Whimpering men are one thing, but thanks to my husband I discovered something else. Masculine gasps, puffs, sighs, panting, shuddering breaths on the verge of a helpless groan.
Imagine your beloved husband taking you from behind while lying on his side with you, trying to take it slow and not rushing, his raspy, hot breath full of impatience and pleasure envelops your cheek, one of his hands squeezing your plump breast, the other parting your thighs wide, both of you sighing with delight as he spreads you open on the fat, swollen head of his cock.
A surprised gasp escapes his lips as if he can't believe you're always so tight in the beginning that he can barely fit in, his fingertips dig into the warm skin of your wide-spread thigh, forcing you to let him inside you with your soft mewl of effort, he doesn't say anything, you know his eyes are closed, his focus is only on the fact that he is now deep inside you, wonderfully squeezed from all sides.
Even though you know he tried so hard, his hips involuntarily start to root more aggressively into your thirsty, fleshy core with a loud click of your moisture, since he knows in what position you like it and where you need him to rub you, you are always so eager for him, always so wet for him.
He starts panting loudly with pleasure when he hears your first sweet moans, when he feels your warm walls clench against him, sucking him inside, his teeth greedily biting your neck, shoulders and back as if he is trying to stifle what's coming out of his throat, rooting into you with a loud slaps of his thighs against your buttocks, squeezing your breast in his free hand like a dough.
Suddenly he slows down with your mumble of displeasure, pretending to tease you, betrayed, however, by the trembling puff that left his chest, by how intensely he's throbbing inside you, clenching his fingers on your thighs as you try to rub against him, preventing you from making any movements, so that he doesn't come just yet.
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