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I have many guy friends who talk about their sex life, married or unmarried, and they often tinge these discussions with complaints about frequency or type of sex they have. I generally just provide a willing ear; I NEVER complain about our sex life (really nothing to complain about in all our decades), nor do I brag or evince particular satisfaction with mine, out of respect for their feelings. No one likes a bragger.
So on my birthday recently, it wasn't time for my annual blow job, or whatever. In fact, it started the night before. As has become usual, we went to bed late; you were working on that present for our son's friend. You gave me the key to go get cleaned out, which I did, with you wearing the midnight blue slip I offered you. You were on the bed, laying in the opposite direction (so you wouldn't fall asleep, watching something on the ipad. Bridezillas? I don't know, because when I came out of the bathroom about ten minutes later, you were sleeping.
If I could have picked you up and put you to bed without waking you, I would have. You looked so sweet, curled up on top of the quilt you made that we use for our cover. But as soon as I touched you, you giggled like you do, when I wake you up from unintended sleep. You apologized, and I think I begged you not to. Your comfort is my goal.
I thought we should just go to bed, and (I think) I put away your harness and dildo. We got ready to get in bed, with our ritual. I on my knees in front of you, arms around you, looking up, with you smiling down at me. I love that it took you almost three weeks to figure out that I thanked you for something different, something from that day.
We finished our rituals, and you started to put me to bed. First my wrist cuffs, then my ankle cuffs, but before I could lie down, you started kissing me. Mrs. Fillmore, it is not hard to kiss you. You're very kissable. It's funny, but ever since I gave myself to you, I think we've spent about 10% Of our waking hours making out or otherwise caressing or spending similar erotic time together.
One thing led to another, and I was aroused and you were so wet that you moaned. You pulled me on top of you and it was amazing. I slid into you, and it was so warm and tight, just lovely. Your legs were wrapped around me, and your hands everywhere, caressing, pinching, flicking, or just holding me. Your face, beautiful when you are just sitting on the couch texting your sister, gets positively radiant when we are making love. All your tensions drain away and your expression is open and ... yearning is the word, I think.
So I made love to you. I stroked in and out, and it made me think of how good you have got at doing this, too. You keep the same rhythm as I do when I am face down ass up in front of you, with you pounding away at me. It was this I thought of as I was firm, but still trying to be gentle. In and out, and with each stroke your face would change, each different face a different look of passion. A wicked combination of lust and love.
I could have gone for hours like that. The feeling was sublime, like I had electric leads connected to my erogenous zones, and each push into you sent a pulse through my body.
It's true, it had been ages since I came inside you. It wasn't due to any fears of pregnancy or disease, just something I couldn't do in the past. And, honestly, I didn't think I could now. I know you love it, but I have just been so much inside my own head that I essentially turned myself into a tantric master unintentionally.
This was running through my head when you pulled me down to you to whisper something into my ear. This is where you would talk dirty to me in the past. You would promise me you would fuck me so hard in the ass with your biggest dildo that I would be weeping for mercy, and more along that line. But this time was different. This time your message was shorter, sweeter, and an amazing promise that immediately changed my mental chemistry.
"If you come inside me I will sit on your face and I'll let you eat me out."
Just that little sentence. It was like an 8.8 on the Richter Scale running through my body, coalescing into the most intense feeling of pleasure in my penis as it slid into your vagina. You were so warm and moist, and yet still clenching down on me with each stroke. I knew then that I was about to come. When you fingers flew up to my nipples, that was the final straw, the match to the fuse.
I exploded inside you. You could feel each individual pulse, a new sensation for you. It was with wonder and amazement that you related this to me, even as I was still coming, shooting my semen deep into you. When I was done, I subsided, and you held me for just a little bit, and then your hands were guiding me, pushing me off of you and onto my back in the middle of the bed. I was physically spent, so moved by our lovemaking. I almost forgot about your promise, the promise that put me over the top.
But you soon reminded me, sliding up and over me, and then pulling yourself up by so you could reach the headboard. You hooked each of my hands to the separate d-rings by my cuffs, and then settled down on me, your pulsing womanhood, warm and wet, coming directly down on my mouth. I opened up, and licked at you. You were hot, almost on fire, and tasted of both your beautiful natural flavor (I love it SO much) and my come. It was amazing. I opened up, and sucked a little at your lips.
That's when I got a real pleasant surprise. You bore down on me, and I was glad I had taken a breath. I licked and sucked at you, and almost immediately, my huge load of come slid right out of you and into my mouth. It was so much, and you had so buried yourself into me, I had no choice but to swallow it immediately. It was so hot, and I could feel myself getting hard again.
But I wouldn't get a chance to use my new erection, because you were like a wild animal. Grinding into my face, moaning each time my tongue flicked at your clitoris, sighing when I sucked your labia into my mouth. Then you started queening me in earnest. Queening, the art of sitting on someone's face and using them to bring yourself to orgasm, is so incredibly erotic and beautiful. It is so empowering and such a raw expression of desire, and that desire's fulfillment, that it was emotionally moving for me. I had been begging you for years to do this, but you had always demurred, either self-conscious or worried about my comfort. I'm so grateful that our new dynamic allows you to take advantage of this.
This time you pressed down and I worked my mouth and tongue as quickly as I could, aching to give you an orgasm. I would steal breaths when you would let up, and try my best to go as long as I could and not send you any signals that indicated I wanted you to let up. It was just such a wonderful moment of complete and total surrender to your joy and happiness that I was in heaven.
And then it was over. You were shaking slightly, and I knew what was coming. Then you started quaking in earnest, and while you held on for longer than usual, pretty soon you pulled yourself off of me. As I've learned, I immediately stopped and did not try to lick you any more, like I used to do. No, I just reveled in your inability to articulate any coherent thought as you clung to the headboard and gasped for breath. I gently kissed your inner thighs, playfully licking at you and kissing what I could reach, all while avoiding your vagina so as not to cause you that post-orgasm discomfort.
Afterwards, you held me and we kissed. It was past midnight, so it was really my first birthday president of this year. It was pretty much my favorite present ever. I absolutely loved it, and will always have that memory.
