Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I love you no matter who you wank off. – 12/06/20
Today is Friday. It’s nearly a fortnight since Katie’s ‘you really like…’ bombshell. Sarah is out of bed before me, as usual. Silhouetted naked, in the morning sunlight, she tells me that after she gets home from work, she is planning to do a workout, and then go out to meet her friend Karen. I ask her:
‘Where are you going to meet with Karen?’
‘I don’t know yet. Why so you need to know?’
‘I don’t need to know. I’m just interested.’
‘God you’re like a Muslim husband!’
She moves closer to the edge of the bed. She slides two fingers over her pussy, parts the lips, pushes her crotch towards my face, and grinds her hips.
‘Next thing we know you’ll be making me wear a black cloth over my head and locking me indoors.’
‘Aw come on… As if I’m anything like that! I don’t mind what you do. I was only showing an interest. So… you’re going to come home, work out, presumably get a shower, go out and meet Kaz… How long do those things take? Where’s dinner in all of that? I need to know. Are you eating with us?’
‘You don’t need to know fuck all!’
Grinning she skips over to the dresser and pulls out a pair of panties. As she steps into them she tells me:
‘You just make the k**s some pasta. Make sure they’ve done their school work. And make sure they’ve done it fucking properly this time! Katie needs a shower and her hair washed. Make sure they both get to bed on time.’
‘What about me?’
‘What about you?’
‘When should I eat?’
‘For fucks sake! Do you need me to to tell you when to eat now? Fucking man up!’
She strides out to the bathroom wearing nothing but the black thong panties that she’s just pulled on. Still laid in bed, I mutter out of her earshot.
‘Well I’d kind of like to eat with you… And you haven’t even told me whether you need me to cook you any pasta… and when are you going to be home?… and…’ (Paranoia kicks in.) ‘..as if you are meeting flipping Katie.’
Sarah’s moods have been up and down all week. In her low moods she’s been tetchy and irritable. I’ve sensed resentment, directed at me, for reasons that I could not fathom. My paranoia has been working overtime.
Having been high this morning, in the evening, when she arrives home from work, she’s in one of her low moods again. I ask her:
‘Are you OK gorgeous? You seem a bit down.’
‘I’m fed up of people who say they will do something and then not doing it.’
Nothing irks Sarah more that someone saying that they will do something and then not doing it.
‘Have you hoovered everywhere?’
‘Yes. And mopped the floors. And cleaned the bathroom. All the things I said I would do.’
‘But have you done it properly?’
‘Yes I’ve done it all properly.’
‘I don’t believe you… Did you post that parcel for me?’
‘Ah… no. I have to go fetch some milk. The post office will still be open. I’ll take it with me.’
‘For fucks sake! It’ll have missed today’s post now!’
‘Does that matter?’
‘You’re fucking useless!’
‘It’s an Amazon return. Why does it need to have made this mornings post?’
‘Where is it? I’ll take it. I’ll get the fucking milk! You want something done… do it your fucking self!’
She goes off in search of the parcel and some moments later I hear the door slam as she leaves the house.
When she returns she tells me that she needs me to lift her mood. She says:
‘Come and workout with me.’
‘I can’t! I can barely walk in a straight line.’
‘Come on. Get some fucking life into you! There’s all sorts you can do.’
Eventually I consent. She amends her workout to cater for my disability. Out in the garden, in the late afternoon sunshine, she coaches me through various sets of exercises. It would be paradise if it wasn’t so torturous.
‘Come on keep your back straight!’
‘I literally can’t. I’m a cripple.’
‘You’re a wimp!’
‘Jesus Christ! This is killing me.’
‘Stop swearing and get on with it!’
‘Arrgghhh Fuck! Jesus!’
‘Keep it going! Keep your legs up! Keep it there! Keep it there!’
‘Ahhh Ahh Fuuuccckk!’ I’m laid on the floor exhausted and hurting.
‘Why do you make so much fuss? It’s supposed to be enjoyable.’
‘Enjoyable?! It’s bloody torture! I see the value in it… I want to do it. But it’s never going to be enjoyable!’
‘Well I enjoy it!’
That’s why she’s super fit I guess. She actually enjoys working out like an Olympic athlete. The k**s step out from inside the house. Brandon laughs at the scene.
‘Ha ha ha heer! What have you done to him Mum? He looks like he’s worn into the ground.’
‘That’s not fair. Come on! Be nice to your Dad.’
‘Mum’s like a super fit gymnast and he’s literally like an old man who can’t get off the floor.’ Little Katie chips in.
‘That’s not fair. He’s your Dad! His body is damaged. He’s wonderful to us all and he’s very kind to you. You ought to appreciate that and be a bit nicer to him.’
‘What ikitelli escort like you are?!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean young lady?’
Sarah playfully reaches for Katie who pulls away. I make my way indoors for a shower as the ensuing chase around the garden gradually evolves, through rough and tumble, into a water fight. As I shower I can hear their their happy squeals and howls of laughter. I smile at the beauty of it all. This place… This family… This weather… Then it occurs to me that Sarah has made no mention of her planned meeting with her friend Karen.
We all eat dinner together and, after I’ve washed up, got the k**s showered, and put them both to bed, Sarah and I settle to watch a comedy TV show. I feed her chocolates. I always feed her chocolates in the evening now. I can do that safe in the knowledge that she will never put on weight. Because she actually enjoys high intensity workouts. When I started feeding her chocolates my idea was: Whenever she does anything a bit risque or slutty I will reward her. With chocolate. She won’t even realize that it’s happening. That’s how it started. But somehow it has become a regular thing. I’m feeding them to her every night. I dare not run out.
In the TV show, a couple have marital problems, after the woman, on a drunken night out, cops off with a student half her age. As we get ready for bed I comment on it:
‘Her husband ought to have a word with himself.’
‘He’s totally over reacting… OK… so she wanked off a student… So what?’
I love it when we happen across a situation like this in a TV show or a movie. I see it as an opportunity to indirectly reassure her, that I could handle her cuckolding me, without actually talking about cuckolding at all. I leave her to make that connection. And I always try to put a clear message through to her inner slut.
Later as we are laid in bed I bring it up again:
‘OK maybe he is upset but it’s not worth damage to their relationship is it? He ought to just get over it. He loves her… She loves him… She’s been open with him about it… Eventually…’
‘Like you would be OK with it!’
‘I wouldn’t let it affect our relationship!…’ (Message to the inner slut time.) ‘…I love you no matter who you wank off.’
She looks at me with raised eyebrows before breaking into a smile and kissing me. She lays one of her legs over mine and slides her hand onto my cock.
‘Is this thing going to play tonight?’ She whispers. Her lips touching mine as she talks.
‘What do you want to play with it?’
‘I want to suck it right off.’
I keep having trouble getting it up lately. I’m sure it’s due to this cuckolding obsession. I’ve started secretly using Viagra, but I’ve not anticipated sex tonight, so I’m panicking at first, then relieved when my cock actually starts swelling in her hand. I settle down into kissing her and talking. Our lips touching as we whisper.
‘You love cock.’
‘I love your cock.’
‘You want to cum all over a big hard cock.’
‘I want to cum all over your big hard cock.’
‘You’ve cum all over a lot of hard cock.’
‘Shhh.. I’m just here with you right now.’
She pulls her mouth away from mine and slowly kisses her way down my chest and over my stomach. In a flash she has the helmet of my cock in her mouth and she’s sucking hard. She begins running her tongue up and down the underside of the shaft as she sucks. I put my hands behind my head and lay back in relaxed bliss.
She pulls my cock from her mouth and raises her head. ‘Er… What the fuck?’
‘What?… This is amazing!… I love it.’
‘Get your fucking arms down!’
I take my hands from behind my head and lay them at my sides.
‘Fucking keep then there! Behave yourself and don’t move!’
She lowers her mouth back onto my cock. This time taking it deep into her throat before almost gagging and pulling back slightly. Then she begins a rotating, three stage, routine of: circling my glans with her tongue a few times; suddenly deep throating me for a few seconds; then pulling up and sucking hard on my throbbing cock head.
I don’t move. I could lay here like this forever. I’m trying hard not to cum. It’s rare that I get a blow job. Let alone one as good as this. A couple of times over the next quarter of an hour she has me at the brink of exploding into her mouth. Each time she seems to sense it and eases off. Finally she takes my cock from her mouth and straddles my waist. Placing her feet flat down at my hips. She squats above my cock, taking it in her hand and rubbing the tip against the lips of her vagina.
‘My pussy is going to batter the fuck out of this thing.’
‘Don’t you move!’
The head of my cock is enveloped by her warm wet pussy. She teases. Slipping the head in and out of her soft opening. Squatting, she gently thrusts and withdraws her ass. I watch her. Watch the way her tight supple body moves. The way her istanbul escort muscles flex. I watch the head of my cock slipping in and out. I want to go deeper. I want to put my hands on her tits. I desperately want to fuck her.
‘Ohhh Christ you are so sexy!’ I go to place a hand on her left breast.
She slaps my face. ‘No touching!’
‘Now!…’ She looks sternly down at me.’ …Don’t blame me if I break this thing.’
She thrusts her ass further now. Enveloping three quarters of my cock tightly in her cunt.
‘Oh god I want to fuck you!’ I groan.
Then she changes her angle of grip. It’s feels as if she somehow has my cock snagged in her Pelvis. She grinds her ass suddenly, hard, and fast. Her pelvis is gripping my cock, between halfway and three quarters in, pulling on it, bending it. It’s actually painful. It really feels like she could snap it. I bite my top lip and take the pain. She seems to be enjoying herself.
‘This fucking thing…’ She’s telling me as she kneads my cock. ‘Needs to fucking man up… My fanny needs a proper… ‘ (thrust) ‘big…’ (thrust) ‘hard…’ (thrust) ‘cock!’
I can’t tell how long she goes on. It hurts and I’m genuinely scared that she could break my cock. A few times it actually feels like it is on the verge of snapping. Then, as I’m thinking that I must stop her before something terrible happens, she thrusts right down hard onto it. Taking the full length inside her, she starts rocking hard upon it. She leans her face into mine, looks deep into my eyes and commands:
‘Don’t you fucking dare cum!’
‘Oh god… I’m not sure I can help it.’
‘You love me fucking you.’
‘I’m going to cum all over your cock.’
Her hips are grinding now. Pushing down on her forward thrusts. She raises her face away and pushes her right breast towards my face.
I kiss her breast and begin to gently lick her tit as she rocks.
‘Ohh fuck that is nice.’
She takes my left hand and places it between her thighs just above my cock. I know what she wants. I position my thumb so that her clitoris brushes against it each time she thrusts forward.
‘Ohhh God! That is fucking good!’
It’s a strain to hold my position, craning my neck to lick her nipple and keeping my thumb in place, not moving a muscle, as her thrusts become more vigorous. But I love her like this. I don’t want her to end. A couple of times I move. Just to bring her down from the brink of orgasm. She’s frustrated and she pinches me hard.
‘Why are you fucking moving!? I thought I told you not to move?’
It’s worth being told off and pinched to prolong the show. After the second telling off I hold still and eventually she works herself into possibly the longest loudest orgasm that she’s ever had. I try to stay right on the spot with cock, thumb, and tongue. To keep her cumming for as long as possible. There’s nothing better in the world.
‘Did you cum?’ She asks.
‘No. Not yet.’
‘For fucks sake. Get on with it then!’
She bends down pressing her chest against mine. I grip her hair with one hand and her ass with the other. As I start to fuck her she moves her hips in time with mine. Shorty I realize that she might cum again. I keep to her rhythm. Clasping her tightly and driving my cock deep into her. This time her orgasm, though still vocal, is shorter and less intense. Just as she finishes I release myself into her. Just for a few moments I make as much noise as she does. Before relaxing, spent, and wondering…
What the fuck happened to meeting Karen?
She’s been gone ages Dad! – 04/07/20
Suddenly Sarah is running a lot. She’s always run occasionally, maybe 3 to 4 times a month. But she’d not been running at all through May and early June. Now since mid June she’s been out there two or three times a week. I’ve noticed that the scheduled times of the runs often change. On occasion she has even dressed in her running gear, first thing in the morning, and worn it through the day. As if she knows that she’ll be going out running, but she doesn’t know when, and she needs to be ready to head out at any moment.
One day she returned and took her leggings off in the porch. I can’t think why. I later I found a wad of tissue right there on the porch floor. Dried crusty. It was folded through the middle. Making it the size and shape of a sanitary pad. It looked like kitchen paper. But not of the brand that we have in our house.
I know I’m being paranoid. I’m sure it was just a snotty hanky. But I can’t help my mind spinning. I’m intrigued. I’m frightened. I’m scared at the thought that she could be forming an illicit emotional connection with someone else. But at the same time I’m thrilled at the thought that someone else might be fucking her. My emotions are a jumbled mess.
Since Katie’s “you really like talking to that man…” bombshell Sarah’s behavior has been notably odd. Yoyo-ing between seeming to be madly in love with me one day and in a foul mood at me, without reason, the next.
I kadıköy escort gave her set of new panties. These are another step sexier than previous ones. I was worried that they were too risque, too soon, but she loved them. She immediately wore the sexiest pair to go out and meet one of her girlfriends on an evening. Which was followed by the best sex we’d had since the night that Karen seeming stood her up. I felt loved.
Then on Father’s day (UK) she’d complained all morning that I’d not got all of the the weekly house cleaning done yet. I finished it off that afternoon, under duress, whilst she did a workout and then got herself showered. On Fathers day!
All day long she persistently found fault with me. Then at dinnertime she complained that I’d not paid her enough attention during the day and that I’d “done fuck all”. Even the k**s were dumbfounded by those accusations. Brandon defended me.
‘What!? Give him a break mum! He cleaned the whole house! He’s done everything you’ve asked him to do! And it’s Father’s day!!’
Then after dinner she’d suddenly appeared in running gear. Out of the blue she was going running. She was gone for hours. She returned, to her second shower of the day, and I managed to quickly check out her clothing, on the bathroom floor, after she’d finished in there. I barely had a second to look at it before she came back and picked it all up. With her towel wrapped around her, she took it downstairs, and put it all straight into the wash. I’d only managed to sneak a quick look at her clothes. I could have been mistaken. None of it appeared to be sweaty. It was a very hot day. There was no sex for me on Father’s day.
The next weekend where she wore running gear from first thing on the Saturday morning. During the morning I asked her when she was going running?
She said ‘Lunchtime’.
By late afternoon she’d still not been running. So I asked her again:
‘When are you going running?’
‘Why the hell are you assuming that I’m going running today!?’ She snapped angrily at me.
‘Well… because you’ve written in here… in the diary.’ I pointed to the diary entry and she simmered down. I decided that it was best not to mention that she was dressed in her running gear.
‘Maybe later.’ She said.
She changed out of her running gear, in the evening, after dinner time. She didn’t go out running. She was in a foul mood all evening.
My paranoia hounds me. It says to me:
‘Remember what little Katie said…You really like talking to that man don’t you mummy?… She’s probably meeting him out there for fucks sake!… Do you really believe that she met her friend Laura for a cup of Tea after she had her haircut the other day?… A cup of tea that went on all afternoon?… She looked like sex on a stick for fucks sake!… She was flushed red in the face after she came back…’
It’s a constant dialogue in my mind.
Today she’s going out running yet again. She mentions it in the morning but she seems to be fretting about whether she can find the time. I offer to make the dinner and to do whatever I can to help. I don’t want her to have an affair. But for some reason I can’t keep from doing things to help smooth the path to one for her. I suggest that she could maybe go tomorrow instead. She doesn’t respond.
At lunchtime we’re sat with the k**s enjoying a family lunch. The k**s are laughing and joking. Sarah seems distant. Suddenly she rises from the table saying:
‘Where’s my phone?’
Scanning the room, she spots her phone and grabs it from a kitchen counter. As she sits back down she appears to quickly check something on it. Then she makes a fuss over taking a picture of the k**s. The k**s seem slightly taken aback. Surprised that she suddenly wants to take a photo of them. It seems odd to me. I put it down to paranoia and carry on eating.
Sarah then spends the whole day chopping and changing her mind over going running. It’s raining on and off. She has been expecting sun. There are sunny intervals but she doesn’t choose one. Eventually she heads out at around 19:30 as I’m putting little Katie to bed. It’s raining.
Later as I put Brandon to bed after 21:00 he says:
‘Dad… Where the hell has Mum got to?’
‘Well she’s out hill running. You know what she’s like. She loves it. She’s unstoppable.’
‘Yeah but she’s never gone this long! Where’s she running to? The flipping moon?’
‘I’ll ask her to look in on you when she gets back. She’ll be back soon… I’m sure.’
I close the door of his room and wish him goodnight. I feel an emptiness in my chest. Of the sort that we feel when we are threatened and scared. In my head I can hear Brandon over again. With a hint of suspicion of Sarah and with puzzlement at my lack of concern:
‘Where on earth is Mum? She’s been gone ages Dad!’
I go and sit at the piano. I start to play. Just bits of melodies at first. Then an old 70s song. I play one song after another. Whatever comes into my head. I don’t know how many. I lose track of time. The house is dark when she arrives home. I stop playing and go to find her. (I heard her come though the back door into the kitchen.) She still has her ear phones in. Somehow, unintentionally, I creep up behind her. She doesn’t know that I’m there. Not until I put my hands on her hips. Then she nearly jumps out of her skin.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32