Anointed

Dinner was behind us, the dishes washed and dried and put away. When my wife announced that she was going to take a long soak in the tub, I figured it was the perfect time to continue with William Gibson's Pattern Recognition, especially since I was eager to learn what would happen to Cayce in Tokyo.

I poured what remained of the wine into a glass, picked up my book, and headed outside. There was still plenty of natural light for reading, but the sun was definitely sinking toward the distant mountains. Setting the glass down on the wide wooden railing of the back porch, I sat on the wooden bench, leaned against the cabin itself, and focused my attention on the book for the first time since early morning.

Once again, I was essentially lost in a Gibson tale. I must have sipped the wine as I read, but suddenly, I was aware that it was difficult to see the words on the page, and when I reached for the glass, I found it empty. Looking up and around me, I saw that the sun had disappeared from the sky, as had much of its light, providing the ideal time for a deer and her frail young fawn to meander across the wide clearing, each with a wary eye upon me. Stifling a yawn, I set the book aside and rubbed my eyes.

Upon hearing the screen door open, I looked to my left and was pleasantly surprised to see my wife and lifelong companion step out onto the porch. She was very nearly naked: All she wore were a very skimpy black thong and black tasseled pasties hiding each nipple. From the edge of my peripheral vision, I noted that even the deer and fawn had stopped and were regarding her curiously.

No words were needed. I simply spread my arms and she practically glided to me, perching in my lap so that we could share a long, heartfelt hug. When we ultimately kissed long and slow, I could taste chocolate upon her tongue and lips, and moaned my approval into her mouth as my hold upon her tightened subtly.

We hugged again, the feel of the pasties and their tassels against my shirted chest oddly causing me to feel rather overdressed. I ran a hand through her oil-black hair, then took a handful of her lengthy strands and pulled downward, gently exposing her neck to the gentle scraping of my teeth. Her sigh was quiet, yet it may as well have been deafening to my ears, her reaction to my actions filling me with a special thrill.

She soon began to slide herself against me. Somehow, the pasties remained in position. Then she turned in my lap so that she faced away from me, and she backed against me, writhing seductively, lacing her fingers together behind my neck. My hands soon naturally gravitated toward her breasts, but she stopped me, taking my hands in hers and placing them behind my neck, her fingers interlocked with mine. It was clear that I was simply to be a passenger on this ride, although one particular portion of my anatomy definitely wanted to take a more active, probing role.

I knew that she felt my steadily-growing arousal. My wife arched her back away from my chest, pressing all of her weight against my lengthening manhood. Closing my eyes, I simply reveled in the sensation she was creating for me, idly wondering just how lewd we must have looked at that moment to the deer and her now-scandalized fawn. When I at last opened my eyes again, the final rays of daylight had almost entirely disappeared from the sky, and the deer and shocked fawn had vanished.

Standing, my beautiful young wife turned to face me in the darkness. Spreading my legs, she knelt between my thighs. Instinctively, my hands went to her head, brushing her hair out of the way, assuming that she was planning to reveal my hardened manhood and engulf it with her mouth and her throat. Instead, she caressed me through my shorts and briefs, applying a subtle pressure to increase the pleasure she was providing me. My hands had not left her head, continuing to stroke her hair, and although I could not see her eyes, I could feel them slyly looking up at my face, trying despite the darkness to discern the expressions of pleasure upon my face.

As if the caresses were not enough, she suddenly pressed her own face against me, and I could clearly hear her inhaling deeply as her cheek slid up and down my solid length. I held her head snugly against me and wrapped my legs around her, not wanting to let her go, not willing to allow her to escape... although I doubt that escape was on her mind. As I closed my eyes once again, her hand sneaked up underneath my shirt, snaking upward, over my stomach, up my chest, and ultimately pinching my nipples lightly in much the same way I handle hers.

That instantly brought back the vision of my wife, standing at the door in the dying light of day, with the black tasseled pasties providing just enough coverage of her breasts for her to be legally in anyone's presence. And, especially being a self-admitted "breast man" myself, that image brought a larger smile to my lips.

Withdrawing her hands from underneath my shirt, she slowly stood, a signal for me to open my eyes. The first rays of moonlight were now visible illuminating the clearing between the cabin and the edge of the cliff, nicely silhouetting my wife. She bent down to kiss me, and my hands instantly moved to her chest, feeling the nice weight of each breast and noting the leathery texture of the pasties and their tassels. "Stay here and watch," she instructed me, and slowly (yet somehow also seductively) extricated herself from the trap of my lower limbs.

Momentarily, she knelt in the clearing, the light now brighter as the moon had apparently risen above the mountain peak behind and above me. Facing me, my wife spread her legs, the black of the skimpy thong instantly attracting my eyes. She leaned back, supporting herself with one hand upon the grass, the black tassels flattened against each breast and now vying for my attention. Her free hand dipped inside the front of the skimpy black thong, and I thought I could hear a soft feminine sigh even at this distance.

It was probably a good idea that the deer and her fawn had left the area, as the beautiful young woman in the clearing began to assault her own sex with her fingers. Due to the thong, I could not actually see what she was inflicting upon herself, but after nearly two full years of marriage, I knew what she liked: a thumb stroking her clitoris while two or three fingers also thrust deep into her body, curled upward so that they would continually brush across her so-called "sweet spot."

Silently, in the shadowy darkness of the porch, I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts. As my wife masturbated herself before me, I began to do the same, trying to remain as quiet as possible so that she might think I was simply watching her pleasure herself. In short order, I heard the first of her soft happy moans, this as my eyes were riveted to her chest, to the rise and fall of her breasts and the subtle movements of both breasts and tassels in reaction to her growing pleasure.

As the level of her pleasure rose, signaled by the increase in the volume and quantity of her salacious vocalizations, my own level of pleasure rose as well. As quietly as possible without stopping my own masturbation, I slipped out of my sandals and shorts and briefs so that all I wore was my shirt.

No longer was my wife looking at me. Her head was now tipped back, her lengthy hair tumbling behind her in a manner reminiscent of a black waterfall; if her eyes were open, she would be looking at the star-filled sky. Her siren song was loud now, drawing me in closer and closer, and I could tell that she was close to a powerful peak of primal pleasure. Without halting my own actions, I quietly descended the five steps to the grassy clearing, then silently approached my sultry spouse, my eyes never once leaving her even as my own pleasure neared its inevitable peak.

She writhed before me, a prisoner to her own sexual needs. Her head bounced as her torso bucked against her own hand. Her hair was jostled about as it cascaded beneath her skull. Her breasts trembled mesmerizingly as the tassels shook in response to her movements. A nearly-incomprehensible babble spewed forth from her lips.

I could hold back no longer. With a strangled cry, I closed my eyes and unleashed my passion upon the woman before me. As my legs gave way and I fell to my knees beside her, her passion reached its peak, the triumphant howl assaulting my ears with its carnal music.

At last, I had no more passion to spew upon the love of my life, and opened my unfocused eyes, breathing heavily and loudly. In the bright moonlight, I could not see details through the haze of pleasure, but I could tell that my lifelong companion was horizontal to the ground. I could hear her post-orgasmic whimpers, soft like the final notes of a beautiful symphonic masterpiece fading away in a massive concert hall. After a few moments of rapid blinking, I could finally see her much more clearly, and gazed down upon her with love and admiration.

A very wet hand rested upon her stomach. Lifting that hand to my lips, I sampled her nectar, savoring its sweetness as I slowly cleaned first each finger, then her palm. By the time her hand had been fully cleaned by my tongue, we had both returned to a state of calm, but the atmosphere of love continued to surround us with its near-tangible presence.

As I looked upon my wife once more, only then did I realize that I had splattered her chest with my seed. The white splotches upon the black pasties and tassels looked obscene, yet I wished that I could have taken a picture of her at that very moment to keep that image forever in our hearts.

She reached up to me, and I took her hand and allowed her to pull me down beside her. There we remained, until long after the dew had settled upon the mountainside, holding hands and watching the slow rotation of the stars far above, until I at last drifted off to a blissful sleep.

When I awoke again, it was still nighttime. My wife knelt beside me, her hands on her thighs with her arms pressed in tightly against her breasts, making them even more prominent and definitely causing my eyes to gravitate quickly to the pasties and tassels. She smiled at me.

"I think you have properly anointed the 'clothes' I bought today," she said, attempting unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle. "Does that mean that you like them?"

How could I not? After all, I am a self-admitted "breast man."