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The moment that time forgot

It started as another chance to relax on a hectic Friday after work. I had a few hours before going back to work while she had just finished her day dealing with some difficult irate customers. I was mentally exhausted, so I set my alarm for 8pm figuring if I fell asleep that would give me time to wake up and get back to our office room. Like many of us, I haven't seen the inside of my normal office in months. The kids are sated for the moment, I have some time. She is visibly exhausted and I know she has a minor headache, doubtless from work as well. I ask her if cuddling would help. She acknowledges it would so I have her go to our bedroom and I'll join her shortly. I grab a water bottle and lay down next to her on the bed in our traditional cuddle arrangement. This way she can lay on my chest and listen to my heart beat, my rhythmic breathing helping her relax while I scratch her back or caress her hair.

She moved me around so I was spooned behind her, hands around her shoulders. This is one of our favorite positions to cuddle in but we rarely use it. Neither of us knows why other than at the end of a long day she knows there's a good chance we'll fall asleep like this and I'll wake with my arm cursed with the dreaded pins and needles. (Worth it, I say.)

My right hand naturally falls to cup her left breast and I slip it under her shirt to gently fondle the supple flesh. In my mind, this is not foreplay so much as the comforting touch of flesh on flesh. She's told friends in the lifestyle jokingly that she married me for my fingers and my tongue - everything else has been the proverbial (sometimes literal) icing on the cake. My other hand strokes her shoulders down to her belly then trails slowly down to her hips. I hear her breathing relax. Wicked thoughts enter my mind and are just as quickly discarded. "Selfish, this is for her" I think. Our breathing slows and deepens, we both relax and my motions find their rhythm on her body. Time slows and loses all meaning. I don't know if she's awake and it doesn't matter. Hell, I don't know if I'm awake or having a lucid cat nap with my Beloved engulfed in my embrace.

My grip on her breast tightens slightly and I circle her nipple, in my minds eye I can see it harden. Her breathing quickens but I still can't tell if she's awake or not. My other hand skims slightly lower and under her jeans to the sensitive flesh near her groin. I hear a groan and a sigh. I know as much as I enjoy licking and sucking on her tips that she has explained in the past it doesn't really do much for her. I've explained the same to her occasional lovers when we've shared or swapped. They rarely listen, and that's fine. This time things are different. The universe has balanced for a moment and conspired to give us a space to harmonize in a way that few ever experience. Of course it's the season to give thanks.

My cock has hardened and I can feel precum leak to the front of my own pants but this isn't about me. I continue caressing her breast gently, occasionally tweaking her nipple as her breath quickens. I shift positions slightly as I feel her hand against the outline of my cock seeking to assure me that she is awake and aware at least on some level of what she wants. Not this time, I think. What my baby needs is assurance, protection, adoration, selfless worship this time. There will be time to indulge in my needs another time. Our position change has encouraged my left hand to wander beyond her hip so that I can skim through the luscious sparse forest between her legs. Incredibly, she's almost trembling from my fingers on her tit. In all the years of marriage, this is a rare moment in which the regular nuances of her body have temporarily been rescinded and she has relaxed mind and body enough to allow the pleasure to happen. She shudders, and a whimper escapes her lips. An orgasm, a small one I think from reading her body.

She turns on her back and my arm escapes. With hooded eyes, she pulls her tit out of the confines of shirt and bra and I lower my head to repeat with lips and tongue the dance my fingers began so long ago. She sighs deeply and her back arches. "Good", I whisper encouragingly before returning to my work.

My left hand moves towards her center and I can feel my reward for my efforts. Her pussy is slick with juices and I know where we are in my composition. There's a reason they break great classical compositions into movements, and here is the perfect illustration. My fingers find the nub of her clit and I hear in her breathing what she needs. My baby needs me to strum her melody on her clit. I concentrate my efforts on her, lifting my eyes to her face. Her eyes clenched, lips biting back the sounds of passion while her back arches. "That's right, let it all go" I encourage. I don't know nor care how many orgasms she has had now, only that she is summiting yet again. I'm not giving her an orgasm, it's not mine to give. I'm merely an extension of wills, reading her and releasing her, allowing her to give herself permission to cum again on my hands.

Her eyes flutter open and she desperately tries to unzip her pants. No words are exchanged, none are needed. I move to help, pulling pants and panties off as one. They stubbornly cling to her feet but my objective is clear. I descend once more, but this time my destination is the sweet nectar of her pussy. Her legs part, my tongue finding her center as she gasps appreciably. I strum an ancient melody on her clit, licking and suckling it as she moans her encouragement. "More" she says. I reward her with two curled fingers deep in her as I continue lavishly worshipping her clit. I fuck her with those fingers, making sure to run them towards the top where I know she needs them. I alternate between strumming and humming on her clit, allowing me to give her pleasure continuously. I lap up the liquid ambrosia she rewards me with until she crests the highest peak. I hear and feel her shuddering breath as she spills what tastes like gallons of cum into my waiting lips.

I persist, albeit somewhat softer. After a crescendo like that, a pianissimo melody as she squirms appreciably under my ministrations. "Honey", she stammers and I lift my head while I continue my strumming on her spot. I lick my lips, intent on getting as much of her in me as possible. We kiss, some small transfer of her essence returning to the source.

Her eyes begin to roll back in her head and I increase both the tempo and intensity of my sawing. She cums again and again against my fingers and I marvel in adoration at this living embodiment of sensuality. At last, sh e warns "sensitive" and I stop with my fingers still buried in her.

We talk sweetly, of how much she needs another water bottle since the one above us is now almost empty. She needs to clean off and I reach with my other hand to the side of the bed for the towel we affectionately call "Babymaker". I tell her I'll go get her a drink and help her clean off but... I trail off and quicken the beat of my fingers. "I think you have at least one more in you" and her back arches, eyes once again closed as her inner eye turns again to the center of her being.

She cums again, and I relent even as I continue to tease her onward. "You sure you want me to stop and get your water bottle right now? ", I ask wickedly. I already know the answer but wasn't to hear her say it. "Don't you dare!", she says with eyes flashing dangerously. I chuckle and redouble my efforts. Eventually, as I knew she would almost have to, I hear the word I had been dreading and anticipating. "Red", she declares and sighs contentedly. I hand her Babymaker so she can clean off. I know she can't feel her toes at this point. I get up, grab the empty water bottle, and go to return to Dad mode. Back to being a father, provider, husband while she recovers and relaxes behind the door of our bedroom. Later I know I'll reap the rewards of my labors of love but for now, I have miles to go before I sleep.

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