My Favorite Chair

by Thomas Xavior

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: A lazy evening in my chair turns erotic as my hot wife's hormones go on a rampage.

It's a big soft leather chair. The kind where you sit down, you get enveloped in the cool, smooth texture, and the chair lets out a sigh as you sink down, as if it is relieved to do its service to you once again. It's almost twice as wide as a normal person, with big thick arms. I've taken many naps in this chair. Usually I'm sideways, with my head on one arm and my legs draped over the other.

It will hold me there, like an old friend, supporting me in my sleep, never tiring, never shifting under my weight, not flinching when I drool on its arm.

But this time sleep is nowhere in the plans.

She is in front of me.

Sitting on the floor.

Her long legs are curled under her.

Her long beautiful thighs are exposed by the short miniskirt she is wearing.

I stare at her upper thighs for a moment, wondering if she is wearing any panties, but sensing from the warmth I feeling coming from her that she is wearing nothing at all under the skirt. Knowing that if I were to run my hand to the top of her thigh, to the real source of all that warmth, I'd pull back a hand wet and smelling sweetly and faintly of something close to peaches and cream.

She's wearing one of her tight t-shirts. She decided to forgo the bra for the moment. The shirt grabs and clings to every inch of her chest. You can see where the breasts curve into her ribs. You can see the muscles in her shoulders define themselves, and the crease of the muscles slip out of the sleeve and curve into her slim biceps. The shirt is tight upon her breasts, but they are large enough that the shirt can't make it back to her ribs between them. With the light of the room, you can almost see her cleavage through the material of the shirt. It's warm in the room, but her nipples are hard and pushing at the material of the shirt - begging me to run my hands over them. Her long, thick hair is rolling off her head, down onto her shoulders. It's like watching a surreal, beautiful brown waterfall, blowing back and forth, just a little, in the breeze. The light shines off of her dark hair in a jagged line, seemingly brighter than the light that actually hits it, as if it is proud to have found such a beautiful place to land and launch itself back off.

But as gorgeous as her body is, it's her eyes that are killing me.

Her entire face is a work of art.

She has the kind of face that makes you feel that if you could just slide your hand across her cheek you could live forever. If she were to smile at you, you could do anything.

Defeat any foe.

Cure any ill.

But her eyes - the real focus of beauty - the treasure of my life - are staring completely at Me.

And she is wanting.

I rub my hand through her hair.

She smiles.

"Don't talk" she says.

I don't argue.

I realize her hands have moved to my knees.

"I need something" she says.

I notice that she is not just speaking. She is almost moaning.

I'm not supposed to talk - so I lift an eyebrow.

"I need to you to sit there."

Her eyes lower from my face down my chest, across my belly, and rest squarely on the rustling movement happening under my shorts.

She takes a slow, slightly shuddering breathe.

"Let me do this."

She blinks and her dark eyes are fixed upon mine again.

"And don't interrupt."

I don't say a damn thing. Honestly - I'm not sure I could possibly have responded.

Her small, strong hands move themselves off of my knees and slide slowly up my thighs.

She grabs the bottom of my shorts and starts to pull. I lift my ass off the chair and let her have them. She pulls them down past my feet and tosses them back over her shoulder. They disappear into the nothing that exists outside of us.

She moves her hands up and down my thighs some more.

"I need to do this."

She stares in my eyes again.

She speaks slowly.

"I HAVE to do this."

I'm assuming she's telling herself this more than me. God knows I'm convinced.

She's arguing with years of sexual repression. Years of hearing how ladies are supposed to act. Years of being told how women are not supposed to act like men.

"I need you hard. I need your dick - your hard cock."

Yup — I think she won her inner argument.

She moves her hands further up my thighs to my belly - just above the area where she was previously talking about. Her hands move back across my belly, down toward my crotch, up to my chest, back down to my thighs. She's not rough - but she's firm. Her nails scratch across my chest, down my sides. She reaches behind me, scratches across my back and down to my ass. When she moves close, I can feel her breath on my stomach, my hip, my thigh.

She stares me in the eye. She has a dark, sexual beauty that any sane man would kill for. Wars would be fought for the chance to be taken in like this by those eyes. She has the kind of face that inspires paintings, statues, monuments.

There are sunsets, mountain ranges, canyons, rivers, and those eyes. They are immeasurable sources of beauty and awe.

Her eyes move down from my eyes. Down my chest. She looks between my thighs. She smiles.

I am awakening quickly.

She licks her lips like she is sitting in front of a bar of chocolate.

She looks back up to my eyes.

She has a ravenous look that makes my guts twist as if I'm nearing the top of a rollercoaster.

"I need it."

She takes her hands off my ass and grabs the bottom of her shirt.

She slowly pulls it up.

I see the bottom half of her breasts. They are beautiful curves, screaming at me to touch them, take them, make them mine. But my hands are stuck to the arms of the chair.

She goes up higher. I watch the material of the shirt rub against her nipples as she pulls it higher.

She actually shivers. It's warm in the room - so it must be the sensation against her sensitive breasts.

She gasps just a little. It's definitely not the temperature.

Her nerve ending are lit up like a Christmas tree.

Her full breasts appears together from beneath the shirt as she pulls it over her head. I feel the blood rush from my head down to below my waist. It never gets old. Her breasts are large and soft.

They have rarely seen the sunlight, so they are light, but the skin is immaculate. They are perfect, the nipples a nice soft tan, hard and pointing right at me. When they are like that, I can rub my hands up her sides across the outsides of them, rub my thumbs across her nipples, and watch her eyes roll back into her head.

But, as her hair comes flowing through the neck of her shirt, across her shoulders, onto the front of her breasts, my hands are still stuck to the arms of my friend the chair.

The look on her face telling me to sit back, don't move, be quiet.

I can feel myself getting completely engorged. I'm already so hard it hurts. I can feel the skin start to stretch like I'm just going to pop.

She looks down at it, and licks her lips.

She looks back up into my face.

"That's what I need."

She throws her shirt back into the nothing.

Her hands crawl back up my thighs.

They go past the growth between my legs, just barely brushing against it as she rubs across my stomach, and grabs my ass again.

She leans forward and I can feel her breath on my neck.

She is brushing her breasts against my full cock.

One of the nipples is just slightly rubbing against the tip.

She stares at me and smiles.

"I want it in me."

"But later."

"First I want to make you scream."

"But try not to talk."

The instructions seem a bit confusing - but I'm not saying a damn word.

She rests her head onto my shoulder.

For a moment, her cleavage closes around me. I gasp, but keep my mouth shut. Keeping my sounds to a guttural grunt.

She is just using me to pull herself up onto her knees.

She spreads her legs.

One hand goes down my thigh, down my calf, across my foot. She moves it to her thigh, and slowly pulls it up, her fingers gliding up the smooth skin. She shivers as her hand disappears under her skirt.

She breathes deep and shudders again.

Her head rolls back and as her hair falls away from her face, her eyes are closed and she is biting her lip.

She pulls her hand away, her eyes open and she licks her upper lip just slightly.

Her hand moves to the base of my dick, and starts massaging slowly up and down.

Her hand is completely soaked.

Her hand doesn't feel like a hand anymore. It's too wet to just be a hand.

She smiles.

"That's better."

She keeps running her hand up and down.

I actually start to see spots.

She knows me too well though.

"Don't lose me now, honey." And she scratches her nails across my chest. I can feel the welts. But it's a good kind of hurt.

And her other hand never stopped moving.

"You want me, don't you?"

I open my mouth to talk, but she lifts her hand off of my dick, and puts her finger over my lips.

Okeedoke. Shutting up.

Her hand is still wet. It smells like her. It tastes like her.

She leans into me again.

Her chest against my thighs, her hand pressing onto my lips.

Her other hand goes up into her skirt, and she shudders against me.

She leans back, and puts both hands on my dick, one on top of the other.

Her other hand is wetter than the first.

She must have had a pool of it in her palm.

Both hands are moving up and down.


She moans.

Her hands move to a faster rhythm.

Her chest is bouncing with the movement.

Her thighs are straining and taught.

Her feet are arched like she is about to have an orgasm herself.

Her face is staring at the work she is doing like she is about to dive into a vat of warm liquid chocolate fudge.

Her eyes are wide.

Her lips are wet.

Her mouth is open just a little.

She is the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Oh fuck." she says. And bows her head forward.

She kisses the head - just lightly.

And her hands don't stop.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / Oral Sex /