Dearest Beloved
Category: Masc. x Femme; Original Work (unnamed characters) Rating: M; Smut Notes: Body Worship, Raw, Creampie, Religious Allusions (it's an experience), Some Orgasm Denial, Light DomxSub Interactions Word Length: 1,900
Author's Note: Haven't written much outside academia, so here's to a return with some good ol' fashioned smut. No lead up, it starts right under the cut!
“It’s all right, beloved. I’ve got you.”
“Ah… there, right there. A l-little slower. Just, yeah, d-don’t stop, dearest.”
They laid there, his fingers thrusting, curling, massaging, languidly drawing her chasing hips and shuddering breaths. Her body rested against his own, his head buried into the crook of her neck—drinking in every breath and moan and whine, drunk off her voice. A hand came to his face, gentle, caressing, and he again gazed into her loving eyes.
“Close…”
His hand quickly stilled as her own guided him. She presented their work, his fingers slick, and he drew his hand closer for a taste. Sweet and earthen nectar graced his tongue, but it was stolen; a coy smile pressed to his lips, the now lingering memory of her taste evoking hunger, desperation.
“Finish me, dearest” she breathed—her voice low, enticing, demanding.
And he could not, would not, deny her.
---
Years have been spent memorizing this sight: the perfect waves of her hair stuck to her radiant face, lips swollen by greedy kisses; the heave of her heavenly chest, breasts marked by prideful bites; the folds of her divine stomach, ample flesh worshipped by lustful hands; the curves of her saintly hips, legs shaken by gluttonous licks.
He was knelt before her altar, burying himself in her divinity, sinfully lapping up her vice, craving her salvation. A hand tangled itself in his hair and legs locked around his neck, holding him close until he fulfilled her desires.
Her moans blessed the air. Her sweat sanctified the sheets. Her hips graced his voracious maw. She knew she drew close and had a choice to make. No small part of her wanted release, to curl about her dearest as he brought her to the zenith of pleasure once more with his silver tongue and helping hand, but…
He could not, would not, deny her.
“Hold.”
His movements lulled. She felt herself at the precipice, intense pleasure rushing through her, edging, but not finishing her. Although he would not refuse her, he could not help but release a low whine.
She caught her breath, a smile tugging at her lips. She sat up, admiring the sight of her dearest: the languorous thrust of his defined hips, manhood neglected by abstinence; the swell of his heavy chest, neck and shoulders flushed by chastity; the soft part of his full lips, mouth stained by humility; the ruined braids felled about his tender face, eyes darkened by temperance.
Years were spent memorizing that sight.
She beckoned him forth, catching his lips with her own, tasting herself on him as she led his movements once more.
“Together, my dearest,” she breathed.
---
Silk covered pillows stacked against the headboard supported him, a thick towel expertly – haphazardly – placed ‘neath where his hips lie pressed against him, but he noticed neither. Each and every of his senses were possessed, the beatific woman straddling him all he could hope to focus on, but…
He could not, would not, deny her the pleasure she was so rightfully due. And so, he steeled himself. Soft grunts and moans escaped through his gritted teeth as he willed his hips still, his eyes trained on her own. He dared not look lower.
To look lower would mean to gaze upon her radiant lips, a knowing smile swollen by kisses he so greedily stole.
To look lower would mean to gaze upon her heavenly chest, the amorous bounce of her breasts reddened by bites he so proudly marked.
To look lower would mean to gaze upon her divine stomach, the gentle rolls of her supple flesh tendered by worship he so lustfully worked.
And to look lower would mean to condemn himself to release before his beloved, her saintly hips trapping him as she repaid the work he so gluttonously pursued.
“Look,” she commanded, and all his resolve, as absolute as the will of the gods, melted away.
He looked.
He gazed over her body, his stomach in a burning knot as he saw her work. She had pressed herself against his length, caressing both him and her, teasing his tip as she massaged herself against all he had to offer her. They found themselves both slick, wet, ready, but she enjoyed the sight of him like this.
So composed and proper he was in their day-to-day—courteous and pleasant. He held himself high, to a standard no one could feasibly reach, yet he did. And she loved that he strived to make the best of everything, to do the most of anyone.
For anyone.
Including laying beneath her as she coaxed him to the edge again and again, denying him in a way he could not, would not, deny her. She knew she held the power here, but she also knew that he had his limits. Limits that she would eagerly cross time and time again. After all, despite her control, her command of him, they were still equals.
Something she was wont to be reminded of.
But… not now. Now, she wanted him.
Leaning forward, she blessed him with a kiss, deep and full of love. He melted into it, arms instinctively wrapping around her as he followed her when she broke away. For a moment, the two were silent, basking in each other’s presence, gazing into the other’s loving eyes. Then, a cry, a moan, as she sank down his length, a satisfied sigh escaping from her.
It was easy work for her. Pleasurable work. They had prepared themselves well, and previous – countless – goes at the throes of passion certainly helped when one had their wits about them.
And it was most certainly her who did.
His eyes were glossed over by love, trained on her, unwilling, if not wholly unable, to look away. To him, she was the world, a blessing most divine. For her, he would give all he could, and should she ask for more, well, perhaps that is why he gave her everything he could.
All he could give was precisely all she could ever want.
“I’m all yours, my dearest.”
And that, that was all he wanted to hear.
---
Hours passed. Days. Minutes, even. He could not tell, and it did not matter. He had long since accepted that if the rest of his days – days that could go on ad infinitum – were spent at the beck-and-call of his beloved, each day would quite simply be the best day of his life.
Though, he must admit, the divine denial his beloved could deal him during such days may be the only slight to such perfection; however, he must also admit that he enjoyed being denied so, to be brought to the precipice again and again only to be held back by her staying hands and voice. It was his penance, he would believe, for all those sins he so greedily, pridefully, lustfully, gluttonously committed against his beloved wife.
Of course, he knew that as much as he gave of himself to her, she would always give just as much. Just as much as she could deny him, stay him, make him come undone, he, too, could approve her, move her, build her infinitely high. In this way, they were equals engaged in an ethereal, unending dance of push and pull, pain and pleasure, denial and deliverance.
---
“Please… I can’t…” he moaned.
It was all he could do. He was so close to the edge. So very, very close. He was mustering every ounce of strength he could to hold on; to stay his crumbling will as he thrusted into his beloved wife. Each thrust into her came with the nigh insurmountable effort to pull out. To thrust back in. To keep the painfully pleasurable pace she set, however long ago.
He was at the edge and begged once more, looking into his beloved wife’s hooded eyes for release. “Need… please…”
She flashed him an innocent smile. “No.”
And that was all it took to ruin him entirely.
A low growl rumbled from him as he grabbed at her. Within a second, her back was pressed against the bed, legs hooked around his waist, and him uncontrollably driving his full length into her warmth with full abandon.
He was fully undone, giving into carnality—giving into her unabashed hopes. An arm wrapped around her back to keep her close to him as the wet sounds of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the room, rivaled only by the salacious moans from her as his free hand mercilessly massaged her womanhood as he devoured her wholly.
Such moans suddenly became unrestrained cries of pleasure and want as he locked his teeth into the base of her neck. Both pain and pleasure shot through her as praise after praise escaped her lips, and, rather unceremoniously, he stilled. He stilled impossibly deep, and she could feel the entirety of him shudder within her as he finally, loudly, fully released.
Her body was hot from their extended embrace, but the pulsing heat that now flooded her brought her over the edge. She clung to her dearest husband, nails digging into his broad back as she, too, gave into the sensuality. Her cheeks flushed as she trembled beneath him, a wave of pleasure overtaking all her senses as she coaxed every last ounce out of her dearest husband.
---
“Gods… I think I may have ascended.”
A soft chuckle was his beloved wife’s response.
Several minutes had passed while the two laid entwined, panting breaths mingling between gentle kisses. He was able to finally muster enough strength to bring himself up off his beloved wife, looking down first at her flushed face, then at her drenched divinity.
The sight alone caused an involuntary twitch, and his beloved teasingly responded, “Really think you can go a second round, dearest?”
“For you, I’d go a third and fourth and more.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he replied.
“Oh, I know,” she said, propping herself up and meeting her dearest husband’s gaze.
They were both amorously messy, the results of their love coating their lower selves. She was keen to memorize the sight of his glistening member still stretching her dripping entrance. She placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed back, his member slipping out and with it, a spill of all he gave her.
She stifled a whine at the loss of warmth and fullness as it now soaked the towel beneath them. “We should probably invest in more towels. Or a tarp, at this point.”
This earned a hearty chuckle from her dearest husband before he leaned back down to place a kiss on the mark he left her. “You have only yourself to blame, my beloved; here, let’s get cleaned up.”
“What? No second or third or fourth round?” she teased.
He gave her another gentle kiss before hefting her up in his arms and carrying her to their bath. She gave no protest, her own legs much too shaken to support her, and nuzzled into him as he walked, helping to turn on their shower. After a few minutes of washing them up, he drew a steaming bath for them to rest their gradually aching bodies in. As they submerged themselves together, she leaned against him, resting her head upon his chest, drifting into a deep slumber as he held her close.
“I love you.”
