A filthy confession of housewife cock praise and worship

I pace barefoot across the tile, apron still tied at my waist, waiting for the sound of keys in the door. My lipstick is fresh, my hair pinned neatly, but my body hums with something filthy. I am not just his wife tonight, I am his altar. And the only prayer I know is cock praise. Cock praise is not just about sucking, it is about worship, about devotion, about obsession. It is the way I let every inch consume me, the way I surrender with spit dripping down my chin, looking up at him as if he were the only thing that mattered. To praise a man’s cock is to remind him he is powerful, needed, irresistible. When I am on my knees, I am not just giving pleasure, I am giving myself over completely, showing him he is my god, and I will kneel until my throat is raw if that is what it takes to prove it.

Every tick of the clock sharpens my craving. I picture him stepping inside, loosening his tie, watching me already waiting on the floor where I belong. Maybe I will play the part of the patient obedient housewife. Maybe I will pout and confess that I touched myself while I waited. Either way, the apron, the clean house, the careful waiting, it is all just the setup. Because the real service begins the moment he unzips his pants.

Why cock praise is the ultimate form of devotion

Praise is messy, dripping, sloppy, shameless. I love when spit runs down my tits, when I choke myself just to show him how much I want it, when my mascara streaks down my cheeks and my chest heaves with the effort. On my knees I am a good little housewife. On my knees I am nothing but a mouth, a throat, a begging hole for him to use. And that is exactly how I like it. His cock deserves to be worshiped, and I was born to be the one to do it.

Some women crave roses or diamonds. I crave the weight of cock on my tongue, the sting of his grip in my hair, the heat of his release painting the back of my throat. That is my confession, my obsession. To be filled, used, adored, ruined. To remind him that when he comes home, his cock has already been claimed, by me, by my lips, by my hunger. And when he finally groans and spills himself deep inside, I swallow every drop with a smile. Because that is what worship looks like. That is what devotion tastes like.