Wife Wakes Me With Her Warm Mouth on My Dick

Gray light leaked past the blinds in their shared apartment, striping the sheets and the long line of Desmond's bare chest. He was twenty-eight, a fit civil engineer who spent his days on job sites and his nights wound tight around the man who shared this bed, and this morning he was doing exactly what they had spent days daring each other toward. Naked on his back. Eyes closed. Breathing slow and even, the way a sleeping man breathed, except he was not asleep and had not been since Sergio's alarm had chirped and gone silent in the other room.

They had teased it raw. Over pasta. In the shower. On the couch with a game murmuring and Sergio's hand resting high on Desmond's thigh, not quite touching his cock, both of them grinning like idiots. Sergio wanted to wake him with his mouth. Desmond wanted to be woken that way, wanted to lie still and take it, wanted the first thing he felt to be heat and suction and his husband's hunger. They had said yes. Said it more than once. Said it last night with their clothes already off, cocks hard, the plan locked in before they slept.

So Desmond pretended. His morning wood stood thick and flushed against his stomach, the shaft veined, the head swollen and glossy, a bead of precome already welling at the slit and sliding down to pool in the crease of his hip. He felt the mattress dip. Heard the soft rush of Sergio's breath. Thirty-one, lean from early runs and late nights at the drafting table, Sergio moved like a man who had been thinking about this cock since he opened his eyes. The sheet lifted. Cool air hit Desmond's thighs, then the warmer air of Sergio's body as he slid in close. Desmond kept his face slack, his arm thrown over his head, his other hand loose on the pillow. His cock jumped, blatant, straining, impossible to miss. He knew what was coming. He wanted it so badly his balls ached. He held still anyway, the way they had agreed, and waited for that warm mouth.

Sergio went under the sheet without a word. Heat closed over Desmond's hips, then a wet mouth found the head of his cock and took it in, slow, the lips soft and sure, the tongue flattening along the underside as Sergio sank down. Desmond's breath caught and he forced it back out through his nose, playing at sleep for one more second, two, while that mouth worked him deeper. Warm. Eager. Wet enough that every inch slid. Sergio hummed low in his throat and the vibration ran straight into Desmond's balls. He sucked slowly, cheeks hollowing, then eased off to lick the slit, tasting the precome, before swallowing him down again until the head nudged the back of his throat.

Fingers traced up the insides of Desmond's thighs. Light at first, then firmer, thumbs pressing the tendons, palms spreading him. Desmond's stomach jumped. A sound broke out of him, a rough moan he could not swallow, and his hand found Sergio's hair through the sheet, gripping, not pushing, just holding on while his hips gave a helpless little thrust into that heat. Sergio took it. Took more. Drool slicked the shaft and ran down over Desmond's balls, and the wet sounds under the cotton were obscene in the quiet apartment.

Desmond shoved the sheet down. Sergio looked up at him, mouth stretched around his cock, eyes dark and pleased, spit shining on his chin. He was naked too, ass tipped up as he knelt between Desmond's legs, and between those firm cheeks his hole was already wet, glistening, the rim flushed and slick from however long he had been working himself open before he came to the bed. Desmond reached down. Two fingers slid through that dripping wetness, pressed, and sank in to the second knuckle with almost no resistance. Sergio whimpered around his shaft, the sound muffled and desperate, and his hole clenched, hot and slippery, sucking the fingers deeper.

"Fuck," Desmond rasped, voice wrecked. He crooked his fingers, stroking the soft inner wall, and Sergio's whole body shuddered. He sucked harder, messier, taking Desmond to the root and pulling off with a wet pop only to dive back down, while Desmond fingered him open, twisting, spreading, feeling that wetness coat his knuckles and drip onto his wrist. Sergio's own cock hung heavy and leaking between his thighs, untouched, a thin strand of precome swinging from the tip. Every time Desmond pushed his fingers in, Sergio moaned around the cock in his mouth and his hips rocked back, fucking himself onto them. They were both trembling. Desmond's thighs shook. Sergio's arms shook where they braced on the mattress. The need had gone urgent, sharp, too big for slow sucking and careful fingers. Desmond's cock throbbed against Sergio's tongue, and Sergio's hole fluttered and clenched like it wanted to be used until neither of them could think.

Desmond pulled his cock free of that mouth with a wet sound and grabbed Sergio by the hips. One hard roll and Sergio was on his back, the sheet twisted under him, knees falling open because he wanted them open. His cock slapped up against his stomach, red and shining, and his hole clenched around nothing for a second until Desmond climbed between those spread legs and shoved two fingers back in, deep, the wetness sucking them home. Sergio's head hit the pillow. His mouth was swollen, spit-slick, and he was already reaching, already dragging Desmond down.

"Come on," Sergio said, breathless, grinning and wrecked. "Hump me. Don't make me wait."

Desmond didn't. He lined their cocks up, his thicker shaft against Sergio's, both of them slick with spit and precome, and he started to hump. Hard. The first thrust dragged the underside of his cock along Sergio's from root to tip, the heads catching, slipping, smearing wet across wet. Sergio hissed and bucked up to meet it. Their stomachs met. Their balls knocked. Desmond braced one hand beside Sergio's head and kept the other working between his cheeks, two fingers buried to the knuckle, curling, stroking, stretching that slick rim while his hips drove in a frantic grind.

They kissed like they were trying to eat the sounds out of each other. Messy. Teeth. Tongues sliding, spit shared, Sergio biting Desmond's lower lip and groaning into his mouth every time the frottage caught just right. Desmond could taste himself on Sergio's tongue, salt and skin, and it made him fuck his hips down harder, chasing the drag of cock on cock. The bed frame tapped the wall. The apartment filled with the wet slap of their bodies and the rough, broken noises neither of them bothered to hold back.

Sergio wrapped his legs around Desmond's waist and locked his ankles at the small of his back. The angle changed. Every thrust ground them tighter, Sergio's cock trapped between their stomachs, Desmond's shaft riding the length of it, the heads kissing and skidding in a mess of precome that smeared across Sergio's abs and Desmond's hip. Sergio ground upward to meet every thrust, heels digging in, using the leverage to hump back just as hard. Their chests slid, sweat gathering in the hollow of Desmond's throat and on Sergio's collarbones. Skin slapped skin. The sound was filthy and steady, a rhythm that sped up and didn't slow.

Desmond kept his fingers buried. He spread them inside that hot clutch, feeling Sergio's hole stretch around the intrusion, feeling the wetness seep out and run down his palm onto the sheet. He stroked in time with his hips, pressing, rubbing, fucking those fingers into him while their cocks slid together outside. Sergio's rim fluttered and gripped. His thighs trembled against Desmond's ribs. A broken whimper spilled into the kiss, then another, and Sergio tore his mouth away just to gasp, head tipping back, throat bared.

"Right there," he got out, voice cracking. "Don't stop. Fuck, don't you stop."

Desmond didn't stop. He humped away harder, the bed complaining, his cock so hard it ached, the friction almost too much and not enough. Precome strung between them in shiny threads every time he drew his hips back and snapped them forward again. Sergio's cock jerked against his, pulsing, leaking so much the slide had gone obscene, slick and loud. Desmond twisted his fingers, found the spot that made Sergio's whole body jump, and stayed there, stroking it while he rutted. Sergio's hands scrambled over his back, nails biting, dragging him closer, closer, as if he could pull Desmond inside his skin.

They edged and held and edged again. Desmond slowed just when his balls drew up tight, grinding in short, mean circles that kept them both shaking on the brink, then sped up until the slap of their bodies filled the room. Sergio matched him, hips rolling, cock throbbing against Desmond's, hole clenching rhythmically around the fingers stuffing him open. Sweat dripped from Desmond's jaw onto Sergio's chest. Their mouths found each other again, sloppy and open, more breath than kiss, tongues lazy and desperate at once. Desmond could feel Sergio getting close in the way his hole gripped, in the way his cock swelled harder against his own, in the choked little sounds he made every time their heads caught. The friction burned sweet along every inch of them. Their cocks kissed and skidded, heads swollen, slits drooling, the mess between their stomachs hot and thick.

"Gonna come," Sergio panted against his mouth, legs cinched tight, heels digging bruises into Desmond's back. "Keep humping. Keep those fingers in me. I'm right there."

Desmond growled and drove down, cock sliding frantic and slick along Sergio's, fingers pumping, stretching, stroking that sweet spot until Sergio was gasping, arching, trembling under him, both of them wound so tight the next thrust might snap it. He held them there, humping, kissing, using him, letting the heat build until his own vision went white at the edges and his cock kicked hard against Sergio's shaft, one stroke from spilling.

Desmond grunted, the sound ripped out of him, and his cock kicked hard against Sergio's shaft. The first rope shot thick and hot across Sergio's stomach, striping the sweat there, and the next lashed higher, painting his chest, a heavy white line that reached his collarbone and dripped toward his throat. He kept humping through it, grinding his spurting cock into the mess, fingers jammed deep and still. Sergio followed seconds later. His hole clenched brutally around those two fingers, milking them, and his cock pulsed between their pressed bodies, dumping his own load in hot spurts that mixed with Desmond's and smeared everywhere their skin met. Cum slicked their stomachs, their cocks, the crease of Sergio's hip. It ran down between his cheeks and over Desmond's wrist. They lay there panting in the sticky wreck of it, chests heaving, cocks still twitching, the room rank with sweat and spend. Desmond dragged his fingers out slow, watched Sergio's hole gape and flutter, then shoved them back in and smeared a palmful of their mixed cum up Sergio's chest and into his open mouth. Sergio sucked them clean with a filthy groan, tongue chasing every drop, and Desmond pushed deeper until his husband was gagging on the taste of both their loads and grinding his spent cock up for more.