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Masturbation

“Come on in.”

The text message showed up on his watch and he made his way into the spare bedroom. It had been kind of awkward sitting around alone in the living room while she did Lord knew what in there, but apparently the wait was over. Time for his gift.

Opening the door he paused, struck by the scene she’d set up and the part she’d cast him to play. The bed was missing and the elliptical in the corner had vanished behind a lattice screen. There was the sound of a bubbling fountain, a liquid gurgle coming from speakers somewhere. The light came from a tall paper and wood lamp, which muted it to a warm glow. In the middle of the room was a low table, one of their outdoor lounge chairs, positioned flat and covered by a white table cloth. She was laying on this, wearing nothing but a few leaves, a hundred dollars in sushi, and a faux serene expression.

He felt his cock stir and a grin quirked his lips. It didn’t matter that the smile wouldn’t quite match what she had in mind, her eyes were closed. He came over and sat down on the cushion that had been placed in front of the table. He was tall enough that even seated he was still towering over her body. There was a pair of chopsticks along her right arm, red lacquer bright against the tablecloth, resting on a small, blue ceramic fish. To his left, on the floor, was an ice bucket, the sake bottle in it so cold its sides frosted. Next to that was a small bamboo dish with a white cloth, steam rising from its damp folds. He picked up the cloth and cleaned his hands, the heat bright against his skin, on the edge of too hot.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes opened and her gaze skittered over to him and then away again, only her eyes moving, her head held still so as to not dislodge the feast she was decked in.

“Look At Me.” A command, low and intense.

She did, the angle awkward but her eyes tight on his face.

“I want you to watch this. All of this.”

He picked up the sake bottle, noting the delicate glass shot glass, like a miniature pilsner glass with a gold rim, set inside a wooden box that nestled between her breasts. Her mention the day before of the Japanese tradition of overpouring sake no longer seemed accidental. The bottle was junmai ginjoshu sake, made from rice polished as smooth as her skin. The cold of the bottle bit at his hand, especially after the warmth of the cloth. Her eyes followed the motion as best she was able but without lifting her head she couldn’t see the moment the cold sake overflowed first the inner cup and then the outer one, pouring down onto her skin and running over her body, around the curves of her breasts. She shivered slightly, but far less than he’d expected.

He discovered why when, as he lowered his head to lap at the sake enough to be able to lift the inner glass, he brushed her arm with his hand. It was cold. She was cold, he realized. Maybe an icy shower. Keeping the sushi fresh. He kept his smile to himself, thinking he’d have to eat fast so he could warm up all that satiny flesh. The sake was bright on his tongue, finishing with a round umami flavor.

He picked up the chopsticks and brandished them open and close in her line of sight. Looking over the spread, a mixture of nigiri and maki, tight circles of seaweed bound rice interspersed with soft rice pillows draped with luscious fish. Segments of rolls marched up her legs. The soft shell crab legs coming out of spider rolls towards her breasts looked obscene, like a particularly appetizing take on Hentai. She sported a shiso leaf on bahis siteleri her freshly shaven mound, piled high with pale pink pickled ginger. There was a leaf also covering her belly button, which was topped by a tiny mountain of what by the smell of it was real wasabi, not the colored horseradish you got at most American sushi restaurants. Between that and two perfect looking pieces of toro, fatty tuna, laid over her nipples, his initial guess on the cost of this decadence was probably too conservative.

He started with her legs, enjoying the spicy tuna roll segments laid out there, but impatient to get to the main feast. She watched him as best as she was able given the angle, her breath quickening each time the chopstick tips brushed her skin, her soft lips parted, her fingers not quite as still as the rest of her, curling against the linen of the cloth. He picked up the inner sake cup and took a swallow, washing down the fish and rice. Sake dripped down from the bottom of the glass, splashing on her right hand. He bent his head and licked off the drips, well out of her line of sight beyond the swell of her breast, then took her thumb in his mouth, lathing his tongue around it. She made a very small strangled wimper. He smiled against her skin and then straightened. He enjoyed the spider roll, the salmon and tuna nigiri from her belly, alternating them with palate cleansing slivers of ginger and sips of sake. The glide of chopstick tips on skin kept her shivering.

When everything was gone except the toro he conversationally mentioned “Traditionally, of course, you didn’t use chopsticks for sushi. And you still don’t for high end sushi. Instead, you use your fingers.” With that he picked up the first piece of toro and placed it fish side down on his tongue. The flavor flooded his mouth, unctuous and richer than any of the pieces that had come before, the whisper of the vinegar on the rice barely balancing the fullness. He savored it a longer moment before swallowing and picking up the second piece.

Sushi is never meant to be cut or bitten, just laid on the tongue as a single exquisite mouthful. A really excellent sushi chef will craft each piece for the individual diner. And this had been made with a large man’s mouth in mind.

“Open.”

She opened her mouth, eyes hot and a bit nervous, breath still rapid. He tucked the whole piece of cool fish with its rice still warm from her own skin into her mouth, flesh to tongue, filling her mouth to overflowing. He closed her mouth around it gently but firmly. Her cheeks bulged as she chewed, eyes rolling with bliss. She always did like tuna.

He waited until her eyes cleared and her mouth was empty to bring the chopsticks back into her line of sight.

“That’s not to say that these don’t have their uses.”

He reached out and pinched her nearest nipple hard, pulling it away from her chest and letting it fall back, watching the ripples that went through her soft breast. She flinched and squirmed.

“Now, now don’t spill any of this excellent sake.”

He went back and forth between her nipples a few times, enjoying her involuntary flinches and shivering. Then he gulped the last of the sake from the inner glass and set it on the floor near the ice. He leaned over to kiss her, feeding her the liquor, the alcohol washing away the lingering flavor of the toro, their tongues meeting in the cold liquid. He pulled away and she swallowed.

“I wouldn’t want this amazing treasure to go to waste either,” he said, picking up the shiso leaf with the canlı bahis siteleri remaining wasabi. He dipped his forefinger in the thick light green paste then smeared it over first one and then the other nipple. Her nipples were already diamond peaked and sensitive from his earlier abuse and now she gasped out loud and started panting, her flesh quaking with tiny tremors, her fingers knotting the cloth. He probably wasn’t mean enough to try this with the fake American stuff, real wasabi wasn’t nearly as hot, a smoother sweeter burn. He didn’t let it sit long, licking it off. He’d have to be careful kissing her. She liked real wasabi in small doses, but he was the one who enjoyed spicy foods. She was a bit of a wimp in that department, though not in others. He stayed over her, molding her breasts with his big hands, running his thumbs over her hard nipples. He picked up the wooden box and let the remaining sake pour slowly on her nipples, licking it up as it drizzled, still chilled, onto skin that was no longer cold.

He pulled off the remaining ginger and shiso leaves, briefly considering torturing her with the ginger, but he was ready for his desert and that could wait for another time. He set them aside.

“May I move up?” she asked quietly. He nodded. She shimmied up until her head dangled off the end of the lounger, its rounded cushion pillowing her neck on the edge. He stood up and came around to the end, striping off his pants and shirt as he did so. He knelt down, thought better of it, and grabbed the floor cushion to kneel on.

He cradled her head so he could see her upside-down eyes. “Are you sure?” He felt her nod but he said, “Say it. Your throat will be a mess tomorrow.”

“Yes, please.” With that he let her head fall back and pushed himself into her mouth, letting her play with lips and tongue until her hands came up to his thighs.

“Tap if it’s too much. Fuck, that feels good.”

Her head was in a position that put her mouth and throat in a direct line. With one hand on her throat he felt inside and out, as he pushed his cock straight in, holding a beat before pulling back, allowing her a shallow breath before he slammed in again, his balls mashing again her nose. Damn, it was tight and wet and good.

“Fuck, take that cock.”

He sped up, his strokes getting quicker and a bit more shallow, afraid of hurting her, of losing control. He came in a rush and a grunt, her tongue laving over him one last time which in the moment was almost too much. He pulled out and rested on his arms for a breath. She swallowed lavishly, just as she had with the toro.

He got up and pulled her into his arms, easily lifting her even from the relatively low surface. He sat for a moment, cradling her against his chest, then kissed her, first softly on her lips and then on her sweaty forehead. She looked up at him with tear drenched eyes.

“There’s a bit more to your surprise but it can wait until later if you’d prefer.”

“More? I may die. Or kill you.”

She grinned, a very wicked little grin and guided his hand down between her legs. He thought she was showing him how wet she was and that was delightful enough, but no, she pulled his big fingers back further so he could feel the unmistakable slickness of silicone lube between her ass cheeks.

She gave her best Marilyn impression, all breathy with big eyes, “Happy birthday, Mr. Husband. Happy birthday to you.”

“I’ve always wanted to risk death by Snu Snu.”

He trailed his fingers over her slit and plunged two thick canlı bahis fingers into her, hard and confident. She was so wet but it was still tight. “Do you want my cock here too, you greedy girl?”

“Always, but it’s your birthday.”

“Yes, it is.”

He played for a while, fingers scissoring and turning in her honeyed heat, slick and sweet, his thumb alternatively circling her clit and grinding it, just on the edge of pain until she came, squeezing tighter around him. He pulled his fingers out and brought them to her mouth, letting her clean herself from him. Then he stood, still holding her, and laid her down on the lounger.

She spread her legs to welcome his heavy length on top of her. His cock was hard again and he positioned it against her, then entered her cunt deep in one smooth push.

“Aaah…” She bit at his left pec, her fingers tight on his arms. He started a quick pace, a punishing in and out, pulling almost completely free then plunging home.

“Tighten up for me,” he growled and felt her flex, a silken glove, heat and restriction, and liquid softness.

She came again around him, clamping harder yet. He pulled out of her and off the lounger, almost stepping on her discarded cell phone, dropped on the far side. He turned her and she let him, pliant and near boneless, as he pulled her up on to all fours. He came up behind her between her legs, fitting his big cock head to her small, slick asshole.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

He took his time now. They played here but not often. He felt her ass open for him, flower around him, and then clamp down behind the helmet. He paused, savoring the tightness and her sweet moans. She could be a very quiet partner, his beautiful wife, but not when he was in her ass. He leaned back enough to look down and see himself looking impossibly big in her tiny hole. His cock flexed and she jumped, then pushed herself back against him, forcing herself to open further, letting him in.

“Fuck, you really are killing me.”

“You had a good life, you’ll die happy,” she gasped out between pants.

“Does it hurt? “

“Yes, so, so good.” She punctuated each word by shoving backwards on him until her hips were nestled against his. That did it. His fingers dug into her hips as he began a slow in and out that had them both moaning hard. It was sweet, and dirty, and it felt so fucking good. She came around him again, the pressure almost too much. With that she slumped forward. He tilted her hips and started fuck harder, pushing himself to the end, his balls drawing up again, tight and hot.

“Rub your clit.” His voice was low, dark. A harsh command.

She did, wriggling an arm below herself, three fingers pushing hard against her whole mound, sliding over her slickness.

He was barely making words, jackhammering against her, her ass open and soft around him, growling at her to “Cum for me, cum for me damn you. Now.” He brought his hand down hard, a sharp crack where her ass met her hip. That did it. They came together and he fell onto her. He was bigger than her but he knew this was one of her favorite moments, him boneless on top of her – the heaviest, hottest weighted blanket in existence. He waited until he was totally soft and then gave her a quick squeezing hug as his cock slipped from her ass. She hated the moment he left her body.

He shakily got to his feet then pulled her up, carrying her to their room, covering her with a blanket before he went to the bathroom for a warm washcloth and a bottle of water, cleaning them both up and trading swallows. Then he climbed into bed and pulled her close, big spoon to her little spoon, kissing her sweaty head, thanking her, and falling asleep to her whispered “Sweet dreams birthday boy.”

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