The Anniversary Awakening

My wife, Emma, and I, we had been married for almost ten years, you know? It felt like a lifetime, but also like yesterday sometimes. For most of that time, things were really good. We were happy, our finances were solid, and our sex life, well, it used to be something else. It was this wild, uninhibited thing, full of sweat and laughter, just pure, raw passion where we’d go until we couldn’t anymore. But lately, it had changed. It wasn’t bad, not exactly, but the spark, that intense, almost frantic energy, it had just kind of faded away. The sex had become, I guess you could say, routine. It was the same moves, the same rhythm, every single time. Nothing new, nothing surprising. It just wasn’t exciting anymore, and I felt it, and I knew she felt it too, even if we didn’t talk about it much. It was like a quiet hum in the background, a little sadness.

This Friday, it was our tenth wedding anniversary. I’d been thinking about it a lot, wondering what I could do to shake things up, to maybe, just maybe, bring some of that old fire back into our marriage, especially into our bedroom. I figured if I did something really special for her, something unexpected, it might just do the trick. So, one evening, I turned to her, trying to sound casual but my heart was doing a little flutter. “Emma,” I said, “I was thinking, for our anniversary, maybe we could do something really special. Something you’d really want to do, whatever that is.”

Her eyes, they just lit up. And this little smile, the kind that used to make my stomach flip, it spread across her face. “I want to stay in,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I want you to make dinner, and then I want us to spend the evening together doing exactly what I want.”

“You’re on,” I said, maybe a little too eagerly. I was hoping, really hoping, that this evening would be like the ones we used to have, full of that old magic.

“You have dinner ready for us at seven,” she told me, already planning. “I have to stop on the way home and pick up a few things.” She gave me a quick kiss and then she was off, leaving me to wonder what she had up her sleeve.

Friday came around, and I spent the afternoon getting everything ready. I cooked her favorite pasta dish, a rich, slow-simmered ragu, and I set the table just right. There were fresh flowers, some soft candles, and a bottle of her preferred Merlot, breathing on the counter. The late afternoon sun was slanting through the kitchen window, making the dust motes dance in the air. I remember hearing the distant rumble of the tram down the street, a familiar city sound, and I just waited, a mix of anticipation and a little bit of nerves bubbling inside me.

She arrived home a few minutes before seven, just as the sky was starting to turn that deep, inky blue. She was carrying several shopping bags, colorful ones, and she looked a little flushed, like she’d been rushing. “I’m going to change,” she said, already heading for the bedroom. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. Pour me something to drink.” She disappeared into the room, and I heard the soft click of the door.

I put the dinner on the table, poured the wine, and then just stood there, staring at that closed bedroom door. My mind was racing, trying to guess what she was up to. Emma was usually so quiet, so reserved. What could she possibly have planned? When the door finally opened, and Emma stepped into the doorway, my jaw almost hit the floor. My shy, reserved little wife had completely transformed herself. She was wearing this stunning red corset, all trimmed with black lace, and a tiny, pleated plaid mini skirt. Her long, slender legs, they looked even longer, accentuated by black, lace-trimmed thigh-high stockings, and she was wearing these killer stiletto heels. Her wavy auburn hair, usually neatly tied back, hung loosely and provocatively about her bare shoulders, and her hazel eyes, they just sparkled in the flickering candlelight. I felt this immediate rush, a heat that started in my gut and spread everywhere. I was instantly aroused, and I started to move towards her, wanting to embrace her, to pull her close. But she put her hand up, a small, firm gesture, stopping me in my tracks.

“First feed me, then fuck me,” she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper, but with this undeniable, demanding edge to it. It was a side of Emma I had never heard before.

She walked over to the table, sat down, and then, with a deliberate slowness, she crossed her legs. Her knees were high in the air because of those spike heels, and she placed her hands neatly in her lap. I just stood there for a second, a little stunned, then I returned to my seat, picked up my fork, and started to eat, almost on autopilot.

“What are you doing?” she said, her tone sharp, like she was scolding a child. I looked at her, completely puzzled, and just shook my head. “I told you to feed me, and that’s what I want. Remember the deal for tonight? I get whatever I want.”

Oh. Now I understood. It clicked. I pulled my chair around to the other side of the table, facing her directly. Then, very carefully, I began to feed her. I picked up a morsel of pasta, held it out, and she slowly, almost lasciviously, took it from the fork. I watched her, mesmerized, as she savored the complex flavors, chewing slowly, deliberately, and then, with the tip of her tongue, she licked her lips. The whole thing was incredibly sensual, and I could feel myself getting more and more aroused. My dick, it was getting uncomfortably hard, crammed inside my pants like that. Still, I didn’t dare get up. I just kept feeding her, one slow, deliberate bite after another, until she finally signaled she’d had enough.

When she was done, we went into the bedroom. The air felt thick with anticipation. “Now I want a bath,” she demanded, her voice still holding that new, commanding tone.

I went into the bathroom and started running the bath water, making sure it was just the right temperature. When I came back, Emma was sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed just like before, knees high in the air. She kicked up one leg, wiggling her foot at me. I knelt down, my hands trembling slightly, and carefully removed her stiletto. She reversed her legs, raising the other foot in the same fashion, and I removed that shoe too. Then, slowly, I ran my hands up her slender leg, feeling the smooth skin, until my fingertips were just past the top of the stocking, touching the bare skin of her thigh. Just that small touch, the soft, supple feel of her skin, it was almost enough to make me lose it right there. But I focused, really focused, on the task. I slowly slid the stocking down her shapely leg, past her calf, to her ankle. Then I gently raised her lower leg, placing my hand under her calf muscle, and rolled the stocking over her heel and off her foot. I removed the other stocking in the same manner, and she rose to her feet, a goddess in front of me.

Still kneeling, I reached for her miniskirt. I unclasped it, and it fell to the floor in a soft heap. Underneath, she wore these tiny, white thong panties, trimmed with lace. I pulled them down, helping her step out of them. Then, I ran my hands up the outside of her legs, over her hips, and onto her waist, just to steady myself as I stood up. The next part was the corset. It looked so intricate, so many tiny hooks. It was an arduous task, unfastening each one, but I took my time, my fingers brushing against her warm skin. Finally, it too fell to the floor, joining the other garments. Emma was standing before me now, completely naked, and she looked absolutely breathtaking. It had been such a long time since just seeing her in the buff made me feel this way, but I was horny as hell. I wanted to jump on her, right then and there, so I put my arms around her and leaned in to kiss her.

“No, no, no,” she said, backing away slightly, and she shook her finger playfully in my face. “Bath first.”

We went into the bathroom. I helped Emma into the tub, the warm water swirling around her. Then I knelt beside it. She handed me a bath sponge and a bottle of body wash. I carefully soaped and rinsed her luscious body, every curve, every inch. Her skin, wet and slippery, felt like pure silk under my hands. She raised each leg in turn, and I soaped and rinsed them as well, my fingers tracing the lines of her muscles. Then, she sat on the edge of the tub, her legs dangling, and handed me a pair of small scissors, a razor, and some shaving gel. She leaned back, spreading her knees wide. She wanted me to shave her pussy.

Emma was indeed a redhead, and her bush was as auburn as the hair on her head. She had never shaved her pussy completely while we were married, though she always kept it closely trimmed and her bikini line perfectly neat. Even so, I had always, always wanted to know what her pussy felt like completely bare. I guessed I was finally going to find out. I used the scissors first, judiciously trimming everything down to a short stubble. Then I lathered her up with the gel, the cool cream spreading over her warm skin, and carefully finished with the razor, my hand steady, precise. While rinsing, I ran my hand over the entirety of her vulva, checking my work, making sure I hadn’t missed a single spot. Her pussy felt incredibly soft, yet firm, the skin smooth and slick. She let out a soft moan, a little gasp, from the new sensation of my hand gliding over her bare skin. I gently toweled her off, making sure she was completely dry, and then we moved back to the bedroom.

“Time for you to strip,” she playfully demanded, and I eagerly complied. My dick, it had been quite cramped inside my shorts, and it welcomed being released from the constricting clothes. I kicked them off, feeling a rush of freedom.

“Onto the bed,” she said, pushing me gently, guiding me on where to lie. Then, she retrieved something from one of those colorful shopping bags, but she hid it from my view while she climbed into bed beside me. It wasn’t until she pushed my arms over my head that I realized what she had taken from the bag. I felt the cold metal of handcuffs being placed around my wrists. She had run the cuffs through a spindle in the headboard, securing my hands to it. I was not going anywhere.

“Let’s get something straight here,” she said, her voice stern, almost a growl. “Today, I get anything I want, right?”

“Right,” I answered, my voice a little shaky.

“Well, what I want is you. I own you. I can do whatever I want to you, and you’ll do whatever I say, right?”

“Right,” I answered again. This was a side of Emma I had never, ever seen or known she was capable of. She was forceful, dominant, and incredibly sexually aggressive. It scared me, a little, but I have to admit, I liked it. A lot.

She took a blindfold from the bag and placed it over my eyes. Suddenly, I couldn’t see anything. The world narrowed to touch and sound and sensation. The next thing I felt were her fingers, light and teasing, on the head of my cock. She started right at the tip, then began gently rubbing over and around the glans. My dick, it began to throb, a deep, insistent pulse. She slid her fingers down the length of my cock, occasionally stopping and squeezing tightly, making me gasp.

Then, I felt it. The soft, moist sensation of her lips closing around the head of my cock. She swirled her tongue across the tip, a dizzying sensation, and used her lips to rub over the very edge of the glans. The stimulation was overpowering. All my other senses just shut down, and the only thing I was aware of was the intense, almost unbearable sensations on the end of my dick. I was completely transfixed.

She slid her lips down my shaft, continuing her exhilarating assault on my glans with her tongue. Her grip on the base of my shaft was causing my prostate to spasm, a deep, pleasurable ache, as her lips moved up and down my cock, bringing an explosion of sensation. I was nearing orgasm, right there, just from her mouth. “I’m going to cum,” I shouted out, unable to hold it in.

She stopped. Her mouth left me. “Oh, no you’re not,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I felt her moving around on the bed, the mattress shifting under her weight. Then, I caught a whiff of it – the fresh, inviting scent of her pussy as she straddled my face. There was a faint hint of baby powder, left over from the shaving gel, mixed in with her own sweet, musky aroma. I felt the warmth of her pussy getting closer, closer, as she slowly lowered herself onto my face, stopping just as her inner labia touched my lips. They were soft, smooth, and incredibly moist. I gently flicked my tongue over them, and she flinched, letting out a quiet moan.

She continued to lower herself onto me, and I drew her labia into my mouth, gently squeezing them between my lips and running my tongue over the tips. Emma moaned her approval, a deep, guttural sound, and pressed her pussy further onto my mouth. I stuck my tongue into her vagina, I had no choice; her vulva was firmly pressed against my mouth, demanding entry. Her wetness ran onto my tongue and spread around my mouth. It tasted sweet, flowery, and intoxicating, like nothing I had ever tasted before. I pushed my tongue into her opening as far as I could reach, wanting to devour her.

Then she slid her pussy across my mouth, a slow, deliberate grind. My tongue contacted the underside of her clit, and she flinched, a sharp intake of breath. I ran my tongue around its perimeter, and she moaned loudly, a continuous sound now, as she slid her pussy back to where my tongue was at her vagina. I thrust it in deeply, feeling the warmth, the wetness. She gasped, her hips rocking back to where my tongue was on her clit again, and I licked it furiously, relentlessly. She bucked back the other way, a wild, uninhibited movement, and was now moaning continuously as she slid her pussy across my mouth. Her juices, they ran down my cheeks and chin, a delicious mess.

“Oh, my god,” she yelled, her voice raw, thrusting her hips forward, stopping and shuddering in ecstasy. I plunged my tongue into her vagina as deeply as I could manage, trying to reach her core. Her muscles tensed, her thighs squeezed together, when I contacted her g-spot. She bucked again, a powerful movement, and again my tongue touched her g-spot, sending shivers through her.

“I need you inside me,” she screamed, her voice desperate, and she turned around to straddle my hips. Then she lowered herself onto my cock, which was throbbing, aching for her, and began bucking back and forth and up and down with more enthusiasm than I had ever seen from her. I never knew she could have this much energy, this much raw power. I felt the walls of her vagina constrict around my cock as she stroked up and down my length, squeezing me, milking me. “My pussy feels so damn good!” she exclaimed, her voice breathless.

Emma’s sheer exuberance, her wild movements, they began to bring me to orgasm. She slid herself up and down my cock with such ferocity, such abandon, that I was quickly on edge, right on the brink. Her soft, slippery pussy enveloped my cock while her orgasmic contractions squeezed me, pulling me deeper into her. The overwhelming urge was upon me. I thrust my hips up, a desperate, primal movement, just as Emma was slamming down upon me. She screamed at the deep intrusion, a sound of pure pleasure, and I came. A wave of pure sensation washed over me. She picked herself up, her muscles straining, and drove down upon me again, hard. I bucked up, plunging deep inside, and ejaculated again, another wave. Emma screamed once more, a long, drawn-out cry. I felt her kegel muscles contract and grip me tightly, squeezing, and I came again, a third time, until I felt completely empty. She continued riding me, bucking up and down as waves of passion overtook her senses, her body shuddering with each climax. I came until I had nothing left, completely spent.

Emma finally slowed her motions, her movements becoming less frantic, as she ran out of energy. Between the multiple orgasms and the sheer physical exertion, she was utterly exhausted. She collapsed on top of me, her head resting on my chest, her breathing heavy. A mixture of her juices and my cum oozed out from her pussy and ran down my shaft, puddling at the base of my cock, a warm, sticky testament to what had just happened.

We laid there for several minutes, just breathing, recuperating. The only sound was our ragged breaths and the distant hum of the city. When we had finally caught our breath, Emma sat up, my flaccid dick still inside her, and she reached up to remove the blindfold. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the soft candlelight. She looked absolutely gorgeous, kneeling there on top of me. Her hair was mussed, wild around her face, and she had this incredible glow from the exertion of screwing, a flush on her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes. I had never seen her look so lovely, so powerful, so completely in control.

“From now on,” she said, her voice strict, demanding, but with a hint of a smile playing on her lips, “you’re my play toy. I get to use and abuse you as I wish, and as often as I like.” I was scared, a little, but also incredibly delighted, not knowing where it would all go from here. Our marriage, it had definitely heated up.