Husband Worships Wife's Ass in Tight Black Trousers

Heather was thirty-two, and the skin-tight black Lawther trousers she wore around the house clung to every curve of her round, firm ass as if they had been poured onto her. Dante, thirty-four, her husband, stood in the kitchen with a mug cooling in his fist and watched the glossy fabric stretch across her cheeks, the shine catching every shift of her hips. She moved through their home the way she did on any ordinary morning, barefoot, gray T-shirt loose at the shoulders, going about the chores while those trousers turned the ordinary into something he could barely stand to look at and could not stop looking at. She bent to the dishwasher. The Lawther went drum-tight. Her ass rose, heavy and perfect, the seam disappearing between her cheeks, and a wet-looking highlight ran down the cleft where the fabric bit in. Dante's cock twitched hard enough to make him shift his weight. He set the mug down. He did not look away.

They kept at the day. She wiped the counters with her back to him, one hip cocked, the trousers creasing under the full lower curve of her ass each time she leaned into the sponge. He carried the recycling out and came back slower than the chore required, just to take the doorway and stare. She reached for a glass on the high shelf. The T-shirt rode. There was nothing between his eyes and that ass but tight black Lawther, glossy and strained, cupping her so completely he could see the faint outline of her cleft and the way each cheek flexed when she came down off her toes. Heat pooled low in his gut. She crossed to the couch with an armful of towels and folded them bent at the waist, ass pushed toward the room, the fabric pulled so taut it looked wet. The sexual tension sat between them like something with weight. His pulse knocked. His mouth had gone dry and then wet again, and still they moved through the house, chore after chore, her juicy ass in those trousers never leaving his sight for long. Saturday light lay flat across the kitchen floor, and neither of them hurried. She rinsed a pan. The Lawther creaked softly when she shifted, one cheek lifting, the other settling, glossy black holding the shape of her ass like the fabric had been cut for exactly this. His cock stirred again, low.

The ache did not ease. It climbed. Dante's eyes stayed locked on Heather's ass through every mundane task, and she kept offering it without ceremony—vacuuming, the machine humming, her hips swaying so the glossy black flashed and her cheeks bounced and settled with each pass. His cock hardened until it hurt, trapped against his fly, the head already leaking into his boxers. He held a dustcloth and forgot what it was for. She crouched to move a plug, and the trousers drew even tighter, thin and bright over the fullest part of each cheek, the split between them a dark, shining line he wanted his tongue in. She straightened. She walked to the bedroom to change the sheets. He followed because standing still had become impossible.

She leaned across the mattress, arms stretched, ass cocked high, facing away from him, busy with the fitted corner. The Lawther pulled so taut over her that the seam sat buried between her cheeks, and the round, firm weight of her ass filled his vision until the rest of the room went soft. Dante's breath broke. His cock jumped, a painful flex, another pulse of wet heat soaking into the cloth at his groin. He watched her smooth the sheet. He watched her ass flex and relax. He watched the glossy surface shift with every small roll of her hips. He adjusted himself once, a rough tug through his pants, and the friction only made it worse. Precum smeared against the head of his cock. He swallowed and stayed where he was, eyes on the way the trousers hugged the undercurve of her ass, the glossy fabric going pale with strain at the fullest points and dark again in the cleft. His tongue pressed the roof of his mouth. The ordinary work went on without him, the sheet and the corner and the smooth of her palm, and the longer it went on the less he could pretend he would walk back out and finish anything else. His knees wanted the floor. The tight black Lawther shone, and his cock throbbed so hard the waistband bit into the swollen length of it. An hour of this, maybe more, and the sight of her—ordinary, turned away, that juicy ass packed into tight black Lawther—burned through the last of his restraint. His hands shook. His balls ached. He could not stay on his feet.

He crossed the carpet. He dropped. His knees hit the floor behind her, and the thud of it traveled up through her stance. She was still bent over the bed, facing away, ass high in the air, and he did not speak. He pressed his face desperately between her trouser-clad cheeks, nose and mouth buried in the hot glossy cleft, and his tongue came out in a hungry stroke that dragged up the seam from the soft underside of her ass to the top of the split. The Lawther tasted of skin-warmth and the slick shine of the material. He licked again, filthier, flatter, soaking the black where it disappeared between her cheeks. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs and held her there. He worshipped with his mouth, tongue working in long, starving strokes, lapping the tight trousers, pushing at the seam, mouthing the juicy weight of her through the glossy barrier like breathing had become something he did against her ass or not at all.

Heather went still for a single heartbeat. Then she pushed back. Her covered ass ground onto his face, cheeks spreading around his nose, the Lawther slick already under his tongue, and a raw sound left her throat that was not a word. Dante groaned into her and licked harder, filthy strokes turning sloppier, hungrier, his spit darkening the glossy black. She reached back. Her fingers caught in his hair and held his face mashed between her cheeks, not guiding him away, holding him in. Her other hand slid around her hip, down the front of the trousers. The waistband gave. She shoved her hand inside the tight black and started fingering her pussy, frantic from the first stroke, and he heard the wet sound of it even with his ears full of her ass.

He pushed his face harder into her. The fabric yielded just enough for his nose to sink into the cleft, and he licked and nuzzled deeper, tongue stroking the seam, then the swell of one cheek, then the other, then back into the hot middle where the Lawther was already soaked. She ground in slow, filthy circles, smothering him, using his mouth and his nose, riding the pressure of his face while her fingers worked. Two fingers, the slick click of them unmistakable, driving in and out of her pussy inside the trousers. His cock throbbed untouched in his pants, leaking steadily, the front of his boxers a wet mess. He did not touch it. Both hands stayed on her, spreading her cheeks as far as the tight Lawther allowed, opening her so he could devour more of her through the fabric.

He got his tongue under the lower edge of the seam and licked upward in one long, filthy drag, soaking the Lawther until it clung, then did it again, slower, pressing so hard the fabric dented against her asshole. The taste was skin and gloss and spit. Heather's fingers sped up inside the trousers, a frantic wet rhythm, her pussy so slick he could hear every thrust, the sound obscene and close. She rolled her hips and smothered him deeper, cheeks closing over his ears, the heat of her ass flooding his face. He worshipped the left cheek with open-mouthed sucks that pulled the glossy black into his mouth, then the right, then buried himself in the cleft again and licked like he was trying to tongue-fuck her through the trousers. Her hand worked faster. Knuckles bumped. She fingered her clit in tight circles and shoved two fingers back into her pussy, grinding her covered ass onto his nose until he saw nothing, tasted nothing but her, breathed nothing but the hot trapped air between her cheeks and the spit-dark Lawther. His groans vibrated into her. She answered by pushing back harder, wordless, filthy, using his whole face. His lips dragged. His tongue never stopped. Cum leaked from his untouched cock in a steady pulse, and he ignored it, face shoved deeper, worshipping the glossy cleft.

He worshipped every inch he could reach. His tongue dragged broad and filthy over the left cheek, tasting the gloss, feeling the firm give of her flesh under the material, then crossed the spit-wet cleft and did the same to the right. He mouthed the lower curve where ass met thigh, sucking the Lawther until the fabric pulled into his mouth, then released it and shoved his face back up, nose buried, tongue stabbing at the seam as if he could lick through to the hole under it. Heather's hips jerked. She pushed back harder, grinding her ass onto his mouth until his lips mashed flat and he had to snatch breath through whatever gap she gave him. The trousers were dark and glossy with his spit across her cleft and down between her cheeks. Her fingers plunged and curled. The wet sounds got louder, sloppier, her pussy sucking at her own hand while she rocked. Her thighs trembled against his palms.

Dante shoved his face into her ass like he meant to stay there. He smothered himself in the hot, juicy weight of her, licking in hungry, filthy strokes that did not pause—up the seam, across the cheeks, back into the cleft, nose grinding, mouth open, tongue flat and then pointed, worshipping the tight black Lawther as if the fabric were skin he had been denied too long. She fingered herself frantically. The heel of her hand bumped the front of the trousers. Her knuckles worked her clit in the cramped space while her fingers fucked her dripping pussy, and the smell of her arousal rose warm around the waistband and mixed with the taste of spit-soaked Lawther on his tongue. She rode his face. Every grind smeared more of his spit across the glossy black and pushed his nose deeper between her cheeks until the world narrowed to heat, fabric, and the obscene rhythm of her hand.

His cock ached until the ache bordered on pain, trapped and pulsing, a wet spot spreading where he leaked into his pants. He did not free it. The worship was the whole of him, and he gave it without pause, face-deep, licking, nuzzling, sucking at the soaked seam, groaning into her ass while she ground and fingered and shook. Her breathing went ragged above him on the bed. Her ass clenched under the Lawther, cheeks tightening around his face, then releasing, then tightening again as her fingers worked her closer. He licked faster, sloppier, pushing his tongue hard against the fabric over her asshole, worshipping it through the trousers in devoted, filthy strokes while she fucked herself on her own hand and smothered him. Spit ran down his chin. The glossy black clung, darkened, molded to every curve he mouthed. He nuzzled deeper, lips sealed to the seam, tongue lashing, nose crushed between her cheeks, breathing her, devouring her, worshipping her through the tight material with a hunger that had no language left in it.

She came hard on her own fingers. It hit her in a full-body lock, ass clamping around his face, the trousers stretched to their limit as she pressed back against his worshipping mouth and ground through it, shaking, thighs quivering, the wet sounds of her pussy going messy and loud while she kept fingering herself through the clench. Her hips jerked in short, filthy thrusts, smearing his face deeper into her ass, using his tongue, his nose, the whole desperate press of him. Dante did not pull back. He kept licking, mouth open, tongue working the soaked seam in greedy strokes while she shook and came and rode the orgasm out on his face.

The pressure in his pants broke without a hand on him. His cock kicked and he came in hot, helpless spurts into his boxers, soaking himself, hips jerking against nothing while his face stayed buried between her cheeks. He kept licking while he spilled, tongue shoved against the dark wet seam of her trousers, worshipping her ass through the fabric as his cum pulsed out of him untouched. She was still grinding, still shaking, and he pushed his face deeper into her ass and licked the soaked black Lawther while the last thick spurts jerked out of his cock and soaked his pants.