It is not often that Ominis Gaunt allows his beloved wife the opportunity to be on top of him in bed.
Yes, Mrs. Rosalie Gaunt does not make the effort to ask too often, either, but that is neither here nor there. She knows her husband and his mannerisms well, she knows what he is comfortable with, and just laying there is not much his modus operandi.
Rather, he is often the one on top, dictating the progression and speed of their nightly activities as he pleases, and she is usually content in just letting him do it his way. It is not as if she is displeased with their private, marital business in any case. She wants him to be happy and comfortable in the quaint French village life that they built together, and if all that took is to just lay down in bed while her husband performs rhythmic, albeit proficient, movements on her, then it is all too well for her.
In a level, she understands and empathises with her husband. His rigid and ordered way of living naturally extends to the bedroom, and he prefers a strict sense of control. Physical contact is hard for him sometimes, between his disability and the abuse he suffered as a child, and the way he describes his feelings of touch made her wonder if he does not perceive tactile stimuli in a different manner.
Her parents, while not too affectionate, never treated Rosalie harshly or unkindly, they have never raised their hands, their wands or their voices to her, and she has always come and gone as she pleased. She knows that she is the exception amongst her peers in that regard, so she tends to defer to those with further first-hand experience on how to best deal with the scars.
Well, she mostly defers decisions. She understands that part of loving someone is to challenge them to be better, and to allow them to experience perspectives that they did not consider or expect initially. So, tonight, as the last candles go out on their shared bedroom, she straddled her husband's hips before Ominis could protest or turn things around on her.
The woman kisses him sweetly over and over while her hands undo the buttons down the front of his nightshirt while he still tries to get his bearings and realise what is going on. As he feels the warmth of her skin against his, as he smells the flower perfume she makes herself, and that is so like her that he could find her amongst a million other women by scent alone, his member grows to attention and he is more than ready to correspond to her ministrations.
He struggles lightly against her hold, not enough to signal that he was displeased, which he certainly was not, nor to overturn her body with any violence, but to communicate his desires wordlessly. While she would usually wield and let him pine her against their mattress, this time she petulantly resisted, pretending that he was not doing anything.
"My love…" He whispers in to the space between them. "If you feel, ahem… If that is what you would like, please, allow me to tend to you tonight."
"Not just yet." She says with a playful lilt.
Pulling his nightshirt over his head with a single tug, Rosalie runs her hands down the smooth landscape of his torso. His body is tight and elegant, his skin pale and smooth to the touch, something that never really pleased him to hear, as he felt diminished by the fact that he was not athletic enough for her.
Ah, but she liked what she saw very much. She was never shy in saying it, but she is eager to show it, too.
Ominis anticipates the feelings of her ministrations with cautious curiosity, and she indulges him. She makes a spectacle of her moans and the path of her hands in his chest as she watch him fall apart with open lust in his eyes.
When she feels his breathing go increasingly erratic, she softly says, "I adore your body, Ominis. I do not think I say it enough."
His face immediately turns a deep red, and she feels his hands flex around her hips. He likes it, and she knows he does, or else he would have placed his hands on her face, trying to conceal the warm blush that always blooms against his pale skin, and that she loves to tease him about.
"That is, well..." He tries to cover up his embarrassment, to no avail.
The man trails off as his wife leans over him and begins to kiss a trail down his chest. His breath catches, and she feels his entire frame tense.
She laughs. "Do relax, my love. This is the point on this exercise."
Rosalie continues her path downward, her lips adoring him as her kisses travel down the centre of his abdomen, then lower stomach, inching ever closer to the soft blond overgrowth leading to the main course. He lets go of her waist and begins to twist the sheets on the bed.
"I want to spoil you tonight, Ominis. I want every inch of you to feel how much I adore you. Will you let me be good to you? Please?" The wife asks.
While puppy eyes do not work on a blind man, she has devised ways to appeal to him that are equally effective and manipulative. Ominis is weak to certain tones of voice, and she knows how to do an impression of painful longing just right, not to sound too strident nor too overdramatic.
Naturally, he caves. "Anything you desire, my love."
She smiles, wicked. "Good."
As she speaks, Rosalie is already lowering his undergarments to free his stiffened manhood. Slowly, lovingly, she presses a deep kiss to the crown of his cock.
"You always make me feel so good with this gorgeous cock. It is only right that I return the favour."