[ad_1]

My partner and I have been together for over 10 years. We love each other very much. She is a research scientist and professor who went to a top university and has an impressive career. I’m very proud of her success and I love to see her come home at the end of a demanding day at work, looking powerful, clever, and sexy in her tastefully chosen work clothes. I have a good job as a schoolteacher, but my work is less prestigious than hers, I make far less money, and I focus more on maintaining our home, cooking meals, and caring for our two kids.

The other night when she came home from work (quite late, as usual), she gave me a quick kiss and then announced, a bit breathlessly, “I have great news. I got the directorship!” She had applied for a major promotion within her research lab a month earlier; I could tell from her sparky tone of voice and the quick, supple gestures with which she animated her words that, despite the long day, she felt exultant and energized by this professional coup. I also suspected from the way she spoke and moved that, as I had observed in the past, her heightened energy and affect at realizing this career ambition had an erotic tinge to it. “I want to celebrate,” she said, “and I know just how I want to do it.” Cocking an eyebrow, she slowed her rate of speech and lowered the pitch of her voice, until it was utterly peremptory: “Go get yourself a glass of wine. Go to the bedroom. Take off your clothes, lie on the bed, and wait for me. You may not touch yourself.”

I did as instructed, then waited in an interminable-seeming agony of expectation as I listened to her undressing and taking a long shower in the bathroom across the hall. As I sipped my wine, I pictured sudsy hot water running down her hair and naked curves; I felt my breath and heart quicken and noticed that my arms and legs had begun, ever so slightly to quiver. My cock and my nipples stirred to life. Hoping to calm my body’s incipient quivering and accelerating arousal in order to better endure the wait, I took another sip of wine and dove underneath the bed covers. But my excitement did not abate under the blankets. My wife’s injunction against touching myself came back in my ears, and I felt deliciously, excruciatingly conflicted between my need to obey it—and my longing to defy it. I yearned to run moistened fingertips over my nipples (now hardened into ripe little fruits); to graze my tensed abdominal muscles with a caressing hand; and to wrap a firm and liberating hand around my prick, which now thrummed and pulsed with stiff insistence.

My resistance to these temptations of self-pleasure was about to give out when, at long last, my wife entered the bedroom, freshly showered, and wearing a bathrobe of fine navy blue silk patterned with a motif of white jasmine flowers. In one hand she held a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon; in the other, a purple bag that looked to be from an expensive boutique hung from its stringy black handles. She sipped her wine and gazed at me intently.

“Are you naked under those covers?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Have you touched yourself?”
“No,” I said, and felt a wave of warm feeling in my stomach, as she nodded approvingly.
“That’s good,” she said

She approached the bed, laid her wine glass down on the bedside table, and—-with a dramatic, demonstrative sort of slowness-—removed from the purple boutique bag a sleek black dildo, noticeably larger than any of the dildos she already owned.
“I am now the director the Reed-Blevins Institute for Advanced Research in Molecular Biology,” she said exultantly. And then, with a mix of solemnity and playfulness “and I wondered it only fitting that with my bigger, more crucial role at the lab, I should have an even bigger, more crucial cock.”

I watched rapt as she untied her robe and placed it gently on the dresser. Underneath, her ample breasts were cradled fetchingly by a lacy black bra; around her midsection she wore nothing but a black leather harness, whose straps and clasps she now loosened just enough to insert her new silicone phallus into the o-ring. “With no offense intended to your own very adequate member,” she said, re-adjusting the harness’ straps and jutting her pelvis slightly forward, hands on hips, “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m now a good two inches longer than you–and a fair bit thicker too.” She smiled.

“Pull back those covers,” she said, “It’s time to celebrate my new job.”

NSFW: yes

[ad_2]