My upper body begins to shake...softly, at first, but the longer I do not respond the more violent the shaking becomes...my first thought is always the same-oh no, are we having an earthquake?
When my eyes finally open I see nothing but darkness, and in that split-second between deep-sleep and alert consciousness, I imagine terrible things and my body begins to tremble with fear...but then I recognize his touch.
I am laying on my left side and the heat from his body feels good on my back. His hand is stroking my chest; he squeezes my breasts and lightly pinches my nipples. He runs his hand down my right thigh then it is caressing my buttocks - I flinch because they are still swollen and bruised from last night's spanking.
When he tries to force his hand thru my thighs, I lift my right leg to allow his hand access to my genitals. He completely cups my penis and scrotum in his hand and gently squeezes then his hand retreats, and before removing it from me, I feel a finger rubbing my anus - he gently, but persistently pushes his middle finger inside me to the first knuckle...he is taking the 'morning inventory' of my body to make sure I wasn't damaged during last night's lovemaking...that is what I have named this every day ritual...he himself has never explained or even uttered a single word while he surveys my body, it is just something he does every morning that I do not protest or question.
I am now fully awake but feel incredibly tired...it can't be 4am already, can it? It seems as though we just fell asleep...heck, the large wet spot on my side of the bed is still damp...no time to think - he rolls me onto my back and I automatically spread my legs wide when he climbs on top of me. His weight grinds my bruised buttocks into the mattress and I grimace in the darkness but say nothing.
He captures both my wrists in one hand and holds them above my head. His manly body pins me to the mattress - I am helpless - I cannot move a muscle - a rush of blood goes to my penis and he can feel it rise against his belly. He chuckles at the arousal I always experience when he totally dominates me.
He kisses me; I kiss him back and when he pulls away I am gasping for air.
When I am finally able to speak I say "Good morning, Darling!" and after he kisses me again I say "I love you, Darling!"
He takes me in his arms and rolls onto his back. I am now on top of him. It is now my turn to rain kisses on his lips. For such a big and awkward man, the tenderness of his kisses, and the soft touches of his calloused hands continue to surprise me.
My lips press his; our open mouths meshed together as I lap at his wet, and slithering tongue. I love this time of the day. This is when I feel closest to him. Our mouths locked in an unending kiss; his hands stroking my back and shoulders; our pricks rising to full erections together. I eagerly await the signal.
For a man of his age, his virility both amazes and thrills me. I have lived with him over three-years, and his sexual appetite seems to grow, not decrease. At fifty-nine, he is thirty-seven years older than me, but you'd never know it by the number of orgasms I am required to give him every day.
I feel his hands apply gentle pressure to my shoulders and I lower my body until I am kneeling between between his open thighs. I would love to kiss my way down his manly chest, but he is not interested in shows of affection once his cock his fully hard.
I grasp the base of his shaft with my left-hand, and stroke it up and down. I cradle his scrotum with my right. I wet my lips then immediately slide them over his cockhead; my tongue begins its non-stop licking of his warm, and soft cockflesh as my head rapidly bobs up-and-down; I time my stroking motion with my sucking.
This is the time of day I feel most like a whore. He never says a word; he has me fully trained and lays back greedily accepting the pleasure I give him. He never touches me in the morning; there is no intimacy. He never even turns on the light to watch me perform.
Early-on in our relationship, when he'd convinced me to move in with him, I learned quickly what to expect-and what not to...and mornings were, and are, strictly meant for his pleasure.
He gave it a name that I hated from the start, but considering his age and background, was perfectly understandable. At least back then he would talk to me in the morning. Once he'd awakened me, and our fervent kissing made both of us excited and aroused, he would say with an odd, nervous laugh, "It's time to perform your wifely duty." Now he just pushes at my shoulders until I am on my knees between his legs.
"Wifely duty"...that phrase bothered me because I was neither a woman, nor his wife. Yes, he is the dominant male in our relationship, but that doesn't make me a woman.
I Googled that phrase and its meaning. From my reading, I learned in the olden days, more often than not, many marriages were arranged thru family contacts, not love. Father's offered their daughters to men in exchange for material goods, or because the man was important in the community. Females rarely had a choice in the matter.
A vital aspect in arranged marriages was the husband's 'right' to demand sex from his wife whether she wanted it or not. It was even believed that women were not interested in sex, that they grudgingly opened their legs because it was a 'wifely duty' to obey her husband and provide for his sexual needs.
He quit using that phrase when one morning after he'd said "It's time to perform your wifely duty" I gushed "Oh, Darling, does this mean we are getting married?"
I feel his heavy balls swell in my hand. I increase my tempo and furiously bob my head up-and-down. When his balls rise, I plant my tongue over his slit, and wait for the deluge to begin. He is still able to fill my mouth with four full loads before his discharge weakens.
I have become, thru necessity, expert at swallowing everything he gives me. He taught me early-on, if I missed even a single drop, there would be hell to pay.
He would force me to lay across his lap and explain to me in painstaking detail why I deserved the spanking he was about to give me.
"D-Darling, I'm so sorry!" I say to him. "Yes, I deserve to be punished for disrespecting you - I'm sorry I didn't swallow all of your cum [or whatever infraction I am guilty of]...I promise it won't happen again!"
To be fair, he has never given me a spanking I didn't deserve, but that doesn't make it any less painful...by the time he thinks 'I've learned my lesson' I am bawling like a schoolgirl.
He was born and raised on a farm in rural Iowa, and lives by a very strict standard of morality. There is 'Right' and there is 'Wrong' and nothing in-between. The head of the family, the 'Man' is to be obeyed at all times - no questions asked - no dissent allowed.
I often wonder about his upbringing, but know better than to ask about it. Everything I know about him I have learned in bits and pieces. When the mood strikes him, he will talk about his 'past life' as though it happened to someone else. And like many gay men his age, he is so deep in the closet, he will never see the light of day.
Once he's caught his breath, he will say, "Sweetheart, that was very nice," or "Oh, yes, what a great way to start a new day!" then he will climb out of bed and go to the master bathroom. Of course, I am expected to follow him.
By this time, I have to pee like a race horse, but he stands before the toilet first, and with me on his left-side, I snake my right-hand down his buttocks and between his slightly parted legs, and cradle his balls in my hand. I then take hold of his flaccid penis with my left-hand and aim at the bowl.
Every morning is the same: the pressure inside me builds to where I have to do a silent dance to hold in my own urine while his seemingly endless stream of piss splashes into the bowl. Only after I shake the remaining drops from his penis will he allow me to lower the toilet seat and sit down to do my business.
