The Barista - Sex Stories

The Barista

... a mock salute to her, hobbled off as quickly as possible to the stairlift, and headed upstairs. I was mean because I abandoned the lift at the top of the stairs, chuckling wickedly. This meant she’d have to call it down to be able to pass it. It wasn’t possible at any other point on the stairs.

By the time the lift had returned to the bottom of the stairs and wifey had joined me in the bedroom, my coffee-stained clothes were in the hamper, and the room smelled of caramel latte. I knelt at the foot of the bed, waiting for my wife, lover, soul-mate and best friend to join me.

She wore a beautiful smile when she saw my naked form waiting on the bed, cock pointing happily north as she stripped off her loose clothing and hopped onto the bed to join me. I leaned forward and stroked the insides of her thighs with my fingertips. I was starting just above the knee and going up to the groin, carefully avoiding contact with her labia for as long as possible. I wanted to build the desire in her as much as possible.

I know the skin on the insides of her thighs is exceptionally sensitive, and from the groans of appreciation coming from the top of the bed, my ministrations were doing the trick for her. So I changed tactics slightly; instead of my fingers, I planted little butterfly kisses up the insides of her left, then right leg, before finishing off with a few playful nibbles on her mons.

“Oooh!” she purred contentedly. “That’s nice!”

I could smell her arousal now, her ...

... familiar musk reaching my nose and her pheromones triggering my lust. I am master of my own body, however, a civilised man if such a beast exists. So I controlled my inner cave-man, and instead of taking her right then, I delivered the method of pleasure my bride had requested. Tentatively, I teased her outer labia with my fingers, gently tracing their shape and savouring their contours.

Her arousal continued to build as she squirmed and wriggled on the bed underneath my fingertips—her need for release building with each featherlight touch of my fingers, her motion becoming more fevered and erratic as I deliberately allowed a single finger so slowly caress the folds of her inner labia, coating my digit in her honey.

“Hmmm. Baby, don’t tease me, please,” she begged me. But, of course, that is precisely what I was doing and would continue to do until I was ready to proceed.

I sucked my moist finger, tasting her flavour. Sweet, with a hint of saltiness and utterly and delightfully delicious. A switch flicked in my brain. I had to have more of this nectar and must have it from its source. But still, I denied my baser instinct and gently slipped one finger between her folds, then another, and finally a third. Taking care not to approach her clit under any circumstances.

My fingers were, by this time, sufficiently lubricated. I probed deeper into her, gently pushing forward with each thrust to ensure that I caused no pain and stretched her magnificent sex slowly, treating ...