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Vanilla Spice

Vanilla Spice

A wife tries to spice up a boring sex life...
This story available only on Lush Stories.

Ah, that oft-used, ill-used word “vanilla”. Vanilla essence, vanilla pods, vanilla custard… Sometimes, she supposed, a lass just wants a bit more spice in her life. Perhaps not so much that it requires the toilet roll to be left in the fridge overnight, but just enough to bring on the tingling lower regions' burn that speaks of a flavoursome dish that went down like a shot and filled the inside comfortably full.

Tonight was going to be different. Tonight, she was going to make him fuck her brains out.

She stopped and thought about that, and decided that all things considered, having one’s brains fucked out sounded rather dangerous. In fact, it positively negated any future (legal) fucking scenarios altogether. She finally decided that a simple good, hard fuck would do, and she would keep her brains intact.

Full… a full pussy was what she was wanting. And not just the standard, sweet, gentle, missionary, precious-little-lover time they usually had. No, this time she wanted to feel like a complete slut. And she was prepared for it, too. She’d taken an afternoon off from work under the guise of a hospital appointment, and paid a trip to a local lingerie shop. She’d hidden the bag in “her” side of the bathroom cupboard under the sink, behind the economy packs of tampons and various lady-lotions guaranteed to have him avoiding it at all costs. She knew he would never discover what was in store for him until she was ready for it.

And man, was she ready! Stood in the kitchen, wearing her black balconette bra, a size too small so that her generous breasts bulged slightly over the top, and feeling the sexy discomfort of the wedgie from her lacy wisp of a thong, she waited…

He was late. Bloomin’ typical! She sat on the cold vinyl chair at the table, feeling the chill spread her cheeks, as she ate the last bag of Pickled Onion Monster Munch. She knew he’d be annoyed when he tasted it on her lips. Monster Munch and cartoon socks. He was so predictable.

She looked down at her cleavage, pushing her upper arms inwards to make her boobs look bigger, and releasing them quickly so they wobbled alluring. She wondered if jellies had first been invented by a horny man, just so he could poke them and imagine they were breasts.

Finally she heard the sound of his key in the door. She quickly shuffled herself on the chair, realising her skin had stuck and having to carefully peel herself off so she could arrange herself in an inviting manner. After throwing first one arm and then other over her head, stretching backwards, nearly tipping over the chair, and finally settling on simply sitting with her legs wide open and hands on her hips, she waited for him to walk into the kitchen (as he always did, Mr. Habitual Tea-drinker).

She watched as he appeared in the doorway, apathetically reading his newspaper as he walked across the kitchen, kissing her on top of the head and flicking the kettle on (he always made sure it was full for the next time).

She quickly shuffled round, legs still splayed, leaning sideways with her elbow on the table to better display her bulging bra. She shook back a tendril of hair and coughed pointedly.

He frowned at the paper, shook it and closed it, and placed it on the countertop, turning to lean on it and looked at his wife. For a moment, he simply looked, as if she was wearing jeans and a jumper. And then he realised something was different. He looked down at the two creamy mountains vying for his attention, at the little curved belly, and at the barely-there drift of lace hardly covering his wife’s “personal area”. He couldn’t ever call it anything else.

A creeping blush rose on his cheeks. He stared between her legs with his mouth slightly open. His eyes attempted to drag themselves back up to her breasts, but didn’t quite make it, every time bouncing back down to the small triangle.

The kettle reached boiling point, thundering its steamy chaos into the silence, and giving an almighty click as it reached climax.

“Well?” she demanded.

He still couldn’t bring his eyes up, magnetised by the alien fabric barely covering her.

She took a deep breath, and took the leap into the realm of getting what she’d fantasised about for months.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?”

He gaped at her. They had always called it “Making Love” before.

“Am I… what?”

“Are you going to fuck me like the slut whore that I am, or do I have to get a cucumber out of the fridge and go fuck myself?”

“Are… what?…” He blundered sounds out of his mouth, nothing quite coherent.

She got up, grabbed him by his sensible tie, sat him down on her chair, and stood before him, her breasts pushed into his face so that he went cross-eyed in his staring.

“Let me put it another way. Are you going to bend me over this table and fuck the shit out of me from behind, or am I going to get a cucumber out of the fridge and do it myself?”

“Are you what?” The shock was clear, and he had no control. She spread her legs and sat astride him. She could see she needed to be a little bit more gentle with him. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, and kissing him from there, up to his ear, and gently nibbling the edges, she whispered, “Listen, love, I need some spice. I need to you to fuck me hard from behind and use me like a whore, or I’m going to have to find some fun elsewhere. I love you, but I have needs, desires, wants, and they need dealing with right now.”

She swapped sides and nibbled his other ear, grinding her now-wet pussy onto his trousers.

“I want you to bend me over this table, slap my arse, talk dirty to me, and then fuck me as hard as you possibly can. I will make it worth your while, I promise.”

She continued nibbling, interspersing tiny bites with little licks into his ear.

Breathlessly, he said, “That’s… not very hygienic...” She kissed him on the mouth, still grinding, and pushed her tongue between his lips, running it over his teeth and lapping at his tongue. He pulled back suddenly.

“Did you eat my Monster Munch?! That was my last packet!”

She knew she was getting to him, she could feel him growing harder by the second.

“Yes I did, I need dealing with. I’ll wipe the table afterwards. Tell me what you’re going to do to me…”

“I’m… I’m going to… what do you want me to say?”

“Tell me how you’re going to spank me for being a dirty slut, and how you’re going to fill me with your cock.” She stood up, heaving her breasts into his face and holding him there with her hands behind his neck.

Immersed in her cleavage with only his panicked eyes showing, he stared up at her, and she could hear the muffled reply, “That’s not very nice talk”.

She took a stride back and folded her arms so that her bra and its contents were pushed up, and stood with her legs apart and a petulant look upon her face.

“No, it isn’t very nice. It’s very naughty. And naughty girls need their arses smacked, and a good hard fuck to shut them up.”

He still sat there agape, looking at her. He couldn’t help himself; his eyes drifted down again, first roaming over her breasts and down to her thong again. She knew she was very close to getting what she wanted.

“You know you want to. Look, I made your cock all hard.”

He looked down at his own crotch and saw that she had rubbed her juice all over his trousers, making them wet. He jumped up in a panic, running for a paper towel.

“These are dry-clean only! Oh god, you've ruined them!” He looked back at her in horror, the tent of his erect cock holding the big wet patch towards her.

She smirked and shifted her weight onto one leg.

“Don’t care.”

She looked at him from under her brows, a naughty smile on her face.

Something snapped in him as he suddenly realised what this stranger of a wife was up to.

“You nasty little bitch! Get your fucking arse over that table and up in the air now!”

Her eyes widened.


“You heard me! Get over that table, I’m going to smack your dirty fucking arse for getting your fucking pussy juices all over these trousers.”

They stood staring at each other.

“Make me,” she said.

In two strides he was over to where she was, roughly pulled her round so her back was to him, and walked her to the table.

“Get your arse in the air, bitch.”

Immediately she bent over the table, legs apart and shaking, the small of her back lowered so her creamy buttocks were pushed up, displayed to optimum effect, a large double-shining moon of inviting, plump flesh.

“I’m going to smack your dirty arse and then I’m going to fuck it hard, you nasty little whore”.

Suddenly, the confidence fell away. He stood there for a moment, unsure and worried. She mistook it for teasing, and moaned and wriggled, willing him to slap and fuck her.

Unfortunately, he’d already used up his porno vocabulary and he was now stuck for a next move. Reverently and sheepishly, he bent himself over the table next to her, and they lay side by side, staring at each other, cheeks on table and almost nose to nose.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Am I doing it right?” he whispered back.

“Yes, you’re brilliant! Hurry up, I want it bad!”

“I don’t know what I’m meant to do now!”

“Well, spank me a bit, and then tell me how you’re going to fuck me, and then fuck me.”

“How hard should I do it?”

“I don’t know, just try and we’ll see what happens.”

“And what am I meant to say? How do I say how I’ll fuck you?”

“Just start talking, and see what happens!”

He lay there a moment longer, biting his lip. Then he kissed her on the cheek and got up.

“Alright, you little bitch whore cow from Hell. Here it comes…”

Again, she wriggled her arse, making the expanse wobble either side of her thong. He positioned himself slightly to the side of her and put one arm over the top of her hips. He looked down at her, raised his hand a little way, and gave her a very gentle tap – just enough to make a noise, not enough to hurt. She wriggled again and moaned.

He hit her a little harder, enough to make her cheek wobble. He liked the look of that and he did it again, much harder.

“OW!” She wriggled in pain that time, not for the sake of inviting him.

“Sorry!” he said. He went back to lightly slapping her, enjoying the gentle sound and sight of his wife’s arse wriggling and bouncing beneath his hands, and the sound of her moans as she enjoyed the attention.

It went on some time, as he was caught in the fascination of watching that bounce, like those silver balls hung on strings that click in sequence against each other, endlessly swinging back and forth – pointless for the watcher, but fascinating nonetheless.

Eventually she could feel herself going off the boil, and even, to her alarm, a little bored!

“Tell me how you’re going to fuck me!”

He stood, arm over her hips, hand on her arse cheek. He thought.

“I’m gonna do you, I am.”

“Oooo, yes. How are you going to do me?”

“Um… I’m… I’m gonna do you proper hard.”

“Mmmmmm… what will you do to my pussy?”

Still motionless, he thought frantically.

“I’m gonna shove my cock in it.”

“Ooooooo, yesssss. Will you fill me up and bang me hard?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna fill you as full as an egg.”


“I’m gonna fill you as full as an egg.”

“What does that even mean??”

“I don’t know. I think it just means really full.”

They were both still.

He whispered, “Shall I fuck you now?”

She whispered back, “Yes please!"

He stood behind her, and looked at her red cheeks. They really were very pretty. His cock, which had begun to go softer with the mesmerism of the gentle spanking, suddenly grew stiff again, and he released it from its wet tent. He moved closer to her, and suddenly wondered what he was meant to do about the thong, having never been in close proximity to one before. Should he move it aside? Take it off? Could he actually go through it?

She seemed to sense the problem, and reached a hand round to move the little scraps aside. He looked at her, arse in the air, pussy dewing in the early evening light, and smiled. He had never had his wife this way before, and he was increasingly thinking what a good idea it was.

He gently rubbed the glistening head of his cock on her inner thighs, up, over the top of her “chocolate starfish” (the one amusing word he allowed for body parts), and down to circle her little hole. She groaned, wriggling more and trying to push backwards so he would enter her.

“Not when you’re ready, woman! When I’m ready!”

“When will you be ready?”

“In a minute. Get on your knees."


“Get on your knees with your arse in the air – it suits you”

She got off the table, nipples now spilling over the top of the bra, and got on all fours on the floor. Again she wiggled invitingly. He got on his knees, and again, circled her hole with his head until he could stand it no longer, and thrust inside!

Suddenly frantic, he was as deep as he could get, his helmet smooshing against her cervix as his balls smooshed against her arse. He held it there for a moment, just feeling the depth and delighting at her gasps of delighted shock.

Anxious not only to cum, but to relieve his knees of the cold, hard floor, he began to thrust rhythmically, grunting at his wife as he entered,

“You… fucking… whore… how… do… you… like… this… take … it… hard… and… deep… and…"

Her whole body was being pushed along the cold floor with the force of his entries, making her limbs flail sideways as she scrambled to get purchase anywhere to anchor herself to the spot. She ended up with one shoulder up against the cupboard by the back door, looking ironically out of the smeared cat flap from the previous owners as her own pussy flaps were hammered from behind. She couldn’t speak for the sheer overwhelming feeling of her husband finally fucking her doggy style… She came in waves of pounding magnitude, only aware of the glorious orgasming of her whole lower body, still feeling the relentless pounding under the surface of it.

It was less than a minute after she found herself pushed up against the cupboard, still only half way through her own ecstasy that he grabbed hold of her hips painfully hard, and gave four deep, pelvic-splitting thrusts, and came hot and heaving inside her.

His cries of agonising joy mingled with her sobs as they rolled on the waves together, still squished up against the cupboard, breasts completely free of the bra and kissing the floor, knees reddened and sore, and his cock still deep inside her, hot cum draining out in a mix of her juices.

He rocked over her as the throes began to slowly subside, and gasped out,

“Next… time… I… get… the.. spanking…”

She had a sneaking suspicion that their vanilla sex was going to be a little bit spicier in future.

This story available only on Lush Stories.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright ©2017 Daisy Shylass. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be reproduced, displayed, modified or distributed without prior permission. Please be respectful of my intellectual property.

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