The anticipation had been building for days. My husband had cryptically informed me that he had planned something extraordinary for me sometime in the coming week. Despite my relentless inquiries, and even employing my most persuasive tactics—teasing him sensually—he firmly kept the secret, driving my curiosity to its limits. I scrutinized our shared calendar, but it revealed nothing except a routine meeting with our banker.
Days trickled by in a haze of unanswered questions until I couldn’t contain my frustration any longer. I demanded to know. With a tinge of regret in his eyes, he apologized, explaining that his plans hadn’t materialized. However, he compensated by making love to me with an intensity and passion that was both bewildering and enthralling.
The day of the meeting arrived. We were slightly late, hurrying to our car when he suddenly halted and insisted we return inside. Bewildered and slightly irritated, I followed him back. Once indoors, he revealed that he had postponed the meeting to the following week. Today was the day he had been hinting at. My heart raced with a mix of nervous excitement and curiosity as he led me downstairs.
Our bedroom had transformed into a sensual paradise. The air was thick with the scent of aromatic oils and dimly lit by countless candles. The gentle melodies of our favorite piano classics CD filled the room. In the subdued light, I could just discern a shadowy figure seated in a chair, the air around them heavy with a distinctly feminine perfume. My husband reassured me again, his voice a soothing anchor in the sea of my mounting anxiety. He promised that I could end the experience at any moment with a single word.
Descending the stairs, the only clear sight in the romantically dim room was the silk ties he so often wore, which he now used to blindfold me. Each sense heightened by the darkness, I trembled as he delicately stripped away my clothes, his fingers grazing my skin with tantalizing slowness. Reduced to just my lingerie, excitement rendered me speechless; even as my bra fell to the floor and his tongue briefly electrified my nipple, I remained lost in sensation.
My anticipation peaked as he gently guided me onto our massage table. His hands expertly relieved the tension from my body, his touch skirting dangerously close to my most sensitive areas. I obeyed his soft command to raise my hips, shivering as he indulged me with his tongue, drawing orgasm after orgasm from my eager body.
Just as I began to lose track of time and place, I was reminded of the stranger's presence by the sensation of four hands and multiple fingers exploring every inch of my skin. Flipping over, my instinct was to tear off the blindfold, but he caught my hand, reassuring me with a kiss, his tongue colliding with mine passionately. The room seemed to spin as they continued to worship my body, the sensations building to an overwhelming crescendo without once touching the center of my arousal.
Then, suddenly, it shifted; their hands were replaced by their mouths. When I thought I could endure no more pleasure, I felt one presence at my core and another teasing my back entrance, while she played fervently with my clit. Overwhelmed, I had to pause the recounting, the memory alone igniting a desperate need to find my husband—my body aching for his touch once more.
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