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George had shed his heavy military coat, and yet his shoulders remained tense as though the weight of the world rested upon them–and perhaps it did.
Martha could never hope to comprehend the monumental strain forced upon her husband, the burden he had been entrusted with, holding an entire army’s worth of lives in his palms and leading them to revolt against a world-spanning empire.
Lesser men would have crumbled in the face of such an impossible task.
Men with lesser wives would have long succumbed to the pressure.
Martha prided herself on never shying away from giving her husband just what he needed, no matter how unconventional. She nurtured and she provided, as any good wife should-
And sometimes, she took the reins from George’s tired hands, and she led. Guided. Gave George, a leader, the leader, the chance to follow for once.
She knew it was one of the nights he longed to hand her the reins when she pressed her palms flat to his broad, naked chest and applied just the slightest bit of pressure, urging him to lower himself to the bed; he did without neither a word nor further prompting, and Martha softened as she gazed upon his drawn face, marked by exhaustion and worry.
“My love,” she mumbled and stepped between his parted knees, her hands descending to his bare shoulders to rub at the firm, knotted muscles in an attempt to grant some relief.
George let out a long sigh, his whole body deflating with it. He dropped his forehead to her stomach, his face hidden against her nightgown, and breathed deeply, relaxing the slightest bit under her gentle attention.
“Let me take care of you tonight,” she said, and George lifted his head, his brows drawn into a frown. She tutted and bent to kiss the crease it left on his forehead. “Don’t give me that look. Allow me, my dear.”
His eyes closed in something resembling resignation–even when he was offered something he wanted and needed, his nature compelled him to struggle against accepting it–and he tilted his face up, asking for a kiss Martha was more than willing to give.
“Please,” he said simply, his lips moving against hers, and Martha smiled, cherishing the first of what she hoped would be many pleas tonight.
Martha never much attempted to imagine the world from a man’s perspective, but in moments like this, the idea had its draw.
George was on his back for her, powerful thighs parted around her hips, cock hard and flushed and entirely untouched. Any indication of stress had been erased from his features, finally, chased away by that wonderful blush reddening his cheeks and reaching down to the strong planes of his chest. His breath came in ever quickening pants, merely interspersed with low groans of pleasure he still attempted to stifle as she worked her fingers into him–that wouldn’t last, of course. It never did.
Presented with a divine view like this, she couldn’t help but envy the opposite sex, who got to see their wives like this whenever they damn well pleased.
For Martha, it was a rare gift to have her husband give himself to her like this–one she wouldn’t ever refuse.
“Are you ready for me, my love?” she said and couldn’t help but smile to herself when George blew out a shuddering breath and glanced up at her from behind lowered lashes.
He gave a single nod.
That simply would not do.
Martha clucked her tongue in disapproval and squeezed his thigh, shuffling to lodge her knees more firmly underneath his legs to keep them spread and remind him who was in charge right now.
His breath hitched when she twisted her fingers–all four of them, as they were extremely slender in comparison to her husband’s bulk–deep inside him, and his throat bobbed with a heavy swallow.
“Let me hear you,” she said, which was really more of a command than a request; George was well aware of this fact.
“Yes,” he choked at once, fingers curling desperately into the sheets at his sides.
“Yes, what?”
He sucked in a breath that swelled his chest beautifully. “Yes, I’m ready, please.”
Martha grinned and thrust her fingers deep one last time before gently easing them out of her husband’s tight body. George had never been very vocal in their marital bed, no matter what constellation they found themselves in; he voiced his pleasure with little more than harsh breaths and low groans, and she had grown accustomed to listening for them, cherishing the smallest of noises she managed to coax from her beloved.
His breath hitched when he was left empty, and his thighs tensed against her, around her.
There were few things quite as intoxicating as having George’s powerful thighs wrapped helplessly around her slender hips.
She made quick work of slicking the toy–if it could be even called a toy. It was more of an accessory, really, artfully carved from ivory and fastened about her waist with soft silk ropes. Martha smoothed her wet palm up and down its length, biting her lip when the curved base of it rubbed against her clit. This wasn’t about her. She would take her pleasure later.
“I do wish I could feel you, dear,” she mumbled, teasing the stiff tip of the toy against her husband’s stretched entrance and delighting in the way his muscles quivered underneath her palm gripping his thigh. “The way you squeeze my fingers…” She pressed the head inside him, her own core clenching at George’s drawn out hiss. “You must feel heavenly.”
Martha licked her lips and grabbed her husband by the hips, thumbs smoothing gently over hills and valleys created from jutting bone and hard muscle.
And then, she snapped her pelvis forward and slammed home in one fluid thrust.
George made a choked noise caught between a strangled groan and an honest to God whimper that she immediately committed to memory and filed away for later use, and he ripped his hands from the sheets, reaching down to cover hers.
Their gazes met, heated, private, like a caress. His eyes, so much darker than usual, were- vacant, for lack of a better word. The lines that usually surrounded them had smoothed out, and all the hidden worries only she could read within his irises had dissipated.
God, he looked ten years younger. He was transformed.
This was her doing. George was hers, and hers alone.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled and gasped when she pulled away the slightest bit only to slam back in again. “Martha.”
Oh, her name on his lips, it was like music to her ears.
“Me?” she said with a disbelieving chuckle and let her eyes rake unabashedly over her husband’s form, laid out like a feast before her. His flushed, handsome features with the bottomless eyes, his broad chest, heaving with strained breath and gleaming with sweat, the quivering muscles of his defined abdomen, his weeping cock twitching with every roll of her hips, his thick thighs wrapped around her waist- “My love, you should see yourself.”
His eyes closed and his lips parted with another delicious little moan, his brow furrowing helplessly. Martha gently freed her hands from his grasp and wove her fingers through his instead, guiding their linked hands up until she could press them into the sheets to either side of his head, and his eyes snapped back open as she bent over him and jostled the stiff toy inside him.
“I-” His mouth stood open when she pulled the toy from the vice of his body until only the tip remained–a tricky manoeuvre in the beginning, considering she didn’t have the advantage of feeling what she was doing, but something easily learned with enough practise–and thrust back in, establishing a steady rhythm. She wasn’t too rough, never too rough.
She squeezed his fingers and rested more of her weight on their intertwined hands, just to make him feel it. “Yes?”
George blinked, hazy, an almost confused little scrunch to his brow Martha was so tempted to kiss, as if he couldn’t quite manage to grasp onto his line of thought.
She fucked him gently and contended herself with watching all the little changes in his expression, listening for his choked moans and heavy breaths as he attempted to find his words; an endeavour, of course, in no way aided by the lazy roll of her hips and the way her stomach accidentally brushed up against his cock on every over thrust.
“I- fuck, Martha, I love you,” he stuttered out at last, gazing up at her as if she was the moon and all the stars in the nightsky, and Martha smiled, lowering her head to press their sweaty forehead together.
“I love you, too. I love you,” she mumbled and sealed it with a kiss. George’s lips were soft and pliant against hers; the kiss was much more tender than what was usual for them when they were making love, carried away as they tended to get.
“My love, I- I’m so close, please, harder-” he whispered, breath hot against her lips, his words so sweet on her tongue, and Martha released his hands and sat back up, grabbing him by the place his thighs met his pelvis. One of her favourite places to grab him by–wonderfully shaped for grabbing.
“Yes,” she breathed and snapped her hips harder, quickened her pace, felt him tremble. “Cum for me, show me how much you like it when I fuck your ass.”
He made an almost wounded sound, one that Martha wouldn’t mind hearing every day for the rest of her life, and his thighs squeezed in harder around her, made unsteady by a noticeable tremor.
Her own breath tore from her throat in laboured pants as she redoubled her efforts once again, fucking her husband just like he needed it, and she brought one of her hands up to his leaking, swollen cock, wrapped her fingers around his impressive girth-
George reached his peak with a drawn out, desperate groan that tapered off into a whimper, and oh, how she loved to hear him whimper. It didn’t even take one stroke of her hand before her husband was spilling himself over her fingers, shooting seed across his own stomach, muscles rippling and slick with his own spent.
She stroked him through the aftershocks until he began to soften in her palm, feeling his tensed muscles slacken under her touch, his ragged breathing evening out.
His thighs released her, and she sat back, drawing the toy carefully from his yielding body, and if she took a moment to watch his gaping hole flutter around nothing, well, who could blame her?
Martha stroked her open palms up and down his quivering thighs, contented with watching her husband come down from his high, her own need little more than a faint nagging at the back of her mind.
George took another few moments to catch his breath before he heaved himself halfway up, resting on his elbows. He swept his still too dark gaze over her body, the desire so obvious in his eyes even though his orgasm had barely just come to pass, and Martha couldn’t resist crawling back over his body to taste him. His lips parted for her at once, and they kissed lazily, tongues dancing.
When they broke apart for air, George nudged his nose against hers affectionately, and she smiled against his lips.
“Martha,” he rumbled. A shiver chased down her spine at the sound of his voice, deep and delicious with both deep-seated satisfaction and urgent hunger. “I need you to take that thing off and sit on my face. Now.”
She hurried to fulfil her husband's wish, as any good wife should.