⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐃𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 ᝰ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 1 — 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆… Miguel O’Hara
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒… Two months of sleepless nights, spit-up, crying and zero sex. You and Miguel are running on caffeine, love, and pent-up sexual frustration… until Peter B. and MJ show up to babysit. When you and Miguel are given two hours to be alone, that’s all you need to break the dry spell in your marriage.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓… Explicit! Mature audiences only! ᝰ porn w/ plot, fem!reader, domestic, mom!reader and dad!Miguel, first-time parents, grumpy!Miguel, Spiderman!Miguel, established relationship [marriage]; rough sex [backshots & p in v], oral sex [fem!receiving], allusions to blowjob, allusions to shower sex, implied lactation kink, hair pulling, cum eating, choking, tit play, multiple orgasms, squirting…
𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍… 5.5k words
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑… Day One of Kinktober is posted! This was such a fun and smutty fic to write for Miguel. Writing domestic/dilf!Miguel is one of my favorite versions of him to write! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!
𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒… event m.list・main m.list・event taglist
It starts like every other day. You’re half-asleep on the couch, nursing your three-month old baby for the second time this morning, one breast sore, while the other leaks through your shirt. Miguel’s pacing in the kitchen, cradling a lukewarm mug of coffee and muttering something in Spanish under his breath as he walks over and sits down next to you, rubbing slow circles into your hip.
His hands have been creeping lower for days now; palming your ass when you pass each other in the hallway, trailing his fingers up your thigh when you collapse into bed beside him, even the simple act of pulling you by the hip so he can be closer to you.
For weeks he's been walking around stiff and grumpy, whispering things like, “I don’t even remember what your pussy feels like,” while glaring at the baby monitor like it’s cursed.
You get it. You’re just as frustrated. Every time you try to get close, to rekindle your fire, it’s like she knows. She’s hungry the moment Miguel’s tongue is in your mouth.
She’s crying in her crib the second he palms your breast with that growl in his throat. Any time you two attempt to initiate something it feels like she’s purposely needing you and Miguel’s attention.
It’s been almost two months now since you had full-on sex. That time on the couch during her nap, humping like horny teenagers? That doesn’t count. Especially not when your neighbor fired up the lawnmower mid-thrust and woke her up.
Or when she was having some tummy time, entertaining herself with her toys, Miguel was two seconds away from swiping his tongue across your sex but before he could, she started crying.
You and Miguel have officially made it to the “Dry Spell” part of your relationship, something neither of you thought you’d ever experience. Not after years of being practically inseparable, not after all those late nights when you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.
Your marriage is experiencing the kind of drought that makes you both restless. Touch-starved. So desperate that the smallest things feel like forms of foreplay: his hand brushing the small of your back when he passes by, your bare legs tangling under the blanket at night, the way he sighs when he sees you nursing, nipples sensitive and soft in your palm, wishing his lips were wrapped around them.
Despite your home being filled with sexual tension, Miguel makes sure your taking care of. He makes sure you eat before he does, runs to the store in the middle of the night for diaper when you run out, holds the baby against his chest and hums softly when you’re too tired to move.
It’s the smallest things that make your heart melt, like when he whispers “descansa, mami” [rest, mommy] while you drift off, his hand brushing yours as you trade the baby between shifts.
Even though you’re both running on maybe three hours of sleep, he still finds the energy to press his lips to your temple every morning before muttering about needing coffee.
You love that about him, how he always makes time for you. But love doesn’t do much to soothe the ache that’s been building between you both, a quiet frustration that grows heavier with every missed chance.
At this point you feel like your going to die from blue ovaries if you don’t get Miguel’s cock shoved inside you until you're seeing stars. No matter how many times you and Miguel try to carve out “adult time” during the day, something always comes up and squashes your plans.
Once you finish breastfeeding, you shift baby girl in your arms, gently wiping the milk from the corner of her mouth before putting her over your shoulder and patting her back, waiting for that small burp that signals a few minutes of peace. Miguel’s staring down into his mug of coffee, feeling himself about to dose off.
He’s been running on fumes for days now: dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up like he’s been through a wind tunnel, and that permanent grumpy frown that’s become his new expression. You hear him mutter something low in Spanish under his breath, the words slipping out like a prayer or a warning, before he takes another sip, looking over at you and the baby, the two people that bring him the most happiness in life.
When your about to ask Miguel what he wants for breakfast, the doorbell rings. You both freeze, exchanging wary looks. It’s too early for visitors and you aren’t in the mood to entertain anyone. For a second, you wonder if it’s someone selling something, and you swear you’ll cry if it means you have to put on real clothes.
Miguel sets down his mug with a heavy sigh and goes to answer, ready to tell whoever it is at the door to go away. When he opens the door, his tired confusion turns into mild disbelief. Standing there are your closest friends, Peter B. Parker and MJ with their daughter Mayday perched happily on Peter’s shoulders, babbling to herself like the picture of toddler joy. Peter raises a hand, gesturing to the treats he’s holding. “We come bearing donuts and moral support.”
You manage a laugh, the sound more like a squeak, before walking over to greet them, still cradling the baby in one arm and a burp rag in the other. You’re sure you look like you’ve been through war; mascara from three days ago smudged under your eyes, bags underneath your eyes to represent how tired you are, and shirt spotted with milk from your leaking nipples.
MJ takes one look at you and her expression softens, knowing that new mom exhaustedness all too well. “Oh, honey,” she says gently, “you haven’t slept in days, have you?” You open your mouth to answer, but only a tired sigh escapes, answering MJ’s question for you. You just nod, the motion small and slow, as if even that takes effort.
Her gaze shifts to Miguel, who’s standing beside you now; shirtless, unshaven, looking like the personification of ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee.’ He squints at the sunlight coming through the window like it’s personally offended him.
MJ huffs a soft laugh, remembering when Peter B. used to wear that same look after many sleepless nights and no physical contact. “And you look like you’re five seconds away from exploding.”
“Damn sure feels like it,” Miguel mutters, rubbing a hand down his face before stepping aside and motioning for them to come in. They enter your home, the familiar squeak of the front door echoing through the living room, the same one that always wakes the baby. Your heart stops for a moment, waiting for the inevitable wail, but miraculously, she stays calm. Her tiny hand grips your shirt, eyelids fluttering sleepily.
Peter smiles, his voice soft, looking down at your daughter, remembering when Mayday was that small. “Guess she’s giving you a break today, huh?”
You give him a look that’s half a laugh, half disbelief, surprised she isn’t crying. “Don’t jinx it.”
Peter glances between the two of you: your stained clothes, Miguel’s death glare aimed at the baby monitor like it wronged his bloodline, before setting Mayday down on her feet, allowing her to roam. The toddler immediately starts climbing the walls of your home, her curly hair bouncing with every step. But none of you try to stop her, since your home is fully spider-baby proof since you have a hybrid baby of your own.
“We came to make an offer,” Peter says, placing the box of donuts on the counter before clapping his hands together once, like he’s unveiling a business deal. “Free babysitting. Right now. One hour. Two if she sleeps through it.”
You blink at him. Your body twitches with hope, but your brain refuses to believe that you’re actually about to get a break to just relax. “We’ve been there. The no-sleep, no-sex, no-time-to-shower hellscape. You both look like you’re on the brink of snapping. So we’re here to help.” MJ says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder while giving you a warm, epathetic smile.
Miguel slowly turns his head toward her, his hair a mess and his eyes bloodshot from staying up all last night with your baby girl who screamed her lungs out, wanting to give you a chance to get some quality sleep. “You're serious?”
“As a diaper blowout,” Peter says, already moving to take the baby from your arms. She whines softly in protest, face scrunching, but MJ swoops in, offering a pacifier from the diaper bag on the floor that you keep stocked at all times before a full cry can form.
You and Miguel just stand there for a moment, frozen, not knowing whether to scream for joy or just pass out from exhaustion. Miguel looks over at you, slipping his hand into yours, squeezing it firmly, helping you snap out of your daze. “Did he just say we have an hour?”
“I think so,” you whisper back, trying to still wrap your head around the gracious offer.
“Like, sixty full minutes? Without interruptions? No baby? No neighbor mowing the damn lawn?” Miguel asks, rolling his eyes at the thought of being interrupted for the hundredth time.
You nod slowly, looking at how your daughter is content in Peter’s arms, making you sigh in relief that she’s doing good with him, knowing how fussy she can get. “It’s a miracle.”
Peter walks over and settles onto the couch with your baby nestled easily into the crook of his arm, happily sucking on the pacifier, allowing her to stay occupied and content. “Go,” he says, shooing you and Miguel away, wanting you to take full advantage of him and MJ’s offer. “Before she realizes you're gone.”
Hearing that gives you and your husband a newfound burst of energy. Miguel doesn’t need to hear another word of what Peter has to say. While your in the middle of thanking your friends for their thoughtful offer for babysitting, he immediately drags you up the stairs and towards your bedroom, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful, acting as a silent warning of what’s to come once your within the confinement of your bedroom.
His long strides make it hard for you to keep up, your heart pounding not just from the rush but from the look in his eyes: dark, hungry, and fixed solely on you. Each step makes your pulse hammer faster, the air between you charged with a hungry tension. His hand slides from your wrist to the small of your back, pushing you forward as if he can’t get you there fast enough.
The second you two are in the room, he kicks the door shut behind him. There’s no hesitation, no pause for words, just the sound of his breath as he backs you against the wall and his hands cusping your face before his mouth crashes onto yours.
The kiss is rough, almost desperate, and it steals every bit of air from your lungs. His fangs scrape lightly against your bottom lip, enough to make you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue sliding against yours with heated insistence.
When you try to speak, he shakes his head against your mouth, murmuring in that low, gravelly voice, “No talking, mamì. Not yet.” As much as Miguel loves to hear your sweet voice, he needs to dive between the sweetness of your thighs before he can hold a conversation. His hands move down, gripping your thighs hard enough to make you shiver, and then he lifts you effortlessly.
You hook your legs around his waist, feeling the solid heat of him pressed right between your thighs. He carries you to the bed like you weigh nothing, dropping you down onto the mattress with a bounce before climbing over you, caging you in with his muscular frame.
His intoxicating scent surrounds you: warm, masculine, and faintly musky, while his gaze never leaves your face as his fingers find the hem of your shirt, pushing up the cotton material to quickly to reveal one of his favorite parts of your body, while savoring every inch of skin he uncovers.
Miguel’s breath hitches when your breasts spill free from their restraints, soft and swollen from feeding, nipples already peaked. He’s already turned on simply from the sight of you but when he sees small beads of your breastmilk cascading down your areola, his pupils dilate and hunger becomes written all over his face.
He palms one gently, thumb stroking over the tender bud, while his mouth descends on the other, hot and wet, his tongue circling before he sucks hard enough to make you arch off the bed, and allow your breastmilk to settle on his tastebuds.
“Miguel—” you whine out of pleasure, not expecting that from him but you definitely aren’t fighting it, if anything you want to encourage it. You wrap your hand around him and place it on the base of his neck, keeping him buried in the valley of your breasts.
Soon, Miguel starts desperately humping you like a dog, needing to create some sort of friction to soothe the erection in his pants. The harder he sucks your nipple, the harder his thrusts become. Seeing him act so wild and erratic, like his body will die if he doesn’t get an opportunity to to spill his seed inside you, creates a puddle of slick in your underwear.
Miguel shifts his attention and trails a slow path of kisses down your stomach, his fangs lightly grazing your skin when his tongue presses against you, making you jolt with each scrape. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he hooks his fingers in and tugs them down, underwear and all, leaving you bare beneath him.
He pauses for just a moment, eyes dark and fixed between your thighs, before he spreads you open with his hands. His mouth is still wet from your breastmilk, droplets of it still dripping from his lips. Miguel doesn’t wipe it away, he wants it there. By the time he’s done caressing your body he wants a variety of your juices on his face, not just your milk.
You’re already wet, painfully throbbing from many weeks of frustration. When his mouth finally makes contact with your pussy, and the tip of his tongue swirls around your clit, you immediately let out a loud gasp. His tongue is everywhere at once. He presses broad licks against your folds, teasing flicks against your clit, and gives long strokes that make your legs tremble.
He groans into you, the vibration making your hips jerk while you fist the sheets. You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, knowing that Peter and MJ are downstairs but with Miguel eating you out this good it’s hard to not be vocal. “Miguel, we have to be—”
“They’ll be fine,” he mutters into your cunt before sucking your clit between his lips, hard, pulling a sharp cry out of you right away. If it’s not clear already, Miguel doesn’t give a fuck about who can hear him. His main focus is his wife and making sure you cum at least three times today.
He tightens his grip on your thighs, pushing your legs upward and pinning you open while he devours you like a starving man, tongue thrusting into your sopping hole at a rapid pace, his nose nudging your clit until you’re writhing, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from sheer pleasure.
With your body still being sensitive from the baby, it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to crash over you, allowing weeks of pent-up tension to break all at once. You clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the scream, body shaking under his hold. Miguel doesn’t stop his movements, he only groans into your core while lapping up everything your body gives him until you’re twitching from overstimulation.
Once you come down from your high, Miguel comes up for air and towers his large physique over your body, leaning in and kissing you deeply so you’ll be able to taste yourself. Tasting your own sweetness on his tongue, makes you moan into his mouth.
Miguel’s cock is thick and hard against your stomach, straining inside his sweats, begging to be released and buried inside your wetness. His lips make his way to your ear, practically kissing your earlobe, causing his husky voice to flood your ear canal. “You ready for me, mi vida [my life]? Because once I’m in you, I’m not stopping.”
You cup his jaw, running your thumb over the stubble he’s allowed to grow out, not having a chance to shave it while trying to help you take care of household responsibilities and the baby. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, voice softly breaking as the words leave your lips, wanting nothing more than feel the delicious stretch of his cock filling your walls.
Something in Miguel’s eyes softens when he hears that. His eyes are still dark with need, but now there’s a tint of tenderness that makes your heart lurch. He kisses you again, slower this time, pouring everything into it: weeks of longing, sleepless nights, and a fierce love that never leaves, even when exhaustion and frustration does its best to tear at the seams.
After the kiss it isn’t long before Miguel is barking out orders, not only telling, but demanding you to get into position. “Turn around.” He says, voice ragged, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Face down, ass up.” Miguel pulls down his sweatpants with a harsh tug, then his boxers, and once of the cotton material his cock springs free. It’s veiny, thick, and so heavy it hangs alongside his thigh, small beads of pre-cum oozing from his tip.
You obey instantly, turning onto your stomach and placing a deep arch in your back, making sure your ass is positioned perfectly just the way he likes. When you feel his hands roughly grip your hips, you brace yourself on shaky elbows as he positions himself behind you, lining himself with your entrance.
When Miguel gets this way, sex-deprived and needy, you don’t ever question him, because you love this side of him. When he gets all rough and just throws you around like a ragdoll, filling your ears with filthy words and stuffing you with his cock until you cry from being overstimulated. Times like this are the reason you have a baby in the first place.
The stretch when he pushes inside your spongy walls makes your eyes roll to the back of your bed. You’ve been dying to feel the delicious sensation of your husband’s cock filling your pussy until he bottoms out. “God—yes—I missed this, missed you.” You groan, trying to get adjusted to Miguel’s inhuman size. His spider DNA blessed him in many ways and his cock was one of them. All ten and a half inches of cock forces his way inside your sex, Miguel’s length filling you so perfectly that you let out moan, followed by a harsh “fuck…”.
Your husband wraps his arms around your body and pulls you close to him, forcing his full length inside you while wrapping his hand to your throat. Once your body acclimated with his monster size, Miguel starts with a slow tempo before steadily increasing his speed, your ass flush against his pelvis while your breasts freely moving with the rhythm of his thrusts, and his cock reaching the depths of your cunt until it probs the opening of your womb.
Miguel’s thrusts are harsh and unforgiving. He’s using your own body as leverage to dig you out, chasing his high while making sure you reach maximum pleasure. With the position you're in, it allows Miguel to reach the depths of your cervix, allowing him to repeatedly pound into your wetness until you snap.
The rougher his thrusts get, the louder your moans become. You’re trying so hard to stay silent but it’s hard when your husband is literally rearranging your insides. Miguel’s hand comes up to your mouth, uses his palm as a shield to muffle your sweet sounds so they can’t travel downstairs. “Gotta keep you quiet, cariño [sweetheart]. Can’t let Peter and MJ hear those pretty moans.”
All you can do as a response is moan even louder while throwing your ass back against him, making him let out a sharp groan, one that he’s sure could’ve been heard from downstairs but he really doesn’t care, as long as they don’t hear you.
This goes on for minutes, the spicy tango between two people who are completely enthralled with one another, you and him releasing all of the pent up sexual energy while finding your way back to each at the same time outside of being parents.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, rhythmic and desperate while you and him chase the euphoric high that flows through your body when you cum. His pace and thrusts are so relentless that you begin to try and run from him, not being able to take the overwhelming pleasure flowing through your veins.
When Miguel notices you trying to escape his relentless thoughts, he laughs, thinking it’s funny that you think he’s gonna let you run from his dick. “No, baby…” he mutters, wrapping your hair around his hand until he gets a good grip, allowing him to pull it just enough to keep you in place without causing you any pain. “You're gonna take this dick like a good girl.” With Miguel pulling your body close to him, your both upright, your back against his chest, your breasts bouncing up and down, and the tip of his cock pushing directly against your g-spot.
Watching you attempt to run only adds fire to Miguel’s lust. It just makes him thrust harder, dig deeper inside your walls, silently begging for that coil inside you to snap. Your moans grow more wild and carefree as tears pool in your eyes from how good it feels after going so long without. “Mig—fuck— I- I- can’t –ugh– take it, please!” You whine, blindly putting your hand behind you, placing your palm against Miguel’s pelvis as a sign of surrender, wanting him to slow down a bit before you pass out.
Miguel knows you can take it, you’ve been doing it for years. He knows that your body just needs some help remembering how to take his girthy cock. “Yes, you can. I know you can take it. Don’t get all shy on me now.” Your husband grabs at your arm, getting a nice hold on your forearm and now using this position to give him more leverage and control with his strokes.
With your head and arm being pulled back, Miguel’s cock continuously reaches the soft part of your pussy, and his filthy groans and dirty compliments, all lead to your second orgasm to build much quicker than the last, allowing it to sneak up on you.
Your walls clench around him so hard he hisses like he’s in pain, when he’s really just overwhelmed by the feeling your pussy provides. “Shit—shit—I’m gonna cum—fuck!—” You spew out curses a mile a minute, digging your free hand into the scrunched up blanket beneath you, feeling your mind become fuzzy as your eyes roll to back of head.
Your body trembles, legs quiver, you would’ve probably collapsed if Miguel wasn’t holding your body in position. You aren’t able to control the sounds or fluids that come from your body next. Your creamy fluids coat Miguel’s shaft while your juices spray against the sheets, and a little splashing on his chiseled thighs.
While your pussy clenches around Miguel’s cock like a vice, trapping him inside your velvety walls, he can feel his abs tense, his balls tighten, and a flutter in his lower stomach. He continues his thrusts inside your warmth, tightening his grip on your hair and arm when he feels himself about to release.
Miguel sharp fangs coming out again when he spills inside you with a sharp gasp, hips stuttering, cock twitching as he fucks you through his nut and your orgasm. His warm seed flows through your pussy, filling your canal to the brim until it overflows, dripping out of you and onto the bed beneath you.
Your husband's beautiful moans hit your ears while he cums, making that flutter in your stomach grow as he continues fucking you. You love how vocal he is, how he isn’t scared to hold back in any capacity.
You and Miguel ride through your euphoric highs, allowing the endorphins to flood your senses, your bodies slapping together until you and him have had enough. Moments later, Miguel loosens his grip on you, pulling out of your wetness, and once your bodies are no longer together as one, your body slumps onto the mattress.
You turn yourself over on your back, looking up at your husband who’s towering over you, completely covering you with his long shadow. The two of you are breathing hard with smiles on your faces, happy that you were finally able to have sex after being deprived of the luxury.
“I think I blacked out for a sec,” you whisper, your voice still shaky with leftover adrenaline. Your body feels like it’s floating, all loose and warm, muscles humming with that dizzy sort of high that comes after one glass too many of wine. Every inch of you feels alive, thrumming with relief and the faint ache of finally being able to indulge in the martial act.
Miguel leans over, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before placing another on your collarbone. His breath is still a little uneven, his body warm and heavy beside you. For the first time in weeks, there’s no tension in his voice when he speaks, that grumpy expression on his face has disappeared.
Miguel chuckles low in his throat, still catching his breath as he looks down at you. His hair is a wild mess from when your hands were running through it, his body glistening with sweat, and there’s a boyish glint in his tired eyes you haven’t seen in a while. “I thought I broke you.”
You laugh, the sound weak but genuine, and he grins at the sight. His thumb traces lazy circles along your skin, his tone warm and teasing, loving how after all these years he can still wear you out. “Guess we still got it, huh?”
You nod, still dizzy, feeling like your legs are turning to mush. “Of course, we do.”
Before Miguel can respond, a burst of static crackles through the baby monitor on the nightstand, making both of you jump. You turn your heads at the same time, eyes snapping toward the little screen, wanting to make sure your baby girl is doing good under the care of your friends. A second later, Peter B’s voice comes through, cheerful as usual. “She’s smiling! Look at that—MJ, did you see that? She’s all gums!”
MJ laughs in the background, her voice soft and amused, shaking her head at her husband. “She’s probably just gassy, Pete.”
“Still counts!” Peter insists, clearly delighted at your daughter's gummy little smile. The sound of Mayday giggling joins in as she climbs her mother, a happy little chaos that fills the monitor with warmth instead of worry.
You and Miguel both stare for a moment, watching your baby girl as she lies on her back, kicking her tiny feet while Peter makes silly faces beside her. MJ sits nearby, watching the babies with that calm, maternal look that makes everything feel safe, allowing you and Miguel’s worry to evaporate knowing your baby girl is in good hands.
Miguel lets out a deep breath, his body relaxing against yours. “She’s good,” he murmurs, almost in disbelief that your daughter is happy and smiley, instead of being in one of her cranky and crying fits. “She’s… really good.”
You smile softly, feeling your heart swell as you watch the scene unfold, loving the adorable expression on her precious little face. “She’s perfect,”
Miguel hums, his gaze shifting back down to you. A spark returns in his eyes, that teasing glint that always comes right before he does something reckless. “You know,” his voice drops to a low murmur, brushing his lips against your jaw. “Peter and MJ look… busy.”
You glance at the monitor again, seeing that Peter is now pretending to juggle baby toys while Mayday claps in the background, then you look back at Miguel, already seeing the thought that’s forming in his head.
“Miguel…” you start, giving him a warning tone but the smirk curling at your lips tells him that you want him to act out whatever dirty thought that’s forming in his mind.
He smiles softly, that sharp, boyish grin that melts every ounce of resistance in you every time he flashes it your way. “We said we’d take advantage of the time, didn’t we?”
Before you can argue, his arms slides under you, wrapping around your body, and lifting you with effortless strength. When you feel his palms wrap around your thighs, pulling you against his chest, you yelp softly, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck, causing your breasts to press against him. “Miguel!”
He chuckles, already carrying you toward the bathroom, his bare feet walking against the cool tile floor. “You ready for round two?” he asks, pushing the door open with his shoulder. Steam from the earlier shower still lingers in the air, the scent of soap and his cologne flooding your senses, making things feel more intimate than before.
You grin up at him, heartbeat still fluttering from everything that’s happened and the anticipation building for what’s to come. “More than ready,” Miguel’s eyes flicker with amusement as he sets you down gently, one hand lingering at your waist even as he reaches to turn on the shower.
The water hums to life, filling the room with the soft rush of sound and a cloud of steam that wraps around you both. You finish your sentence with a teasing smile, running your hand down his happy trail and palming his cock that’s still wet with your slick. “As long as I get to go first.”
He arches a brow, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips as he bites back a moan, enjoying this side of you. “Oh, so now you’re calling the shots?”
“Somebody has to,” you tease back, rising on your toes to press a kiss to his mouth. The kiss is slower this time, less frantic than before but somehow more lustful, especially when Miguel slips his tongue in your mouth, amplifying the lingering sexual affection that says more than words ever could.
When you pull away, his hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb tracing small, absent circles against your skin. While you place your pointer and index finger in your mouth, tasting the mixture of his cum and your cream on your tongue, making Miguel bite his lip, wondering how he was able to find a woman who can match his freak in every way possible.
The shower fills the room with a gentle hiss, droplets dotting Miguel’s shoulders as he steps inside the marble tile shower before reaching his out a hand to you. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice soft but full of lust, feeling his cock harden at the sight of his cum smeared on your lips. “Let’s wash the morning off, mi vida.”
You step in beside him, the water instantly soothing against your skin. Once your inside and both of your bodies are wet, Miguel stands in front of the shower head, allowing the water to splash against his back, not wanting the water to reach you because he knows you don’t want to get your hair wet since you don’t have it wrapped up.
Once your feet are grounded against the shower floor, you kneel down in front of your husband, gripping onto his thighs to help stabilize yourself. Once your eye level with his lengthy cock, watching how the veins along his shaft throb, causing your mouth to water, wanting nothing more than to feel his girth stretch your pretty mouth so wide that you choke.
You dig your hand into Miguel’s thigh while you use the other to stroke his cock, giving him a few good pumps before twirling your wet tongue against his prominent veins, all the way up to his aching tip that’s begging to hit the back of your throat.
While teasing your husband’s cock, you look up at him, eyes filled with nothing but love and lust, enjoying the screwed expression on his face, knowing that by the time your done you’ll either have his seed deep inside your throat or painted on your face and you’re honestly happy with either outcome.
Before twelve o’clock, you and Miguel will be on round three, your back pressed against the shower while his cock presses against the opening of your womb, attempting to put another baby inside you.
Hopefully Peter and MJ can’t hear you and Miguel acting like a couple of horny teenagers because things are to the point where neither of you care if they can hear your moans or skin slapping together.
The only things that you and Miguel care about is making the other person cum until the image of your naked bodies are burned into each other’s mind.
Now that the Dry Spell has been lifted, you and Miguel can now walk around with a smile on your faces.
𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @lexiis26 @hoodiepandaninja16 @n-ae-vis @lakeli @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @migueloharasoulmate @lilmiss-stussy @pixiesrealm @lun3arbr33z3 @Sukunash0e @yukichan67 @introvertednoah @prettygem @novaaahearts @d0ubl-tr0ubl3 @tater-tot0423 @theitgurl2 @miguelsesposa @maxlynn17 @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @kxllanxtdoor @miguellover6969 @beargracecanbeanyone @taylormarieee @h3art-l3ss @mellagzz @em-x0 @3zae-zae3 @Baizzhu @onlyloaksgf @popeheywardssecretgf
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