I never really believed it when my wife told me about running things at work.
At home she's quiet. Sweet. Almost shy. The kind of woman people instantly trust because she never raises her voice and never seems to want the spotlight. Hearing that she walked into a leadership role and bosses around a whole office? I smiled and nodded, but honestly, I couldn't picture it.
Now I can. Vividly.
Because right now I'm flat on my back on the living room floor, mid-workout, and she's standing over me — looking down at me like I'm not her husband, I'm her property — telling me exactly what she wants.
She wants to sit on my face until she comes.
For a second I just stare, traveling up her legs, up her body, to a face that is dead serious. She's never talked to me like this before. Never ordered me to do anything in bed. Part of me doesn't even know how to react.
The other part of me is already painfully hard.
She steps closer, deliberately straddling my legs and walking herself up until she's standing over my hips. That's when I get a perfect look up her skirt — and realize she's not wearing any panties at all. Either she took them off the second she got home, or she went to work like that all day.
My cock twitches at the thought.
I manage to find my voice. "What... what got into you today?"
She lets out an impatient sigh and drops to her knees, gathering her skirt up around her waist as she crawls forward over me. Now her wet, swollen pussy is hovering inches above me, fully on display. Knees inching up on either side of my body, then my shoulders, until she's poised right over my head — a position she's never, ever put herself in before.
"I had a hell of a day," she says, low and firm in a way I've never heard from her. "And I don't want to talk about it. I want your mouth on me. Now."
Then she sinks down.
Demanded, Not Asked
Her pussy lands on my mouth and my whole world narrows to her. Her scent, her heat, her taste — sweet and musky and so wet she's already dripping onto my chin. I open for her instinctively, tongue sliding between her lips, lapping through her folds, sucking each soft lip into my mouth just to hear that first shaky moan slip out of my demure little wife.
I trace her from her dripping entrance all the way up to her hard little clit, and she loses what little patience she had left.
She sits. Fully. No more hovering, no more teasing.
Her hips start to rock, grinding her pussy over my mouth, using my tongue exactly how she wants it. Hot skin seals over me from chin to nose — I can barely see, barely breathe, and I don't care. Over her thighs I catch a glimpse as she yanks her top up and frees her bare tits, bouncing as she rides my face.
Air only comes in snatches, when she rocks back just far enough to uncover my nose. And even then, every breath I steal is filled with her. I'm drowning in her scent, her wetness running down my face, while she just keeps going — rocking, grinding, fucking my mouth with total confidence, like that boss at work finally came home with her.
She's not stopping for anything less than exactly what she demanded.
Her face-sitting orgasm.
And God help me, I'm desperate to give it to her.
Want more after that? You'll love my intense edge play story next.
Or better — do you need your usually sweet, quiet wife to come home and take charge like this?
Call me. I'll be her for you — and I'll tell you exactly what you want you to do.