1. Persephone in Winter - Chapter 3/11


    Date: 1/15/2015, Categories: Wife Lovers, Author: Night_Writer, Rating: 8, Source: LushStories

    words indeed." His chair was only a few steps away. He went to it, sat, unzipped the front of his pants, and pulled his erection through the opening. Her eyes were glued to it - so hard and thick, like a bar of bronze sculpted into a warm likeness of the perfect cock. "Simon says, 'Over here.'" She slid over the edge of the chair until her knees touched the floor, allowed the dress to fall from her shoulders, then crawled to him on hands and knees, slowly, with her head down, the way she knew he would want her. Stopping between his parted legs, she waited for the sound of his voice. He withheld it until he could see her shiver, knowing that her need to be filled grew with each agonizing second. He watched in silence as the small of her long, smooth back arched, her ass rising and falling almost imperceptibly in a futile effort to bring relief to the ache between her shaking thighs. 'How long would she wait?' he wondered. Hours? - Days? - this fragile, loving wife, cowering, naked on the floor below, silently begging to be taken by a stranger... She watched her breasts hanging and quivering, engorged nipples straining toward the floor, and through the space between them the small tuft of hair matted and dripping with her juices. In time she closed her eyes, knowing that the sight of her body's response to him would only excite her more. Soon her eyes were clenched tight as she struggled to concentrate, to become whatever he wanted that night, at whatever cost. Her body shook ...
    in rhythmic spasms. Ridges of muscle rose between her shoulder blades, and her inner thighs flexed and relaxed in an uncontrollable cadence. He waited for a sign - something new, something not easily surrendered. When her tears fell from within the tangle of hair that covered her face, landing with tiny splats between his feet, he spoke. "Look at me." Elyse raised her head slowly. Thick waves of hair parted to reveal her tear-streaked face. "Interesting. What brings tears to the eyes of a wife as she sluts for another man? Is it shame, an overpowering disgrace born from the incapacity to control her own desires? Or is it simply pure lust, her body's final desperate mechanism for dealing with extended deprivation, fired by a ravenous carnal appetite? Of course, a true slut could never feel shame. A true slut would abandon everything for a good hard fucking, never stopping to think twice about her future, or the future of those she loves. So which is it? Tell me, are these the tears of a slut or sinner?" She searched his eyes for some small hint that this was just a game, hoping that he would break into a sympathetic laugh, scoop her up in his arms, and take her to his bed. Soon she understood her answer was required, a necessary part of their evening together. But which answer? "Both. I'm both, Simon." Her voice cracked and wavered. She could taste the salt of her own tears. "I-I'm your slut-your slut, Simon. And-and sinner-and worse, in my husband's eyes." Leaning forward, he ...
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