as did the scent of burning wood. Lingering tastes of champagne and his lips dissipated. Whilst being deprived of one sense, and given no time to focus on the others, they almost ceased to be. My only sense right now was touch, and that sense was amplified beyond what I previously thought I was capable of. I could feel each little caress, the slight changes in temperature as he moved his body around me, each tickle, and each taste of my body, in exquisite detail.
My body began to respond to his touch, yearning for more. Through deep breaths I begged him to touch my pussy, and he acquiesced.
His warm fingers began to run up and down my soaking lips, moving the wetness around, drenching every inch of it. With his thumb he began to play with the skin around my clit, whilst he entered me with a finger. His touch was everything I could perceive, and feeling him within me caused my eyes to roll back as I moved around as much as the restraints allowed.
He added another finger, this time, slightly bending both as they entered, feeling for my G-spot, whilst simultaneously teasing my outer folds. I flexed my shoulders and my neck, and worked my hips into a rhythm of pleasure.
“I need your cock,” I gasped as he worked at me.
“No.” He replied, flatly.
With my sexiest intonation, I begged, “please.”
He removed his fingers, and I could hear him rummaging around in the canvas bag. Then he returned to my side.
“This evening, this feeling, is just for you.”
He placed something long and hard inside me, and it began to vibrate gently.
“This is the best I can do,” he said, entering me deeper with the toy. It began to ever so slightly oscillate within me, whilst stimulating me with its vibration.
I started to leak fluid, it poured from me, around the toy as I felt myself edge closer and closer to exploding. My husband kept moving it in time with my sexual rhythm, and the stimulation finally reached its apex and I crossed the point of no return.
I’d never screamed as loud as this during sex before. As the warmth rushed over me I sprayed the blankets with my juices. I heard my husband say quietly, gently, deeply, “good girl.”
I lay there, my heart racing, the orgasm washing over me, I felt him begin to undo my restraints, then he finally took away the blindfold, but I refused to open my eyes; I wanted to exist only within this blissful moment for a while longer. He brought one of the dry blankets over me, and he lay there with his arm around me as I settled into his warmth and let sleep take me away. My consciousness floated on a cloud as I cuddled deeper into his naked body.
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