“Tell me!” I demanded, watching his cock bob in frustration as I looked up at him from between his legs. He whimpered as I applied another long lick from balls to tip. I had him on the edge, right where I wanted him. He would either answer my question or have a ruined orgasm before long.

“I don’t… want… to ruin… the surprise,” he was barely able to say.

“Give me a hint,” I pleaded. My method of persuasion seemed to be working as he squirmed.

“You can use it when you’re feeling lazy,” he blurted out, grinning, knowing it told me nothing. He was teasing me, too.

His groan warned me I had reached his limit as I kissed the tip, siphoning up the precum dripping from it. In truth, I was glad he hadn’t spilled the beans. Teasing him like this was its own reward.

One more long lick and his woeful moan told me he was going to spill something else. Although I had intended to ruin him, when I saw the first spurt, I couldn’t resist sucking the head between my lips, using my hand to milk the rest of his load into my mouth.

My birthday is February first; his is the twenty-ninth. We got married February fifteenth; it was an impetuous decision after spending Valentine’s Day in Las Vegas. This year was special. We were both turning forty, it was our twentieth anniversary, and it was a leap-year, so his birthday was on the calendar.

It meant we needed to do something extra-special for presents for each other. Jim was working on something in the garage. He had papered over the windows and made a sign for the locked door that said “Pam” in a red circle with a slash through it.

On the day of my birthday, he sent me to the spa for some pampering. When I got home, he had laid out a new, sexy, and expensive outfit. The dress would show off my generous cleavage and long legs, enhanced by the high-heel shoes and smoky, garterless stockings. Estimating the cost of the new necklace, earrings, and purse that completed the ensemble, I began to think the garage had been a misdirection.

Ready to go, I saw myself sideways in the mirror and almost wondered who that was. On a typical day, I look okay, like a model in a clothing store advertisement—attractive, but not so hot that the average customer won’t identify with me. Today, with my hair up and makeup, showing cleavage,  back, and a lot of leg in my designer dress, I looked slutty, but in a classy way, like an actress on a red carpet.

Jim would be on the same scale, although men have a narrower range. He put in the effort to look his best, and the adoring way he looked at me moved him up a couple of notches in my eyes.

We went to dinner at Le Rendez-vous, a fancy French restaurant with private booths. As the maître’d led us to our table, he probably wondered who was seducing whom. Jim and I take turns!

“To forty more years, all of them with me,” my husband raised his glass of wine.

“The way you take care of me, I’m sure I’ll last at least that long,” I responded, clinking our glasses.

The sommelier had brought the wine and left us to await the first course. Setting his glass down, Jim “accidentally” knocked the cork off the table and crawled under to retrieve it. He ran his fingers up my leg, sending a shiver through me. When both hands reached under the dress, I realized he had another objective.

“The waiter will be back soon,” I protested as he hooked his fingers in the front of the thong panties and pulled. I thought he might tear the thin strips of fabric so I lifted my ass slightly and allowed the strings to pass under me. In a flash, he had the tiny undergarment down and off my legs.

I felt hot from the surprise and risk. He grinned as he retook his seat, sniffing my panties with the same ceremony he had used on the cork minutes earlier.

“A very good year,” he laughed, stashing them in the breast pocket of his suitcoat just as the waiter reappeared. We had played such games over the years, although not in such an exclusive restaurant.

“Behave yourself!” I admonished after the waiter set down the plates and left. “I don’t want to be kicked out before we finish this epic meal.” Sitting side-by-side allowed us to trade kisses, caresses, and bites of dessert, but we didn’t go further than that. His pants managed to contain the bulge that I maintained there; my dress was dark and absorbent enough that my excitement wouldn’t be seen when we walked out.

Arriving home, he drove the car into the garage, but I saw nothing to suggest what, if anything, his project had been. Inside the house, Jim had me step out of my high heels and blindfolded me before leading me into our playroom—a spare bedroom we used for video games and various activities, including sex play that needed more than a bed. My crotch tingled with anticipation.

He unzipped my dress and peeled it down over my hips, steadying me as I stepped out of it. Kneeling, he drew the stockings down to my ankles and pulled them off as I raised each foot. Last to go was my bra, leaving me standing naked. The rustling told me he was undressing as well.

“You are my queen,” he whispered in my ear as he took my arm. “I made you a throne.” He led me backward a few steps until my legs contacted a chair. Sitting down, I felt the soft leather against my bare thighs, butt, and back. There was something odd about it, but I didn’t realize what it was until he removed the blindfold.

The lights were dimmed for romance. At first glance, it looked and felt like an easy chair, but it had been modified: there was a slight draft between my legs, due to the opening there.

I had seen queening chairs in videos. Some were just a supported toilet seat, functional but inelegant. Some were padded or had provision for the comfort or restraint of the properly positioned face below. This outdid them all. I could imagine sitting here whether or not it was being used as intended.

“I love it!” I exclaimed, running my hand over the arm, noting the workmanship. “I love you.” I reached for him and he bent to oblige me with a deep kiss. He was naked and his pole stood straight out with his excitement.

“How—?” I started to ask, but he interrupted.

“Let me show you,” he giggled eagerly, getting on his knees and crawling behind the chair. In a moment, his eyes looked up from between my legs, his mouth perfectly positioned. He wasted no time but started kissing and licking me.

My husband had developed quite a repertoire of cunnilingus. For more than two decades, he had been tending to my genitals and spent more time studying them than I ever would. He knew every flap, fold, bump, indentation, and nerve ending, and taught me that the most reliable way to achieve an orgasm wasn’t always the best way.

Over the years, we had done most things sexually, so I had sat on his face many times. This was different. I felt relaxed, not struggling to stay in position as I got more turned on, not worrying about hurting his neck by resting too hard on him. My thighs tensed and released as my pleasure built rather than having to support my weight.

Jim explored and demonstrated the features of his creation. I was sure he had imagined this moment over and over as he planned and built my present, so I felt good because of what I was doing for him as well as what he was doing to me.

The novelty of the chair, the arousal from the evening, and the enthusiastic stimulation of my pussy had me rushing to the peak before I knew it. Part of me wanted to hold back and make it last, but before that part could do anything, I was cumming. Leaning forward, I ground my clit against his tongue as my body squirmed with pleasure.

It was as relaxing as receiving a tongue-lashing while on my back, but with more control of the position and pressure. With a deep sigh, I went limp in a post-orgasmic stupor. The chair indeed allowed me to be lazy, so I floated as he gently lapped my labia, slurping up the juices I had produced.

He extracted himself from under the chair and I reached for him but he crawled in front of me. On his back like a car mechanic, he slid between my legs and soon had his head in the same but different position. Showing the advantages of this approach, his lips found my throbbing clit while his nose teased my opening.

It did not take much effort for his mouth to talk my cooch into trying for another climax. I sat up, spreading my legs a little to press myself more firmly against his face.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t see his eyes in this position, but the dancing pole that rose from his groin assured me of his enjoyment. His murmurs of delectation exceeded any he had expressed for the food or wine earlier that evening.

“Is this a present for me or for you?” I laughed, hearing his hum of satisfaction that could have been a “yum”. Covering his teeth with his lips, he nipped at my flesh, sending little shock waves through me.

After a bit, he eased off, pausing to catch his breath and letting me catch mine. The first orgasm had been fast and sharp. I was happy to take it slow and let it build this time. My hands, not otherwise occupied, roamed my body, massaging thighs, belly, and breasts.

The chair made it better for both of us. I could easily adjust and hold my position without getting tired. He had enough freedom of movement to explore every part of me. Like a roller coaster in reverse, he drove me up higher and higher hills, each swell of delight followed by a longer build.

“Keep going,” I urged when I sensed he was slowing to start another cycle, afraid I wouldn’t last another round. Dutifully he continued and accelerated as I squirmed against the now warm and damp leather. My burning flesh mashed against his soaked face.

“Suck my clit!” I squealed, approving what he had already started to do. His lips held my tender nub firmly and his rhythmic suckling made me explode. My cunt spasmed to that same beat as the ecstasy ricocheted through my body.

The sounds I made weren’t words but loudly told him how good he made me feel. He knew how to play my body like a grand piano, mixing dancing high notes and thunderous low chords and reaching a perfect finale. When my muscles stopped jerking, I slumped in the chair, euphoria throbbing through me.

“Happy Birthday Pam,” he whispered, breaking my reverie. He had extracted himself and leaned over me, kissing me. My taste on his lips made me feel a little guilty, but before I could think how to share the pleasure. he lifted me out of the chair and carried me to our bed.

Languid, I felt his erection press against my ass as he spooned me. He knew he was welcome to use me as he wished for his gratification, but today he was satisfied just to lie with me. I fell asleep in his warm, soft, strong embrace.

Morning light glowed in our bedroom when I opened my eyes. Jim was mostly on his back, arms and legs randomly arranged. I noticed two things: the obvious one was that his penis was erect; more subtle was the twitchy movement of his closed eyes.

My husband had suggested that I play with him while he was asleep and I had done it occasionally with mixed results. In REM sleep as he was, he would certainly be dreaming. Wrapping my fingers around his shaft might, in theory, be incorporated into whatever dream he was having. When he later awoke, sometimes he wouldn’t remember having a dream; sometimes it was just a typical dream; sometimes it was sexual. It had been fantastic only a few times, but I didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

Gently pumping his penis with my left hand, I applied my right fingers to his testicles. I moved as little as possible to avoid waking him. Studying his forty-year-old body splayed on the bed, I realized we had spent more than half our lives together.

'I so love this man,' I thought to myself, my eyes getting moist. Recalling the night before as well as how much time and effort he had spent on his gift and the delightful results, I felt a warmth between my legs that presaged other moisture.

I resisted the temptation to wake him immediately and jump on top of him. Instead, I took time to contemplate various ways I might put that swollen organ to use. It would be so easy to lean over and devour it or climb aboard, giving him my ass or my tits to play with. He was welcome in either entrance from behind; I liked to watch his face in the closet door mirror when we did it that way.

Somehow, my right hand abandoned its duty and found its way to my pussy. My daydream produced growing dampness and electricity that I hoped Jim’s dream would match or exceed.

Distracted, I probably missed the first signs, but with a deep breath, he stirred, stretching arms and legs as he blinked his eyes open. I blushed, looking sheepish with my hands on our genitals. It took a moment for him to awaken, but his eyes went from mine to his crotch as he took in the scene.

“It worked!” he exclaimed. “Somehow I built you as an android. And I made multiple copies. And we were all making love. And…” He struggled to continue, the details—if his dream had ever formed them—evaporated as reality took over.

“I’m so glad,” I leaned to kiss him deeply. “I was hoping to give you something special to thank you for last night.” When I stroked his face, he noticed my damp fingers and playfully opened his mouth, taking them between his lips.

Fully awake, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I reached for the rod that poked against my thigh, finding it even stiffer than when he was asleep.

“I want you on top of me,” I whispered hotly in his ear, choosing that option from my recent enumeration. As I rolled onto my back, Jim moved to work on my breasts, his hand and mouth each finding a nipple. I enjoyed the sensations, but my pussy was impatient.

“I’m so turned on,” I giggled. “I had a head start.” My husband always enjoyed taking care of my needs and I didn’t want to deny him that pleasure, but I was ready. Spreading my legs, I urged him between them. My hands gripped his ass as his dick easily sank into my cunt.

“Fuck me like you did in your dream,” I sang, seeing his eyes brighten at the memory.

He hooked his arms behind my knees, lifting my legs higher and wider as he leaned forward on his hands and knees. The position raised my ass and stretched me open as wide as possible. I helped support his weight with my hands against his shoulders, pressing myself into the mattress.

Our eyes locked, communicating each other’s want and need. After only a handful of easy thrusts, he shifted into high gear, pounding me hard and fast. I became his android, wanting only to serve him, getting my pleasure from seeing his.

On another day, neither of us would have lasted as long as we did. I wanted to feel his explosion before I was distracted by mine. He usually waited for me to go first. Our mutual restraint paid off as the hunger of anticipation just kept building and building.

Without warning, our two cries rang out, harmonizing a perfect fifth of a long, breathy, “oooh”. Dream, daydream, and reality fused in a gush of ecstasy that did not abate the rapid impacts of our bodies.

Only when the fading pleasure weakened our arms did he slow his oscillations. Unable to hold him up, I pulled him down to me, relishing his sweaty weight against me. He unpinned my legs, letting me wrap them around his body. We stayed tightly locked together, sharing breath, softly singing our love to each other.