The kissing was so passionate, like we connected lip to lip and fireworks went off all around us. It was sweet and succulent as I nibbled ever so delicately on him breathing enchantingly and delivering myself fully to the moment.
Last night was the night of breasts. I pushed my buxom chest against his as we locked mouths and felt his fingers run down my back. Eventually they found my nipples and stayed there for awhile squeezing and rubbing gently. Warm erotic feelings pulsed through my body and out my mouth as my tongue made love to his.
God, I could do this forever, I thought. The desire in my pussy was enormous spilling over itself with each intoxicating kiss begging me to beg for more, but I didn’t. My mind had no space to think, control, or make decisions. Like pussy on a platter, my entire body was there to be devoured in whatever way my husband chose. Surrendering is the best feeling to me when I allow myself to go there, and I’ve been practicing surrender a lot lately. It’s getting easier to achieve.
My husband touched my hand and motioned for me to touch his dick. He was laying on his back with his head propped up on a pillow. I was naked with my breasts still wedged up against him and one leg casually over his. His dick was hardening on its own, but my initial squeeze quickened the pace.
Up and down I stroked with my left hand sending love and devotion into every sensual cell in his body. It’s interesting to note that rubbing his dick sent tingly feelings through me too making my pussy wetter, more desperate and yet disciplined awaiting her master to signal for her to come. We kissed more.
“Wow, Stella, such sweet kisses,” he remarked.
I was melted butter pretending to have form but slowly pooling up all over him. My fingers caressed his blond hair, his strong neck, his manly chest and then back down to his dick before he made the signal for me to put my lips where my hand was. I obeyed of course and took all of his masculinity into my mouth, choking just a little when the tip reached the back of my throat.
“That’s a good girl,” he moaned. “You, you, you!! Wow.”
If I could bottle up how I felt and sell it, I’d be a billionaire. There’s nothing better than making love to the man I love slowly, passionately, patiently awaiting more like a horny whore in a chastity belt. I grinded a little on him as he ran his fingers through my hair and watched as his dick disappeared then reappeared then disappeared then reappeared. It was all so sexy.
Finally he signaled for my pussy. He’d been touching her a little and fully aware of the wetness that was enveloping her entirely. A part of him enjoyed making her wait while he fucked my mouth instead. He loves being in control and he loves knowing I’m tame but teased beyond my wildest dreams. This is how sex should be.
I mounted him and slowly lowered down sighing deeply as his dick reached the center of my world, the place of perpetual pleasure. He rested there for a moment while we both caught our breaths. It was the spot, the future home of my internal vaginal orgasm and it’s more sensitive than ever. I’m getting there, I just know it. Good things come to those who wait.
The rocking started like a sensual dance. I swayed back and forth, up and down adulating my spine and moaning when sensations felt especially good. I rested on his chest and nibbled at his neck letting him take charge from the bottom fucking me hard and then softly while chanting his stories into my ear.
My husband was so hard, he could have climaxed in seconds but held it. It’s funny that we are on opposite ends of the spectrum. At some point I tried to suck his dick again but he didn’t let me. He said it would be too much for him and that he needed to focus on me.
So we switched positions. I now wonder if it was his idea or mine?
He spread my legs and slipped himself into my juicy glove, but something changed, something shifted, the intense love we were making subsided somehow. I peered up at him and saw the exhaustion in his eyes. He was tired, and it wasn’t because he’d been fucking me for hours in the pushup position and needed a physical break from the extreme effort of the sport. My husband was tired because he’d spent all weekend working on his boat and tinkering on his motorcycles and playing with his toys. The awareness made me sad.
“You’re tired, sweetheart,” I said bringing awareness to the truth.
“Yeah, I am. So?”
“Well, it makes me feel like you don’t desire me.”
He lightened up and looked at me. “Well, you have me on a fuck checklist everyday.”
“I see.. a checklist that both of us decided to get on?” The hurt went deeper.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He said getting off of me.
It wasn’t as if I was mad at him. Not at all. But it hurts to feel like making love to me is the afterthought of his day instead of a major event that is revered and patiently awaited. He spent all of his energy on something else and has crumbs left for me.
And then for him to say that he’s on a checklist for sex… that’s too much. “I’m not trying to control our love. I’ve gotten good at letting go and I can let go of our daily sex challenge. If you don’t want it, then it’s done. Poof! We’ll have sex whenever you’re in the mood. You can also masturbate all you want. You are free.”
My body closed and dried up like sand. He attempted to continue sex so he could get off, but I’d lost my spark and wasn’t fun to fuck anymore. The emotions swirling through my veins came from my heart not my brain, and I couldn’t rationalize them away. It’s the downside of being in your body fully present in the moment, you’re attuned to everything including your partner’s lack of true interest.
“Please, Stella, just let me fuck you for a minute or so,” he begged.
“No,” I rolled over. My genius was gone. My goddess went home. The amazing intimacy from just moments before felt now like a lucid dream.