The Heart of Pleasure

The Heart of Pleasure

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The Heart of Pleasure
The Heart of Pleasure
No Longer Just A Loungeroom

No Longer Just A Loungeroom

A temple of desire

Bryony Jack's avatar
Bryony Jack
Jul 08, 2025
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The Heart of Pleasure
The Heart of Pleasure
No Longer Just A Loungeroom
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Please note; this is an erotic short story. It may not be suitable content to read at work. Reader discretion is advised.

I had just closed my laptop after a long day of relentless study, pressing my fingers into my eyes, relieving the strain that was on them from staring at the screen all day.

My husband came up behind me, sliding his hands around my waist and breathing on my neck through the wisps of hair that had fallen from my loose ponytail.

I leaned into him. Into the comfort and safety of his arms around me. My legs parting automatically at his touch.

“The baby’s finally asleep,” he whispered in my ear before gently nibbling on it. I squirmed in my seat, half trying to get away from him, half leaning in for more.

His hand slid lower, tracing the line of my belly, over the soft cotton of my skirt. He paused just above my waistband.

"I want to taste you here." he murmured. I could tell there was a hint of a smile on his lips as he brushed my temple with a swift, yet hungry, kiss.

I didn’t answer. I just tilted my head to the side, granting him further access to my neck, the silent permission clear in the way I exhaled and arched into him.

He dropped to his knees behind me, gently turning my chair so I faced him fully. My legs parted easily, already wet from the anticipation and I could smell the sweet scent of my pussy. It was intoxicating — so vibrant and earthy. It made my turn on that much more palpable.

He pressed his cheek to the inside of my thigh and inhaled deeply.

“Mmm... you smell delicious,” he said, looking up at me with dark eyes full of hunger and reverence. I couldn’t agree me.

He lifted the material of my skirt, exposing the delicate lace of my underwear, where a small, glistening patch of amrita had begun to bloom. A delicious, sacred offering.

His fingers traced the wetness through the mesh, dragging the soaked fabric upward so the seam nestled perfectly against my aching clitoris — the pressure both maddening and divine.

And then he lowered his mouth.

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