Snapping Heat on A Sunday Afternoon (L)

It’s Sunday afternoon 3 pm and I touch my hubbie’s penis! I rub it from outside of his pajamas and yes! he understands that it is intercourse time!

He soon throws away the ebook in hand and puts his hand inside my skirt and rubs my clito over the panty. He removes my skirt and gets amazed at the new sexy panty I wear. Yes! I make it a point to buy a new panty every week. It’s just a pound per week of expense but it is really enjoyable! It’s typically a thong and he loves to see me in thong.

He then reverses me and starts kissing my butts. I too live it. I get more excited when he starts kissing top of my butts. I get erotic. I remove his sexy undies and make him nude. I start rubbing his penis and the testicles. He is so quick to show me the erection! His penis is more than 6 inches and come above the naval point. I am too proactive to remove my bras and make my breasts available to suck. He does so and wanna difficult to covey the feeling to describe the weekly suck I have when he sucks my breasts and the nipples thoroughly.

I am not the less and do not wait to hold his penis and start rubbing it. Then I take it in my mouth and make it a suck of the week for him. He enjoys it and his erection is un-explainable!

It’s then now the time to get intercourse! I can’t live without that. I remove his penis from my mouth and puts into my ever-awaiting vagina. Yes! He does it and the time starts now! He thrashes me thoroughly. I moan and moan and moan but get satisfied. His penis trashes and eats my clito. I love it too. It becomes a lovely weekly intercourse and I love it.

Frankly speaking I can’t live without getting thoroughly and deeply fucked by my husband on Sunday afternoon. My week will not start without this great fucking!!!

Snap Shots

Snap. She is standing on the beach of their rented private key in late afternoon, wearing a white two-piece gauze halter dress. The cropped bodice is low-cut, emphasizing the thrust of firm, high breasts and baring her deep cleavage and flat stomach. The skirt is full and has caught in the breeze, the thin fabric pressed enticingly against the front of her body. Her black hair is a cloud of glossy curls billowing around her head, which is thrown back in laughter. The expression on her face is one of pure delight, as if she had fallen asleep and awakened in Paradise. Her arms are clasped around her slim waist, her arms pressing her breasts together and causing them to spill out of her top. Her nipples are dark under the white gauze, and a delicate white lace thong shows through where her blowing dress conforms to the shape of her hips and thighs. She stands proudly, shamelessly, a mature woman with a pin-up’s body and a child’s look of delighted wonder. Though she is wearing the dress, her face is that of a nude girl reveling in her own beauty.

Snap. The same scene only minutes later, this time with her husband standing behind her. They are facing the camera, both laughing. His face is barely visible behind her mane of black curls, but it is that of a man her own age. His afternoon stubble gives his face a primal masculinity, and the close-cropped graying hair on his balding head does not detract from his youthful appearance. He is wearing white gauze drawstring pants tied loosely, hanging low on his waist and rolled up to mid-calf. But for the pants he is naked, and he is lean and fit. His arms are around her waist and she is pressed tightly against him, her own arms over her head and reaching behind his to pull him to her. Her breasts are lifted enticingly, and her gauze top has slid up her torso so that the bodice gapes widely, baring the lower part of her bosom. His arms are around her bare waist, and one hand clutches the hem of her skirt, baring one thigh.

Snap. The sun is heading for the horizon, and the sky is tinted pink and violet. She has her back to the camera, and her body is pressed against his in a tight embrace. They are both soaking wet, their clothes transparent and plastered to their bodies. Her arms are thrown around his neck, and they are locked in a deep and passionate kiss. On the ground near her feet lie her top and her thong. The gauze skirt has been stretched by the weight of the water and hangs low on her hips, its waistband dropping just below the deep “V” that divides the tops of her tight, round buttocks. One of her legs is drawn up and wrapped around one of his, and it is clear the couple is aroused. Her bared breasts, flattened against his chest, bulge from either side of her smooth, muscled back. His hands cup her buttocks tightly as he pulls her into him.

Snap. They are facing the camera again, and this time she is nude but riding on his shoulders. He is thigh-deep in the sea, still wearing his drenched pants. His manhood is clearly visible under the translucent fabric, and he is partially erect. She has her arms under his chin and is leaning forward, her nipples brushing the top of his head. She is utterly uninhibited, enjoying the love play, adoring her husband, reveling in his lust for her and in the beauty of the place. She appears oblivious to the camera on the tripod, comfortable with her body and intent on naughtiness.

Snap. She is wet, and the beads of water glisten on her oiled body. Her long black hair hangs damply over her shoulders and chest. She is staring into the camera in a blatantly sexual way, and the thrust of her hip invites the lens closer, to explore her womanhood and reveal her sensuality. She is wearing a black bikini. The top does not come close to covering her breasts, which appear swollen with desire. The two scanty spandex triangles are stretched over the fullest portion of her bosom, barely covering her areolas, which are engorged  and encircling nipples made firm by cool water and  exertion and excitement and pressing urgently against the clinging fabric. The spaghetti string that runs through the bottom of the bikini bra is hot pink, and it matches the saucy little ruffle that adorns the waistline of the black thong bottom. The cut of this garment is meant to seduce, and seduce it does. It dips low toward her groin, baring her navel and her tight abs, then narrows between her legs, clinging to her prominent Mount of Venus and engorged labia like skin. She is aroused and dares the camera to expose her, to ravage her. She won’t wait long. If the camera will not bare her, she will bare herself.

Snap. She is in the water now, on all fours as the sea caresses her calves and covers her hands. She has untied her bikini top at the back, and it dangles loosely in front of her. Her breasts are bare, round and full with longing, her nipples hard. It is difficult to tell if this is because the water is cool or because she is excited. Her derriere is thrust skyward, naked but for the tiny triangle of black that disappears between its lovely twin orbs. The hot pink ruffle teases as it circles her hips, leading the eye to the hidden treasure nestled between her parted thighs.

Snap. A few moments later, perhaps. She is still in the water, but now her tiny bra is in her left hand, floating lazily in the shallows. The shot is from the back, so only part of one of her breasts is visible, but the camera’s subject is her sweet, round butt. She is thrusting it at the lens, begging to have it fondled, begging for the caress of fingers sliding up her inner thighs to stroke her yearning vulva. The narrow band of black spandex emerges from between her cheeks to only partially cover her vulva. Its engorged lips bulge from either side, their skin smooth and glossy over the darkened, eager petals of flesh.

Snap. Three photos in rapid succession. She is lying in the shallow water now, her head thrown back, her eyes tightly shut. She has her back arched, and her oiled breasts, beaded with water, stand high and proud on her chest, demanding to be loved—kneaded and sucked and kissed. They are exquisite, round and taut with passion, their nipples erect and plump as mulberries. Her bikini is pulled down around her thighs, partially baring the dark patch of neatly manicured curls crowning her womanhood. The fingers of one hand are under the spandex, and she is fondling herself and appears to be on the verge of orgasm.

Snap. She is exuberant, her nude body glistening in the bright sunlight, now bronzed but for the white outline of the tiny thong she has been wearing while she tans. This is a full frontal shot, and she is caught in a high jump, her arms thrown to the sides, her hair flying, her legs akimbo. Her breasts are lifted high, so it is clear she is coming down from the jump rather than going up. She is laughing, enjoying her nudity, flaunting her utter desirability, daring the camera to come closer, to stay and watch as she plays in the sand.

Snap. They are together now, Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. They walk hand in hand along a jungle path, and the crimson hibiscus flower in her hair is her only attire. They are nude, rejoicing in each other and walking toward the union of their bodies in a celebration of their love. They are both lean and strong, browned by these three days in the sun. She smiles shyly. Her body is lithe, and her womanhood is now shaved completely bare, the protruding lips of her vagina clearly visible in the photograph. They are pink and silky-smooth, and he cannot resist staring at them, wanting to kiss them tenderly, to nip at them and tease them into full bloom with fingertips and searching tongue until they swell and part, allowing her now-hidden inner lips to burst from between them, slick with the dew of her lust and longing to clench his rigid member in their hot grip. His manhood is thick and firm with his anticipation, though not yet erect. He can wait a while longer, but soon he will take her beneath the cloudless sky, the only witnesses to their lovemaking being the palms and the birds and the iguanas.

Snap. A close-up of her derriere. Her nude body is oiled, but she has been in the sea and drops of water glisten on her smooth skin. She is on all fours again, and her legs are opened wide. Her head is down and she is smiling at the camera upside-down from between her knees and dangling breasts. Her nipples have made little tracks in the sand as she has moved slightly forward. Between her knees she has drawn a rectangle in the sand with her finger, and inside the rectangle are the words, “WELCOME. PLEASE COME INSIDE.” The photograph captures the intent of the gesture as her vulva gapes wantonly from below the puckered circle of flesh between her cheeks.

Snap. She is playful now, taunting him. She sits on the sand leaning back on her elbows. She smiles lewdly into the camera, and the hibiscus is no longer in her hair. Instead, she has inserted its short stem into her vagina. Her legs are splayed, knees drawn slightly up, and this time she has written “DEFLOWER ME” in the sand just in front of her crotch.

Snap. They are together again. This time he is lying in the water on his back, and she is sitting on his stomach and leaning back on his knees, which are drawn up at a 45-degree angle. Their bodies are locked together in intercourse. His hands are on her hips, drawing her into him as tightly as he can. Her hands are on his knees, and her head is thrown back and her mouth is opened in a cry of  ecstasy. She is smiling, but tears are streaming down her face. His hips are thrust upward in the ancient rhythm of love, and he is laughing.

Snap. The room is dark, but candles flicker all around them. The bed is a rustic one, built solidly of gnarled limbs that have been peeled and varnished. A mosquito net blurs their figures slightly, but one can make out their nude bodies on the mattress, and once again, they are making love. She is leaning back against a stack of pillows and her arms grip the headboard above her. Her eyes are closed and a look of exquisite pleasure fills her face. Her hair is brushed and glistening even behind the scrim, and the curls surround her head like a mane. Her breasts are lifted erotically in the age-old pose of seduction, nipples erect and bulging with passion, and her legs are opened wide to receive him. His face is between her thighs, and he is hungrily lapping the love dew from her vulva.

Snap. Moments later. This time she is on her knees and gripping the headboard, the tips of her marvelous breasts brushing the burgundy satin sheets. Her butt is pointed at him, and he grasps a hip tightly with one hand. His other hand grips his throbbing manhood, which is partially inside her. The exquisite bloom of her womanhood, its pedals slick with her lust, is clearly visible. He is teasing her to orgasm by stroking her clitoris with the engorged head of his penis. Her mouth is opened in a scream of unbridled passion, her eyes squeezed shut in a paroxysm of erotic joy.

Snap. A close-up of a piece of expensive note paper, slightly wrinkled and adorned with a floral watercolor, lying on a scrapbook.  On it, a short paragraph is written with a fountain pen in a neat, feminine hand:

Darling, that tripod was the best souvenir we’ve ever bought. Thank you for being my poster boy and making me feel so beautiful and desirable. Isn’t nudity a wonderful thing?

I guess we can’t put this scrapbook on the coffee table…

Your always-longing lover, your wife.