A Message of Love by Trent Evans Page A

resist no longer, and clutched her lush body to his, taking her soft lips with his. His tongue plunged into her mouth, seeking, exploring her. He crushed her to his body in a brutal grip, making her gasp, her soft breasts rubbing against him. He reached down to clasp a firm buttock in his hand, his nails digging into her skin.
    He turned her once more to face toward the island counter. He pulled her head back with a fistful of her silky hair, his mouth and tongue feasting on her throat, kissing the tender flesh below her ear. Her breath rasped out hard and fast, and he could smell her arousal on the air. His hand moved down her taut belly to cup her lace-covered mons, claiming that which was rightfully his. He worried the hard clit through the fabric, knowing just where to touch his wife, his slave. She moaned, her hips rolling against the erection he pressed against her soft buttocks.
    He pressed her forward against the counter, her hips hard against the edge, then bent her over it, her generous breasts flattening against the countertop. She inhaled sharply at the coldness of the tile. He tapped her hip, and she reached back, hooking her thumbs in her panties and slowly moving them down to bunch at mid-thigh. Knowing his requirements well, she spread her legs as far as the lace panties would allow. He placed her arms up by her head, and she laid her cheek against clasped hands.
    He knelt behind her, enjoying the view of that gorgeous ass. He smacked a plump cheek hard, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. She keened at the sting, but obediently stayed still as he watched the handprint go from nearly white to a deep pink. How he loved marking his wife’s bottom. His fingers delved within the dark purse of her pussy, thrusting deep within to gather her juices as she murmured her pleasure. He rubbed her wetness on her plump lips, slickening the curls he still allowed her to grow on her prominent mound.
    She cried out as he thrust two thick fingers into her sex to rub downward on that bundle of nerves inside, while roughly frictioning her swollen clit with a thumb. She moaned repeatedly as his fingers delved knowingly within her pussy. Early on in their relationship, she’d confessed to him that stimulation of her g-spot was so intense that orgasms wrenched from her by that method made her feel like she was peeing herself. Needless to say, Jacob soon made a regular habit of taking her to orgasm in that way, loving the feeling of desperate helplessness that came over his wife as she came.
    He kept at her, leaning close to get a better view, and inhaling the intoxicating scent of her sex. He marveled at how hard and swollen her clit had become, the sensitive flesh rasped over and over by the rough pad of his thumb.
    She cried out again, her hips banging against the counter to the thrusts of his fingers. He allowed her no respite, pushing her to the edge, enjoying the feelings of both power and possessive lust he felt every time he forced Mara to come this way.
    She shrieked, her hips writhing, thighs clenched tight, and moisture flooded over Jacob’s fingers. She panted as he stroked his fingers into her a few more times, making sure all of her spasms were wrung out of her. He withdrew his glistening digits, wiping them on her trembling thigh. He finished with a long, slow lap of his tongue through her sex, licking from the curls of her mound all the way up to the tender perineum. She shuddered, murmuring.
    He could stand it no longer and stood up, unzipping his fly to release his long- denied cock. It jutted out, inflamed and steel hard, the head nudging the soft petals of her labia. He clenched both her buttocks in a harsh grip, and knelt over her, his teeth biting into a plump cheek. She hissed at the sting.
    His cock plunged within her still spasming pussy. She was so wet, for a moment he wondered too if perhaps she really had peed herself after all. The thought made him pound into her hard, dragging a groan