“Let’s cuddle and go to sleep,” my husband said nestled like a little boy in my bosom. His face rested on my breast and his tongue could reach one nipple which he lapped at happily. His legs intertwined with mine and his hands held my butt firmly. The position was the opposite of our usual puzzle piece spoon but equally comfortable.
“Cuddle and go to sleep?” I was genuinely surprised. “What would your 25-yr-old self think of you now? Curled up with a sexy lady and desiring sleep…”
“Oh, hush, Stella!”
“Ok. Whatever you say, my king,” I said sarcastically. It wasn’t like I was a raging horn bag or anything, but I could have easily been swayed.
His hair was disheveled and his face looked tired, for sure. Despite that, my husband raised himself up and over my body. “I had a great time with you yesterday, my queen, my pussy queen.”
“And I enjoyed you making the rules. It feels so controlling and fun,” I giggled as I wiggled. His body landed between my legs and his hand on my pussy mound. Whatever happens, happens, just let go, Stella. I do a lot of pep talking to myself.
I really don’t remember exactly how it started, but I do remember the words “My dick knows what to do, let him pleasure you,” really turning me on. In fact, lots of words influenced the sensations inside of me. “Shut up and feel, you think too much,” also delighted my pussy and made her more juicy.
I was on my back mainly with my legs spread in various ways. My husband kept reminding me to relax, let go, let him pleasure me, stop thinking, give myself to him, and feel. “I only want you to talk if something hurts you.”
“That’s not true! You want me to tell you when it feels good,” I smiled already half drunk on sex.
“Ok, you’re right. Just don’t tell me what to do. Let me pleasure you, my love. Your pussy isn’t my fuck toy anymore, she’s the queen and I want to make her feel amazing.”
I did my best to turn off the thoughts even thought they did creep up from time to time. At some point I was glad to know that I had no control over my stomach or my pussy or my face or my arms. My body was au natural lapping up the luxury of being fingered and fucked and licked and loved. My belly fat jiggled and my expression must not have been sexy, but I didn’t care. I had nothing to prove. I am good enough just as I am.
“That’s my good girl.”
I could hear juices sloshing around down there.
A few times surprising thoughts arose in my mind, thoughts of being with a man nearly seven years and not giving him the glory, the opportunity, to showcase his ability to take me higher than I’d ever been. How is that possible? Each insertion, each sensation, every stroke was littered with tiny little sparks of gold. The moans were rhythmic and guttural, like an animal in labor but without pain, just pleasure.
I let go more.
“That’s some good pussy. She’s my golden goddess.”
I don’t know what all he was doing. Was it one finger or four? Was I sucking his dick or not? How hard was he, how deep was he, how fast was he rubbing me? I’m afraid, dear reader, I can’t answer that. All I can say is at some point in the middle of the epic chaos the yumminess turned into rolling jolts of ecstasy that lasted far longer than I’ve ever experienced in my life. He was using his fingers and doing things to me that no one has ever done before.
Intoxication was in full effect as I laid there taking all of the love my husband had to give. He was an animal full of energy and purpose. I think he could have gone on all night had my body allowed it or had I wanted more more more of this crazy fucking mess.
He was there and then he cam and then he fell asleep. We didn’t cuddle or talk about the affects. I was gone, somewhere in heaven I think. Or was it bliss or nirvana or just plain ole delicious wonderful soulful sex.