So my husband left yesterday morning after his spontaneous erotic get off session. I drank my coffee on my back while enjoying his cum for hours. When I say hours, I mean the entire day!
I didn’t masturbate, no. I just stayed nestled under my decadent white goose down comforter and fingered my juicy pussy lips and typed on this blog. My stories got better, because I was hornier for sure. I should always write when I’m in this sensual mood, I noted.
And at 4:30pm, I looked up to see where the day had gone. What are the kids doing? Has everyone eaten? What about all of the things I wanted to do today? Crap, crap, crap. I need to get up.
I shimmied to the tub for a bath and ended up under the warm facet with my legs spread. My pussy got a special kind of douche.. the kind that feels like a wonderful secret. Ssh, no one can know that I let the power of water shoot inside of me and do my dirty work. She’s nice and clean now but I accidentally climaxed.
I really didn’t mean to. Really. I was trying to save it for sex with my husband later that night, but it literally came out of nowhere. No pun intended! And there I was convulsing with pleasure in our whirlpool tub alone and wondering if the running water discovered a new secret pleasure spot inside of me. Is there still uncharted territory in my feminine cave? I don’t think I let the water touch my clit. In fact I know I didn’t. I know better than to do that.
I was 9 when I discovered the pleasure that came from massaging my clit. It was then I began masturbating with water when I bathed. My parents had a handheld massage shower head, and as a young girl I would spend hours sitting in the tub with my legs spread and the apparatus turned to full pressure pressed up against my pussy. I made up fantasies and replayed them over and over again in my mind as I performed the ritual.
The older I got, the more nasty the stories became. I loved the build up and delayed the release. I showered for hours and my parents probably thought I just enjoyed getting clean. A few times I wondered if my deceased grandparents were spying on me from heaven with disdain or pride.
Regardless, I know the power of water from a facet on my clit. As an adult, I don’t enjoy orgasms from it because it’s too much too fast and requires no imagination or sexual exploration on my part. It also tends to temporarily ruins my orgasms. Kinda boring if you ask me.
My husband came home when he said he would.. a bit after 5pm. He found me where he left me. I was in our room, naked, typing on my computer and feeling very very sexy. The only difference was I was clean now! And this is when the switch up happened.
“You haven’t moved,” he exclaimed as he came in the door. His hands were black with engine grime. He’d been out with his uncle all day working on cars. It’s their hobby.
He plopped down next to me on the shaggy gray rug. I was perched higher on our fancy velvet lounge couch. “I kinda got stuck playing with my pussy all day, babe,” I said sheepishly assuming this information would make him wild with desire.
Just in case you haven’t figured it out already, my husband wants a lady in the street and a whore in the bed. Stories of me being naughty bring him to a climax faster than anything else. Generally if I tell him I stayed in bed and masturbated with his yummy salty cum still inside of me, he’d be burning to fuck. Yesterday was different.
“So you didn’t do anything else all day,” he asked with what seemed like budding criticism. “You just stayed inside and played with yourself?”
“And I wrote too. I wrote a lot of great stuff. Want me to read it to you?”
“Sure.”
So I did. I read aloud the “Dirty Pussy” post from yesterday. I made it through until the part when he mounted me in the morning and stopped. I couldn’t read any further. I realized I embellished the truth with fantasy. My horny mood made the language extra nasty. The ending didn’t really happen the way I wrote. He didn’t really tell me that his cum was my medicine and that I’m hornier, sexier, prettier with it inside of me. That’s what I wanted him to say.
My husband’s dick was rock hard and pointing like a gun out of his black sweat pants. “Please finish reading your story, honey.” He didn’t say he liked it, just that he wanted to hear it all. I needed more encouragement than that.
“I can’t.” I shut the computer and changed the subject.
He didn’t beg. I didn’t budge. Something about him was different. Or maybe it was me.
I felt like the sexiest most erotic stripper at the gentleman’s club and my husband was the unaffected patron sitting in the corner sipping his scotch. You know that cocky guy…. the one who looks up every minute or so to glance at the naked dancer on the pole only to look back down at his phone uninterested. His dick is hard. It’s always hard, always ready to fuck, but she’s going to have to work much harder to get his full attention. He’s what my husband calls “gangster.” Girls are easy so he calls the shots.
Last night I sucked that gangster’s dick for at least at hour. I wanted to give him a mind blowing orgasm with my hands and mouth. He and his inflated ego laid back in bed, and I stroked his dick like he was paying me. I sucked it hard too. My lips puffed up as I ventured from the tip to shaft over and over and over again.
The coconut oil made it slippery. His dick was throbbing hard in my hands. Yum. I wanted to open my mouth, stick out my tongue, and let his juicy thick cum squirt all over my face. I had plans, you see.
He moaned with pleasure from all of my hard work, but my tireless attempt was ultimately unsuccessful. He ended up jacking himself off in my mouth. I definitely need to work on my skills.
I didn’t want to have sex with him because he told me before the blow job that he had already satisfied his daily chore of “having sex with me” that morning. Que gangster. He said he just wanted to sleep instead.
After he came in my mouth, I cuddled up next to him. “Does my breath smell like dick?”
“Yep.” No emotion.
The juices flowed between my legs. I’m now the insatiable one. My little pussy feels like an empty hole. I need to fill it. I need his big dick. Am I really that girl? I swear he hears my thoughts. He was erect in no time.
I jumped on him and rode him slow and steady and whimpered. “Fuck, I need you. I need your dick.” I was begging and melting at the same time. His dick was deep inside of my body holding it up. He kissed my lips, my neck, and sucked my pink nipples, but his attitude held tight at gangster.
There’s something about this switch up he enjoys. It turns him into something else all together. Maybe it’s the man he really wants to be. Usually he’s pushing me to be more sexual. Now I feel like he’s kinda punishing me for it. Or is he just playing with me?
“I want you to cum,” he whispered in my ear. “Wanna put your butt in the air?”
“No.” I’m stubborn.
“How do you want it?” I swear he’s got a scotch glass somewhere around here.
“I don’t know.” I’m acting like a spoiled little brat.
“Turn over and touch yourself.”
So I did. I put a pillow under my butt, opened my legs wide, and massaged my clit while he plunged all of his gangster dick into my desperate pussy.
Like a silly girlfriend, I asked him why he was different. He said it’s human nature to want what you don’t have.
Annoyed, I concentrated on pleasuring myself and pretended he was someone else, another gangster who was using me for my pussy. It worked for him, but not for me.
He blasted another shot of cum in me. That’s the third time today. My pussy left me ultimately unsatisfied and astray.
I’m pouting with my bottom lip turned up. “I need more,” I said.
“That’s all you get,” he pulled out and walked off.
Damn water facet. I told you I didn’t like that thing.