‘Welcome home love. How’s work today?’
‘It’s fine.’
Without giving me any elaboration, it was the first time she didn’t seem too glad to be home, much less the lack of any endearing reply. ‘Fearing’ for my own well-being, I kept a close eye on her for any clues to her unusual mood, but was only made more worried when she ‘stormed’ over to my side (on the couch). Not a single word was said during the entire time she took her jewellery off, and bunned her hair up for whatever she was going to do.
The next thing I know, she climbed onto the couch, tucked herself into my chest, and began planting kisses while her hand wriggled its way into my boxers. As much as I welcome such advancement, especially on such a delightful evening, I couldn’t help but remain distracted with her earlier mood, like it was an emotion we should address before she ‘explodes’.
(I asked) ‘Love? Did something happen?’
(Breaking away from my lips) ‘No. Nothing happened.’
It didn’t take her any longer to begin dining on my cock, well-hardened by her skilful fingers and her extra-passionate kisses with lots of tongue-sucking. In an instant, I was transported into another world as she gorged on my meat pole, sucking it with outmost affection. As she took me increasingly-deeper down her throat, I was about to fall in love with her new ‘mood’ when she suddenly bit down on my shaft. Shocked as I may be, I didn’t think much about any of it since she was aware that I had a certain fetish ‘to be hurt that way’, though she did not provide the after-pain relief that was supposed to be the whole point of it.
After going through that agonising torture multiple times without an end in sight, my mind was obviously not any more ‘aroused’ than what my physical form portrayed. Despite my dwindling interest in any more surprise-derived pleasure, I decided to stay mum while she pulled her dress up, revealing her panty-less state I couldn’t be bothered with.
Turning her back on me, she held my dick upright and promptly slipped me into her unexpectedly wet pussy, garnering an exasperated moan from me. Nothing more was left for me to do except to hang tight while she rode me to her heart’s content, uncaring if I was over-sensitive. Only after two or three life-draining orgasms, did she finally slow down, enough for me to get some sense of arousal from her unrivalled dedication.
Soon, I was able to find my pace, along with a slow buildup to my own orgasm.
(I panted) ‘Love? I’m about to cum.’
(In her unwavering voice) ‘Ok.’
In the same monotonous spirit, she got out of my lap and went onto her knees, jerking me in more angry overtone than love. With time, and ample amount of saliva, I managed to cum into her unforgiving mouth that actually launched an oral assault I have never encountered. Sucking and slurping mercilessly at my debilitated penis, I had become the direct recipient of the rage her workplace had caused. Within seconds, I was pleading and groaning for her to let me off, to which she did, but promptly dropped the mouthful of cum right over my cock to suck them up again.
With that, she was done venting her frustration and disappeared into the bathroom. After a shower, I outright ignored her guilt-filled look and served up the meatball bolognaise I made for her.