Scratching that Itch
Routine doesn’t have to mean boring
She likes sex at night, in the dark. I like sex during the day, in the sunlight. With blackout curtains, we compromise at dawn.
Pad downstairs, pour two shots, vodka for her, Irish whiskey for me. We toast, and fall into each other.
I scratch her back, she scr.. sucks my dick. Mutual pleasure-giving at its finest. It doesn’t take long, and she lets the cum dribble from her mouth back onto my cock.
She lays back, lifts her thighs and spreads her folds, wanting, craving. I duck down eagerly, like bobbing for apples, instead it’s my tongue that’s lapping up and down her erect nub. I spread the moisture around, even as she continues to drip some more.
I slide a couple of fingers inside, hooked upwards to rub against her g-spot. She shudders when I find it, hips raise off the bed as her legs clamp around my ears. My persistence and her insistence work in tandem and we’re both fully primed.
I’m hard again, I crawl up and into her. She’s been ready and pulls me in hungrily. This is not the time nor place for slow, languorous lovemaking and this we agree on.
Her long fingernails claw at the small of my back, urging me to slam into her. The second coming, pun fully intended, is always a tricky one, and needs some good old mindless fucking.
Sometimes it takes a while, and a breather, other times she gets up and pushes me down, mounting me instead. Her knees straddle my abdomen as she bounces up and down on my hips, taking more and more of me inside her with each motion.
The slapping, thudding, creaking and groaning all combine in a cacophony that rises in volume and intensity. Her moans and my grunts don’t always go in sync, and our rutting is almost grotesque as I knead and squeeze her tits, her hands on mine urging me to savage her even as she ravages me.
And then, just when we don’t think we could fuck faster, harder or louder, we find another gear and ratchet it up another notch. Eventually, we both hit the peak and fly off into the abyss, collapsing in a sweaty heap of limbs.
Exhausted “I love you’s” are mumbled as we fall back onto the long-suffering bed. She likes to nuzzle up in my armpit, head on my outstretched arm. I like to sleep stretched out and unencumbered. We compromise, snuggling for a bit before sliding apart as we both drift off to sleep for another couple of hours. Sundays are wonderful days.
More from Cal on Tantalizing Tales…