The night before, we fucked like animals – on our knees, on the floor, wild and with abandon. He didn’t cum.
He’s told me before that he doesn’t always need to orgasm in order to enjoy sex. I like that about him. But I still want him to get off, too, ya know?
The next morning, the smell of sex still permeating the room and our skin, and we took a shower together. I honestly don’t think he planned any of it ahead of time. For once, I think it just happened.
Standing next to him in the shower, I kissed his cheek. While he washed his face, I playfully slapped his butt, giggling at my own daring. He turned around slowly, an evil glint I know well in his eye. Reaching behind me, he smacked my ass – properly, not in the novice way I’d done it. I whimpered. Skin connecting to skin followed by a sharp sting of pain felt so good.
He wrapped his hand around my wet hair, forcing me to my knees. I opened my mouth, taking all of his cock down my throat. He swelled even more, gagging me. I could have stayed down there all day, but he knew better. He always does. Pulling me back up, he wrapped his arms around me, crushing my body against his, devouring my mouth with his. I melted in his arms.
Before I knew it, he turned me around, forcing me to bend over. We’re the exact same height but the tub is slanted. I stood on my tiptoes, arching my back just so, and groaned as I felt him slide all the way in. He fucked me in the shower. My tits swayed wildly. His hips and my ass made a delicious slapping sound. I braced myself against the shower wall, determined to stay in position. After several minutes, though, my legs began to give out. My toes went numb, and my knees were on fire. I started to chant, “I can’t stand up. I can’t stand up.”
I switched my arms. I subtly re-positioned myself. I wanted him to keep going. I wanted him to cum. And ohhhhh, God, that angle had him pounding directly into my g-spot. But I couldn’t hold it anymore. I just couldn’t. Finally, he realized I was close to collapse and stopped.
I turned around, hiding my face in his neck, ignoring the water running over us. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I just couldn’t hold it anymore.”
He reassured me that everything was fine, that he didn’t need to orgasm. I didn’t like that. It didn’t feel fair.
I reached down between us and began to stroke his cock. Faster and faster, I kept my grip firm, as he’d taught me he liked it. Moments later, he realized I didn’t intend to stop. Grabbing his body soap, he drizzled a bit over my fingers. The lubrication helped. My hand moved faster over his slippery shaft.
He kissed me as I stroked him. He groaned into my neck as I gripped him. I could feel the water beginning to cool slightly, and I didn’t care. I wanted him to have this moment. I wanted to hear the animal sounds he always makes when he cums. I wanted him to have a little of what he’d given me over the past 24 hours.
My arm never tired which surprised me. My hand moved in rhythm, unwavering. I lost myself a bit in the moment. Until he grabbed my hair, pulling hard, and held me close as he came over my hand and arm, grunting and snarling. I milked him for several moments, causing him to gasp each time my fingers skimmed the sensitive crown of his cock.
A few minutes later, we were clean again, and he was out of the shower, leaving me to shave my legs. He was alert, alive, and exhilarated – a new man. There may even have been a bit of chest-pounding.
I giggled from behind the shower curtain. “You needed that, huh?”
“I guess I did. Thank you, Babygirl.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy. There was no way I was going to let you go another moment without getting off. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Only later did we realize that was a first for both of us. Sure, I’d stroked a man in the shower back in the day. And yeah, he’d been stroked like that. But neither of us had ever finished what we started before. It was spontaneous and wild. I like it when he gets off.