I’d mentioned in passing how I’d missed sensuous love-making, being touched everywhere without a hint of roughness. It was simply a comment in one of our many conversations about nothing and everything.
Like any other couple on the planet, we have our routine, our go-to moves. As much as I love it hard, rough, and fast (and believe me I do), I was craving something more.
But that conversation was days before. I hadn’t thought about it since, and life being what it is, we certainly hadn’t been able to much time for any kind of fucking in recent days. This, the longest summer ever, had relegated sex to the weekends and often with little time on our hands.
He kissed me. I cuddled and snuggled next to him, as if to burrow myself in his warmth. I pulled back from his touch and his lips.
“What’s wrong, babygirl?”
“Nothing, Daddy. Your kisses always take my breath away, and I need to breathe.”
He claimed my lips again. His tongue tasted and searched. We dueled, I acquiesced. It was delicious.
His hands began a slow exploration of my body while his lips found my neck. I shivered. My stomach jumped. Goosebumps pebbled my skin.
Deft fingers played down my flesh. His touch was featherlight.
One moment, I clung to him, desperate for his kisses. The next, I opened myself wide, desperate for more. His fingers skimmed my most sensitive parts, teasing and tormenting.
The scent of my own desire wafted up to us both. How long had it been since I’d smelled myself like that? This wasn’t the smell of sex, this was pure lust, unfulfilled desire, me.
I’ve grown used to the firm roughness of his caresses. I was unprepared for this gentle, soothing side. My body quivered.
“You have my permission to cum as you need to, babygirl.”
His lips on my neck. One arm cradled me as if I was the most precious treasure he’d ever held. The other explored, gently, the landscape of my body.
Just as his hands found my slippery core, his lips found my nipples. I shuddered in his arms. The first orgasm.
His tongue traced the lines of my collarbone and neck while his fingers strummed my clit. The next orgasm, wetter than the first.
He skimmed my slit as his warm breath filled my ear. A third orgasm.
I could have spent the entire night in his arms, delighting in his touch and attentions. He had other things in mind.
He rolled me away from his body, away from his warmth. Before I could protest, I found myself looking into his eyes as he covered me. I spread my legs wide, noting with pleasure the wet spot beneath my ass. So I had squirted after all. Very nice.
With a smooth stroke, he was buried deep. I wrapped my legs around him, locking my ankles. Not our usual position, it’s usually followed by a deep pounding that makes me scream.
With slow, easy movements, he moved inside of me. My hands roamed his back, my legs pulling him closer. He buried his face in my neck, giving me one last shuddery orgasm with only his tongue on my skin. His weight was a comfort, something to hold me to the ground and keep me from floating away.
I don’t know how long we were in that position. Moving, touching, loving. When he came, his body arched and his moans filled the room. It was his longest orgasm in a while. After we recovered and caught our breath. After we cleaned up and skirted my wet spot in the bed. After we were tucked inside each other’s arms again, I couldn’t help myself.
“You know, vanilla’s a pretty good flavor, too. We can do that again whenever you want.”
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! I may be a kinky girl, but I like vanilla ice cream just as much as every other flavor. And it was a nice change of pace. Okay, y’all, go forth and read more smutty goodness for this, the best of all days.