On our anniversary, she wore black lace lingerie, her large breasts barely concealed beneath the sheer fabric. I ripped open her skirt, my fingers probing her already soaked vulva. She bit her lip, letting out a suppressed moan. I made her lean against the windowsill and thrust into her from behind, each stroke hitting the deepest point, the sounds of flesh colliding mingling with her cries of pleasure. She turned to look at me, her eyes glazed, tears streaming down her cheeks, crying out, "Husband, fuck me to death." I quickened my thrusts, the head of my penis rubbing against her sensitive spots, causing her to tremble, her juices flowing down her thighs. Finally, I pulled out and ejaculated wildly into her face, the semen splattering on her eyelashes and lips. She licked it with her tongue, a satisfied, lewd smile spreading across her face. Anniversaries should be marked like this with my semen, so she will always remember who her master is.
